“Even Jon Grissom was just following orders, when he became the first human to lead a team through a mass relay. I know, I was there. Everybody thinks he was so brave, and he was, but at the end of the day he just wanted to go home to his daughter.” Ryder shook his head. “So what’s your reason for jumping into the unknown, without a return ticket?”
Cora took a deep breath. She’d been afraid of this. “I don’t have one.”
He blinked, frowning. “Then why are you here?”
“Because Nisira T’Kosh told me to come.”
Ryder folded his arms and rocked back on one heel. “And whatever your old commander says, goes?” He shook his head, looking incredulous. “I got T’Kosh’s recommendation, and invited you here because your record was impressive… but I’m no longer impressed, Harper. Why should I hire you, instead of someone who actually has a motivation of her own?”
“With all due respect, why does that matter?” Cora asked, trying hard not to sound defensive. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to the work I’ll be doing. I give my best regardless.”
Standing face-to-face with Cora at last, Ryder was less impressive himself. He tended to slouch—or maybe that was exhaustion, she amended, now that she had a good look at him. His hair was a little messy, as if he had a habit of running his hands through it when frustrated or tired.
He began to pace in front of her, arms folded.
“We’ve got competitors, Harper. Other ventures that want our technology, our investors, even though they aren’t willing to take our risks. You got ambushed on Tamayo because you obviously didn’t know that—something you should have known about a project that you’re effectively dedicating the rest of your life to. I can’t hold your hand to tell you these things; you need to anticipate problems yourself. And you clearly aren’t doing that.”
That was a reasonable expectation, Cora reminded herself, though her teeth had begun to itch with tension again. It was clear that Alec Ryder was going to be the kind of boss who preferred honesty to bullshit. It was also clear that he was an egghead, N7 background or no; liked to think out loud, but still valued brevity over a litany of details. All that suited Cora just fine. It was time to see if she really wanted to spend the next few years—give or take six hundred—working for this guy.
“I wasn’t expecting what happened on Tamayo because I’m coming at this from a different perspective,” she said. “I was born on a cargo freighter, not a planet. I grew up like any other Traverse kid. We risk the unknown every day just trying to survive, so none of that is new, or glamorous, to me. And I’ve spent four years among the asari, where the Initiative is seen as…” She tried to think of a good way to say it, then gave up. “A vanity project. A way for a baby spacefaring species to score a few popularity points, in a galaxy that isn’t easily impressed. A few asari are going along because it’s interesting, and you can always find matriarchs looking for a fulfilling way to end their lives—or maidens in the ‘young and idealistic’ category. But really, most of the galaxy has better things to do than pay attention to the Initiative. What’s newsworthy here… isn’t, out there. So a reporter was the last thing I expected.”
Ryder’s pacing had slowed. He seemed to be digesting this. “Okay. That’s… huh. That’s fair. And there’s value in a different perspective. But that still doesn’t tell me why I should bring on someone without any sort of vision. How do I know you won’t just get bored and abandon the project? I need a fellow leader, not a follower.” He shook his head. “What did Nisira tell you, at least, when she decided to send you here?”
Cora pursed her lips, considering, and then let out a heavy breath. Honesty, then. “She said… that this sounded like the kind of venture that could give me a purpose,” she admitted. “That I was wasted on Thessia, and even in the Alliance. I won’t live long enough to become a true asari huntress, after all—and humanity is still too afraid of biotics to know what to do with the average one, let alone one who spikes as high as I do.” She shrugged. Ryder’s eyes narrowed—in judgment? Skepticism? It stung that he might think so little of her.
Defensively, she clasped her hands behind her back, at ease, and lifted her chin. “She thought the Initiative might actually be different enough, flexible enough, to know what to do with someone like me. So, since you obviously think this trip to Andromeda will actually happen… Why do you think I should be here, sir?”
Ryder stopped pacing and faced her, an expression of honest surprise on his face for the first time since she’d met him. Then, grudgingly, he smiled. “Turn my own question back on me, hmm? Well, then.” He looked away, thinking for a moment, then said, “We’re definitely going. We’re… committed, at this point. Barring the catastrophic failure of every ark at launch—a statistical improbability—at this point there’s virtually nothing that can stop us from going. We have to go.”
Cora blinked, unable to hide her skepticism. “I’m not sure I understand why we have to send a quadrillion-credit mission to another galaxy.”
He looked fleetingly amused. “Quintillion… and we don’t have a choice, Harper. Any of us, really, but humanity especially.” He took a deep breath. “It’s been a few short decades since we discovered we weren’t alone in the universe. Since then, our knowledge and understanding of almost everything has exploded. But in this galaxy… it’s all been figured out. We have no need to explore. To discover. To grow. What little we do need, we can likely borrow or learn from another species who’s been doing this since before we were apes.” He lowered his voice. Slowed his delivery.
“Humanity thrives when it’s challenged. We grow when we have something for which we struggle. How can we grow in a galaxy where everything’s already been decided for us?” He frowned to himself a little, then chuckled ruefully and started pacing again. “Getting there isn’t going to be easy, Harper. Staying there, and thriving—only then will we realize our full potential.” Cora watched him pace, unsure what to think. This was beginning to sound like a petty grudge against the Council. Or maybe a dislike for humanity’s place in the order of things?
“If you’re looking for growth, the Council and the other species have plenty of opportunities to offer us,” she countered. “I should know.”
“Of course they do.” He waved her off. “And we’ll all still work together in Andromeda, but the playing field will be level. And the opportunities… no, the necessity for discovery and adaptation will be immediate and ongoing. We’ll have no choice but to advance, and to succeed. It’ll be survival of the fittest, with each species looking to its own needs.”
Cora wasn’t sure she liked where this was going. “That doesn’t exactly sound like ‘working together.’ It sounds more like open competition—like a race to see who will come out on top.”
Ryder stopped pacing, and he seemed to chew on that a bit.
“Yes and no,” he said. “The Council is doing a fine job here in the Milky Way, and the other species are civil enough. But this peace… the entire galactic society we live in… it’s based on centuries of lessons learned, mistakes made and wars fought, long before you and I were born. We didn’t earn it—it was given to us. Some people might call that utopia; all of the enlightenment without any of the struggle. But humans need to struggle. We’re at our best when our greatest accomplishments—and challenges—lie ahead of us.”
“I don’t disagree,” Cora ventured. Maybe she was beginning to understand what he was getting at. Still… something didn’t quite add up. “But if all we need is struggle, why not just start a colony in the remotest part of the Milky Way, far from Council control, entirely dependent on no one but ourselves?”
Ryder paused, and… smiled?
Was it wistful? Or sad? She couldn’t read him well. “Trust me, I’ve thought about it,” he said, “and if the Initiative hadn’t found me, I might’ve done just that.” He turned and walked back over to one of the consoles. “But they did find me, and here we both are. About to embark on a journey that
will once again put humanity at the forefront of innovation and invention.”
He lapsed into silence, and Cora shifted a little, unsure if he would continue. After a second, Ryder flicked a switch and the image of a planet materialized in the air between them.
“Take a look at this.” He reached out and “spun” the holo with his hand. “This is our designated golden world. Everything we know tells us this planet possesses the essential building blocks needed to support human life. Yet we don’t know, not for certain, and we won’t know until we set foot on it.
“Even if it does, and everything goes to plan… we’ll spend the next several decades making it our home. Every day will bring an opportunity for us to grow. Expand. Evolve. But also… an opportunity to stumble. To fail.” He straightened up a bit. “Every decision we make, for decades to come, will determine if we live or die.”
Cora watched the rotating globe. “And you think…” She weighed her words before continuing. “You believe that at the end of that, humanity will be… better. That we will be better for that?”
Ryder switched off the display and turned to face her. “Yes. And I’m guessing T’Kosh sent you here because she sees the same thing. Asari tend to think long-term, understandably. If she thinks this is something you can help with, and something that will give you a chance to grow…” He spread his hands. “I guess we both ought to listen to her.”
“I’ve pretty much found that to be the case on every occasion, sir.”
“Understood. So…” He folded his arms. “You don’t have a reason to be here? Let’s see if we can’t change that.”
Cora nodded, slowly, digesting what he’d said. Expand, explore, adapt—or die. The thought of it made her belly clench, just a little, in something that might have been excitement. Yet this was his motivation.
Interesting as it was, she wasn’t convinced it was hers.
“I’m in—for now, at least,” she said. “For the same reason I just spent four years of my life on Thessia: because high-minded reasons don’t matter, at the end of the day. Somebody’s got to do the hard work of making the future happen.” That was what her mother had always said, through the shit jobs and the shit food and the long years of flying around in a junkheap held together with duct tape and wishes. Cora shrugged. “Might as well be me.”
Ryder gazed at her for a long, thoughtful moment. “I guess that will have to do,” he said with a hint of wryness in his voice. “We’ll see if it’s enough. If you’re serious about making the future happen, Harper… I’ve got a job for you.”
NEXT ON AL-JILANI INVESTIGATES : ANDROMEDA… EXPOSED!
Sunday, December 27th, 2184, 18:46 UTC
“The Andromeda Initiative, pet venture of the eccentric wealthy inventor Jien Garson, aims to establish a foothold within our nearest galactic neighbor. A thrilling, romantic scientific project—or is it? We’ll follow the money to uncover graft, corruption, and questionable ethics which threaten your investment, and galactic civilization’s future!
In two Citadel-standard days, tune in for an exclusive interview with former Alliance Lieutenant Cora Harper, a biotic with a checkered past recently hired by the Initiative.
Westerlund News: we’ll get to the truth. We always do.”
CHAPTER TWO
“Glad you called,” Ygara said, coming over to companionably grip Cora’s forearm as she stepped out of the airlock. “Just when I was starting to get bored with your little system. Welcome aboard! Come meet the team.”
Over the vidcall, Ygara had explained to Cora that she’d bought and refurbished a small surplus asari destroyer a few years back, with some of her earnings from three hundred years in the Daughters. The Audacity, she’d named it. Her crew was an assemblage of ex-commandos and other specialists collected from over a few decades’ worth of missions. Three were asari, too, lean and strong in their black commando gear; Cora didn’t know them, but they sized her up in turn, and one of them nodded coolly in what might have been respect. In addition to these were a yawning turian woman, the smallest fully grown krogan Cora had ever seen, and two slender male quarians whose suits and builds were so similar that Cora hoped she wouldn’t have to try and remember which was which.
“Tella Namir, Bannyn T’Dahn, and Leri T’Eln,” Ygara said, pointing at the three asari in turn. “Bannyn’s our sapper. She did a tour with the Daughters about a century ago, and without her we wouldn’t have survived that mission.” Cora nodded at her; Bannyn smirked in unselfconscious pride, then winked back at Cora. “Tella and Leri are my muscle—” Ygara continued.
“Some of your muscle,” said the krogan, sounding a little affronted. He really was tiny for a krogan—barely taller than Cora herself, though he outweighed her by several hundred pounds. Maybe he got overlooked a lot.
“Some, right.” Ygara chin-pointed at the krogan. “Jorgal Kih. He’s our pilot and drone-recon specialist.” Kih folded his arms, still looking disgruntled; Ygara rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Kih, sorry, just forgot. And heavy weapons, when we need them.”
Kih finally relaxed. “Damn straight.”
“I’m Octavia Suran,” said the turian, coming forward before Ygara could introduce her. She extended a slender hand, which Cora took with some surprise. Octavia must have studied human greeting customs, since Cora had heard that turians weren’t much for handshakes. Races with natural talons didn’t tend to be. “Researcher,” she added.
Cora raised her eyebrows. “Researcher. Right.”
Ygara coughed a little, to cover a laugh. Octavia eyed Ygara with an air of cool amusement. “Octavia’s our information broker,” Ygara admitted. “Just a small-timer, all things considered—but when we need secrets found or disinformation spread, she’s your girl.”
“Handy,” Cora said, impressed. Information brokers tended to do well as free agents, so Ygara had to be paying Suran quite a lot to keep her on-crew for a startup merc operation. Three hundred years of smart investing paid off, apparently.
“And these two are our newest members,” Ygara said, nodding toward the quarians, “Hanon’Milah and Shilu’Milah, both nar Qwib-Qwib—”
“I told you not to mention that,” Shilu, said, groaning. Or was it Hanon?
Ygara grinned. “But it’s funny.”
“The most enlightened race in the galaxy, everybody.” Octavia, deadpan, waved an exaggerated flourish toward Ygara. “Known for their empathy, grace, and charm.”
“What? We are.”
Cora stifled a grin. She’d never been good with meeting new people. Hazard of growing up on a small family ship where everyone knew everyone. Already, though, she was feeling right at home with Ygara’s bunch.
“Pleased to meet all of you.”
“Menoris says you’re hiring, not joining up,” Kih said, folding his arms as he looked Cora up and down. “You look like you can handle yourself, though. I mean, I think you do.” He squinted suddenly. “All you humans look kind of like pyjaks, but at least you’re not as scrawny—”
Leri groaned, rubbing her face with one hand. “Kih. We discussed this. ‘Don’t compare humans to nonsentient primates,’ I said. Didn’t I?”
“I said pyjaks! Those aren’t—oh shit, are they? I just think of them as snacks.”
“Nisira T’Kosh herself vouches for Harper’s commando experience,” Ygara said, cutting Leri off before she could retort. “And personally, I wouldn’t have another human watching my back.”
Cora blinked in surprise. She’d fought beside Ygara in combat, of course, but the same could be said for all of the Daughters at some point or another. This was higher praise than she’d expected. Blushing a little, she said to Kih, “I’m a little of both, actually—client and freelance add-on.” On Cora’s request, Initiative funds had already been transferred to Ygara Menoris’ account. “I’ll be riding shotgun on this.”
“Huh. So what’s the mission?”
She’d thought they would never ask.
* * *
On the surf
ace the mission, as Ryder had laid it out to her, was simple. A rival organization had hacked their systems and stolen data that was critical to the success of the Initiative. While they could just ignore the theft, there were two main reasons to go after it.
First, the data was potentially quite dangerous; advanced VI tech that could draw a lot of unwanted attention. A scandal of that magnitude might delay the launch of the arks, and even the Nexus. Second—and this seemed more critical—the hack had corrupted some of the Initiative’s own copies of the data. According to Ryder it would take months, perhaps longer, to reconstruct what had been left behind.
Or… Cora could steal it back. Ryder hadn’t used that term, of course; he’d stuck strictly to the word “acquire.” He’d smiled every time he said it, though, in a “we’re both adults here” kind of way, so Cora figured it was better to just call it like she saw it.
In actuality the mission would be complicated, and potentially dangerous enough that Ryder had asked Cora to link up to some kind of special Initiative VI. “This will be a little different from most VIs, you’ll find,” he’d explained to her as they strode somewhere between the tour of Theia Station and the return to his lab. “Custom built. Highly adaptive. It’s made to function with a certain level of wetware integration that you don’t have, though, so we’d need to make a few changes. I think you’d find it useful enough to warrant them.”
“Wetware integration?” She’d stopped walking. “You’re talking about some kind of operation? On my brain? What the hell kind of VI requires that?”
He’d smiled at Cora’s sharp scowl, as if he’d expected that reaction. “An experimental one. But you won’t be our first guinea pig, after all.” To her surprise, he’d tapped his own head. “Just an implant, Lieutenant. No worse than when you had your L3 installed. Besides, they’re standard issue for members of the Pathfinder team. I need to know if you can handle it.”