abraxaslogs | UNC: Lost Module

Entry tags:

UNC: Lost Module

Who: Commander Shepard & Garrus Vakarian
When: May - During the Moth Rabbit Migration
Where: Free Cities
What: Local space soldiers try to repair the devices to ward off moth hares. It goes about as well as expected.
Warnings: TBD

"Why does this feel like we should be hitting pyjacks with the Mako?"

Except that these things seem considerably less annoying than a herd of pyjacks. Or gang. Or whatever a group of the things were called. Besides 'annoying' by most, and 'a snack' by others. At least this time, there doesn't seem to be a need to extract a data module from the grasp of the little rodents. Just repair a weird bug thing to keep the rodents away.

Easy enough.

How hard could it be? They were used to repairing all kinds of bigger, more involved pieces of technology. Something like this shouldn't be hard.

They just have to make it to the location, inspect the malfunction, and call it good. While... he steps over a cluster of rodents chewing away on a piece of discarded fruit. At least they were doing something. Sure, he'd been digging around, gathering information, making connections here and there, but this? This feels like real work. Granted, it's not the most strenuous either of them have ever done, but it's something. It's better than sitting around chatting with their brains.

And he's been... not worried, exactly. Concerned, more like. With the differences in timelines. How that's going to affect someone who already had the whole galaxy on her shoulders. Maybe this is good.

"Should be just up ahead." A beat, and a furitive glance at Shepard. "You know... they look a little bit like your pet. The one with the wheel."

The space hamster.

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"Don't compare my little guy to these things. He doesn't cause property damage," Shepard replies, picking up the pace of the banter with cheerful aplomb, "...They are a little cute."

Well, they are. But then, small, fuzzy, or otherwise, they have a job to do.

"Y'know, this reminds me of all the times Hackett sent us on one of this long lost errands. Except this time, I don't have a tank."

"Didn't someone once mention him 'going for the eyes'?" No, that was Tali and her drone, but it's banter. He'll fudge things a bit, for the sake of the back and forth. "You could always put one in a tank too..."

He passes by a low-hanging roof. One of the fuzzy little creatures takes an opportunity to hop off, and land on the lip of his cowl. He startles for a moment, about to fling it off, but... oh well. They're cute.

"I think most of the people here are grateful for that fact, Shepard. A few of them saw you driving that tank in a memory of mine."

"Hey, nobody ever died in the Mako," Shepard retorts, scruffing his hare moth, as if to do the tossing for him, and then... She considers it a minute. It's very fluffy, "Y'know, at least it's not Pyjacks. Or those... cow things. Space cows."

She doesn't know what they're properly called, and doesn't care to. Anything with that many limbs is not a good thing, in her book. There's a reason Shepard doesn't trust any kind of large animal. They're all dangerous. Here, have this thing back, Vakarian, since you like it so much.

"Between you and Liara, I swear. I am a good driver."

"Those things that took Alenko's credits?"

When the man's back had been turned, he was absolutely sure those shifty-eyed things had taken some money out of the Kaidan's hardsuit. How in the hell they'd managed that, Garrus still isn't sure. Especially since the currency didn't tend to be found off a card or a credit chit.

As soon as she sets the hare back down, it makes itself comfortable again. Garrus absently scratches at his scarred side, looking upward. The device should be... somewhere nearby...

"Wait, what about Liara?"

"Oh, I guess it was Tali, that time," Shepard says thoughtfully. They've been through a lot together, it's hard to remember sometimes that it hadn't actually been Garrus along for every ride, "Remember I told you about going up against that Asari spectre, Tela Vasir, during the whole Shadow Broker thing? There was this high-speed skycar chase on Illium."

And god forbid someone swerve a little when the enemy was dropping mines in your path, naturally. Lighten up, people.

"Anyways, she's never let me forget about it."

"And Liara let you drive? Hm. No wonder she won't let it go."

Shouldn't she know better? She'd been in the Mako more than a few times. But he's a bit distracted, looking upward. There - that should be a good location for their literal bug. Up on the edge of a low roof, out of the way of accidental passers-by. Automatically, Garrus' hand flexes in a way that should call up his omni-tool for specs and any other useful data. Needless to say, it does nothing of the sort.

He sighs.

"I think one of us is going to have to climb, if we want a good place for this thing."

Edited 2022-05-26 03:44 (UTC)

"Nobody lets me do anything," Shepard scoffs. It comes out a little petulant, even sheepish, and Shepard firms her jaw as if that could hide it. C'mon, Garrus, don't call her out like that. It's embarrassing.

She follows his eyeline when he speaks, squinting up at the eaves of the roof with a speculative eye. It was just high enough to be beyond reach, while also being a low enough target to tempt them. Good enough, then.

"Alright, give me a boost," She can recognize the inevitable when she sees it. After all, it's not as if she's going to get Garrus up there with anything short of biotics, and fine control has never been Shepard's strong suit.

Unlike with tanks.

"Just... don't drop me."

"You know I think Thane might've seen the Mako during that whole... memory swap..."

Oh yeah, he's still teasing. But then nods, and squares up as soon as Shepard also moves onto business. He steps over to a position nearer the roof they've chosen, and takes a knee. There's plenty for her to clamber up like a ladder, really. Turians just seem to be made of handholds - and there's a thought he probably shouldn't let make it to his mouth any time soon.

He holds his hands out. Ready to give her said boost.

"Wouldn't dream of it. All else fails, there's plenty to grab onto. All the... pointy bits."

"Oh, I know all about the pointy bits," She drawls, mostly as a form of vengeance, before promptly setting her foot in his waiting palms— and hup. There you go, nice and smooth and professional. Just like back in basic.

"Okay, turning it on now— shit."

The bug seemed a simple enough device, if a bit creepy in her hands. Shepard would have preferred to be handling it with gloves; it looked, despite the lack of fangs, as if it could bite. But it doesn't bite. It screams, takes a running leap over both their heads, and skitters off in a drunken weave, still shrieking.

Shepard mostly still occupied with not taking a sudden swan-dive into the dirt simply mutters, "...Of course."

"Oh. Uh. Right. Yeah. Yeah, you... would."

Well then. That's what he gets for poking at the driving thing. But, then it's time to move on, and he's extremely glad turians don't blush. Focus now is on one smooth lift upward, standing as his raises his arms.

"What? What's - "

And then he registers the shrieking. To his credit, he keeps his hold on her, and keeps himself steady. Though he does jerk his head backward at the sudden assault of sound.

"Nothing's ever simple, huh?"

"At least we don't have to sort through a few dozen pyjacks this time..."

Hackett was a great admiral, a stalwart ally, and one of the few leaders that Shepard respected. But he was also an ass. Or maybe, one led to the other, in a lot of ways; the record would show Shepard's own history in no kinder a light than his, if it came down to it.

"C'mon, let's go get it," shepard grunts, as she swings herself back down to the ground. There's a moment's pause, with his hands on her waist and hers braced on his shoulders, and Shepard... smiles. Look at this low stakes adventure, annoying as it was. This is nice. Wait, weren't they doing something? "Right. We're not getting paid just to annoy the neighborhood."

"Pity. We could have used some target practice."

He stays steady while she hops down to the ground. And, yeah, his hands linger. Steadying - just steadying, sure. Not, you know. Anything else. There's a mission to think of right now. Low-stakes to be sure. But still a mission. He coughs quietly, and turns his head toward where the bug went off to.

"We're getting paid? That's a new one." He nods, and heads after the direction the thing went. "Think we broke it?"

"I'd cut you a check, if anybody had ever let me get away with Turian irregular on the payroll," Shepard replied, half disgruntled at the annoyance of chasing down a screaming mechanical cockroach, and half in high good spirits at the flirting. An unfriendly mix, but she gets by however she can, "As it stands, I spent most of the last tour pulling credits out of dead people's omnitool debits and wall safes; it's not like Cerberus' operations budget was all that generous."

Or maybe it was supposed to have been, and instead they'd spent it all on her. Chilling thought, actually, and the moment it crosses Shepard's mind, she grimaces and redoubles the search. So much for good moods.

"It's gotta be around here somewhere!" The alleyway is a dead end, and the screaming is coming from somewhere under the garbage, echoing off the walls and packed-dirt ground until its impossible to pinpoint the exact position by ear. Or anything else by ear, really; Shepard has to shout just to be heard over the din, "See anything?!"

"Yeah, Cerberus would really hate having an alien on their payroll... you're right." He's pretty sure if they hadn't put a quarian and a turian on their precious dossiers, then there wouldn't have even been dextro supplies aboard. Regardless of Shepard's wishes for her old crew.

But right. More pressing is the screaming insect. It's making his ears ring. Shepard can't be faring much better.

"Up there!"

It's not quite the fire escape he's used to seeing. But that has to be what it is. The buzzing, fritzing shape attached itself to a ladder up to a window. His steps are longer, so he gets to the ladder first, and starts clambering up it. "I'll see if I can shoo it down!"

Or at least make it stop screaming.

"If you fall, I'm not catching you," Shepard warns, dishonesty in every syllable. Of course she'd catch him; whether he'd enjoy the process is less certain.

But then, it's really not that far up, all things considered. Garrus reaches out and the little machine waves its legs at him threateningly, or perhaps merely with desperation. One of its pointy little feet is caught between the ladder and the wall, wedged in at an odd angle that it surely would have been able to wriggle free of, eventually— had it not been dealing with a hot pursuit.

His hand closes around it and the screaming cuts off in the same moment. The silence is another kind of deafening, but Shepard's sigh of relief is unfeigned.

"What happened? Can you tell if it's broken?" Though they both knew it was at least unbroken enough to lead them on a merry chase, "I didn't think I was gripping it that hard."

"Good to know it goes both ways." Sarcasm for sarcasm. Like Garrus wouldn't catch Shepard if their positions were reversed.

He loops one arm around a ladder rung, and twists his leg slightly to hook his knee spur on that same side under another. There. No way he's going to fall unless the ladder gives out entirely. It might - but he hopes not.

"It would be so much simpler if they'd let us keep our omni-tools," he grumbles. "I have to open it up to check." The casing looks fine. The exterior doesn't look damaged in the least. Maybe a little scuffed from its escape but nothing that should have hampered its function. Or made it scream like that.

Thoughtfully, he wiggles a talon tip into a seam of the casing. Very, very carefully starting to pry it up. The metal bends fairly well, giving a view of the bug's interior - all unfamiliar gears and wires. But still, nothing looks -

"I think one of the gears is pressing into a sensor," he calls down. "Hang on, I'm trying to get it realigned..." Silence. Little clicking noises. And then - "Oh, that's not good."

He's pretty sure it's not supposed to smoke.

Shepard is not an expert in robotics, in particular not the kind that Garrus is holding, a clockwork thing of copper wire and weird bulbs, but she knows a few things. Practical experience tells her that when a small, otherwise innocuous, device starts making those kinds of noises, and that much smoke, there's really only one outcome.

"Throw it!" she barks, all command. It's going to explode, and while it might not do much damage, Shepard isn't confident enough in that assessment to want to risk subjecting Garrus to the local medics, "It's gonna blow!"

And so it goes. Was there ever a mission that didn't blow up in their faces, one way or another?

He needs no further encouragement.

There are pro sports athletes who throw like Garrus in the heat of the moment. He just winds up, hucks it. Overhand. Up toward the rooftops. It flies about as well as a lead brick, but it still flies well out of any danger range for the turian. The whole thing goes up in a bright spark of metallic flame - like a magnesium flare.

And then hits the ground with a klunk.

Sputtering out and dying.

"We really can't go one mission without an explosion. Can we?"

It's a good throw. But then, she's seen him get better distance on grenades before, if with better footing— still. Shepard winces away from the flare, and grimaces to see the blackened lump that's left behind.

"Well, so much for that sensor," She sighs going over to crouch down and examine the mess; the destruction is complete. Why such a complicated design, anyways? Did it really need spider legs, and the ability to scream in terror? Maybe getting into robotics just made people a little crazy, "It was defective from the start, if you ask me."

Which is to say, not their fault.

"Let's go turn in the wreckage, see if we can't get a replacement. Otherwise, this is wash."

He's clambering down the ladder again before the fire fully burns out. Stupid thing. He is not going to accept failure on this one. He could calibrate anything! Why the hell did one weird little bug sensor go and explode? There's more than one muttered curse that probably needs no translation, even if Shepard probably knows more non-human swears than any other Alliance soldier already.

"It had to be. There was nothing in there but gears. Doesn't make sense."

Maybe it was this magic crap everyone was talking about. But he approaches the mess anyway. Are they going to need something to put it in?

"Got a box?" Or a bag...

"Hm," Shepard looks around; she hasn't got anything to spare, but— like most alleyways, this one isn't completely empty, not really. Here, a washbucket someone had left out here and forgotten. Shepard upends the scummy remnants over the steaming lump, then uses the rag to gingerly pick it up, still hot to the touch, "Good enough."

She offers him a look, rising out of her crouch. There's not much to see; twitchy, broken legs, blackened cogs, cracked glass half missing. It's all slagged into one immobile lump.

"Y'know, I've been thinking about that," She says, cocking her head back the way they came, c'mon, "It's about time we started learning some local tech. Hell, they can call it whatever they want, but if we're gonna be stuck here, we need to use whatever we can get."

And maybe learn a few new ways to calibrate, along the way.

"You know, one day, we'll get through a mission without something catching on fire."

Or exploding. Or both. That'd be a nice change of pace, wouldn't it?

Once Shepard has it in hand, he heaves a sigh and falls into step with her. She's not wrong. If they're going to be stuck here, then they might as well adjust better. Maybe even find a way out - despite how much people seem to be adamant it's not possible. Calling it 'tech' seems like a big stretch, in his opinion.

"You're probably right. I'm just not looking forward to picking apart more screaming bugs, if that's what they have up their sleeves."

"Ask real nice, and I'm sure we can get you what passes for a nice rifle."

She's not sure how she feels about the firearms in this place; that they exist at all is probably a blessing. But still; chemical combustion charges? Small batch manufacture bullets, or else ball pellets? Maybe there's a magical secondary option. Still. She can't help but think of it as frustratingly primitive. Her left hand for a functioning Carnifex.

Or maybe some other wish; one day, we'll get through a mission without something catching on fire.

"Keep dreaming, Vakarian," Shepard laughs, despite their failure, and the metal poking her palm, "Keep dreaming..."

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UNC: Lost Module

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