Mass Effect: Andromeda — Nexus Uprising

PROLOGUE

Even the worst hangover of her life couldn’t keep the smile from Sloane Kelly’s face.

She stood, hands clasped behind her back in a posture expected of a security director, on a ceremonial platform erected inside one of the Nexus’s many docking bays.

Up until yesterday, the bay had been full of ships, each bustling with people and equipment, workers and staff. As the last-minute preparations were made, Sloane held one last briefing with her security officers, drilling down the procedures they’d all prepped for until she was confident they could enact them in their sleep.

An unnecessary test, Sloane knew. She’d worked damn hard to ensure her people were up to the ironclad standards of the Initiative, and they didn’t disappoint. By the time the last box had been ticked and the massive space station had been declared ready for launch, her teams were as rock solid as she’d ever hoped for.

Years of planning. Hours upon months upon years of work. Hundreds of thousands of applications, and the manpower needed to sort them all. Sloane had never seen the like, and all that focus and drive had been poured into one thing—the Nexus. Smaller than the Citadel, but more advanced and streamlined than anyone had ever thought possible. Even half-built, its corridors and wards folded down and locked in for launch, the gleaming station drew every eye. Once they arrived in Andromeda, construction would begin again, turning all the stripped-down parts of the Nexus into flourishing districts and functional docks.

But before all that, the Andromeda Initiative had to get underway. So here she was, standing on this platform with a smile she couldn’t shake—and a hangover throbbing behind her forehead. The pain of that indulgence was real enough. This wasn’t some kind of dream.

This was a goddamn miracle.

And she was its Security Director. Standing here with only one ship in the bay. The cavernous interior caused an enormous feedback echo she wasn’t used to, turning whispers into shouts and words into a distorted wave. As soon as everyone had said their goodbyes, the Hyperion would leave, carrying with it the human Pathfinder and his crew.

Jien Garson, founder of the Andromeda Initiative and awe-inspiring in her own right, stood a step in front of Sloane. She hugged Alec Ryder as if they were old friends, as she had with the other Pathfinders just before their ships had gone. Side by side with Ryder, Garson looked laughably diminutive, with the top of her head just barely reaching the man’s shoulder. Even Sloane stood taller—though that did nothing to alter Garson’s larger-than-life presence.

The two separated slightly, still clasping each other’s arms, and exchanged final good wishes.

Sloane couldn’t hear them clearly over the echoes, but she could read their faces. Garson, all hope and excitement. Ryder less so, but that was just his way. She’d never taken his aloofness to heart.

Funny to see them now, acting so professional and diplomatic. All business, unlike the previous night’s farewell party. Thousands of pioneers, plus twice as many more of their friends and family, had all gathered for one final hurrah before the mission began. The last night of 2185 ad. For those joining the Andromeda Initiative, it was the last night they would spend in the Milky Way.

By the time the Nexus arrived at its destination, all this—these people, their families, and all the problems in this galaxy—would be six hundred years in the past. Millions of light years in their wake.

Wild, when she really thought of it. Jarring, and a little frightening. Not that Sloane was scared. She shifted her weight foot to foot, caught herself and firmed her stance. Not scared, more like…

Anxious.

A new galaxy. A new start, for them and for her.

And as Security Director, Sloane would have far more influence than the grunt she used to be. Born too late to solve anything, strung out too far by old men in uniforms slinging around old grudges. And that was just the human side of it.

This time, she thought, things will be different. Decisions would be made better.

No more battle lines drawn between species. No more old vendettas, greedy piracy, no more Skyllian Blitzes. This time, they had a chance to do things right, starting with a station full of handpicked pioneers eager for the same dream.

Sloane wasn’t alone. All of the pioneers had signed up with a hope for something different. Something better. Everybody locked it down behind a veneer of pride, dedication to work, or just raw enthusiasm, but Sloane knew.

Leave it to a farewell celebration to crack that shit wide open.

Everyone had wanted a party that would never be forgotten. They got that much. Well, except for those euphoric moments that this party, like all great parties, had claimed as tribute. Sloane resisted the urge to rub her pounding temples. It wasn’t very professional to be nursing a hangover the day of the launch.

Not that I’m the only one.

Jien Garson put up a good front, but if she wasn’t hiding a pounding headache and burning gut, Sloane would eat her badge. Still, the woman was hard to read. She finally released Ryder’s arms and took her place beside him, not a shred of green around her proverbial gills. As she looked at the gathered leadership of the Nexus, all standing in a line beside Sloane, the overhead lights gilded her high cheekbones and tawny skin in shades of sheer glee. No sign of headache or exhaustion, not even a nauseous damper to the sharp gleam of intelligence in her straightforward gaze.

There was so much more to the woman than met the eye. More than Sloane had initially credited her for. Boy, was that a mistake. Whatever else the Council said, whatever else the private investors said, the Andromeda Initiative was her mission more than anyone else’s. Garson had proposed the idea and rammed it through mountains of resistance and red tape by sheer force of will. She’d even managed to convince Alec Ryder to join as the humans’ Pathfinder—no small feat, given his widely known obsessions to his own array of mysterious projects. By all accounts, Ryder had been a damn good asset before he’d lost his wife, leaving him on his own to raise two kids and whatever demons he carried over it.

Sloane had overheard committee members taking bets on whether he’d sign up or not. His N7 designation carried a hell of a lot of weight, but so did he. A few meetings with him told Sloane he wasn’t a man to be taken lightly. Given that Ryder now stood beside Garson—with something resembling eagerness, even—Sloane figured a few people were starting the journey a bit less rich than when it all started. Then again, she’d also heard his kids had joined the program. That had probably been enough to goad the man into the role. Or maybe the kids had. Who knew?

Kids or not, she had a suspicion Ryder wasn’t going to be as easy to work with as maybe the committees hoped. She didn’t have to be a mind reader to know he was impatient. All this ceremony probably grated. “Let’s get this over with,” he was often heard to say. “So the real work can start.”

Always more real work.

“Well,” he said, dusting off his hands and right on cue, “it’s time to go. So the real work can start.”

Sloane’s smirk earned her a quizzical stare—she wasn’t even sure he registered her as anything more than another body, to be honest—and a nod. She nodded back.

As if remembering the same courtesy, he gave the rest of the staff the same nod. “Godspeed to us all.”

Garson’s grin was full and unfettered. “See you on the other side.”

To Sloane’s surprise, Ryder’s impatience made room for a brief chuckle.

Whatever he found funny, they didn’t dwell. Another few minutes of farewells and then it was over. Ryder boarded the last shuttle, which quickly departed without further fanfare. He had his own job in the Initiative, and the Hyperion would depart soon after the Nexus.

The plan was as simple as they could all make it: The Nexus arrives in Andromeda first and completes its final stages of construction, unfolding like an origami surprise from its compact travel form. The Pathfinders would arrive soon after, guiding their arks to dock with the central station. Once up and running, it would serve as a central hub of logistics and government in the colonization of the new galaxy—the Citadel, as it were, of Andromeda.

Only better.

Garson didn’t like it when people called the Nexus that. Sloane understood why. The Citadel carried a lot of baggage for a lot of people, humans or otherwise. Between the politics, the Council’s efforts at outmaneuvering each other—or, collectively, the krogan—and all the bullshit about humans being “too young for the responsibility”…

Sloane shook her head, as if she could shake the irritation out. The list was long, and the death toll attributed to the backlog was even longer.

The Nexus would be everything the Citadel had failed in.

She watched as the hangar doors clanged shut behind Ryder’s shuttle, and a thrill of excitement coursed through her, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

This was it. The final gateway outside the Nexus, at least for a long, long time. Sloane couldn’t look away. They all stood in place, watched as the narrow beam of light from the shuttle’s thrusters got thinner and thinner. Until the doors sealed shut with a final, poignant clang.

Sloane blinked. Looked around furtively, unwilling to be the one to break the silence left behind.

Garson had no such compunction. “Now we rest,” she declared, cheerfully brisk and deliberately nonchalant. As if she knew what Sloane was feeling. What they all felt. “I’m actually looking forward to this part.”

“You are?”

“Why not?” She stretched. “A little sleep, and then we’re there. I don’t know about you,” she added, laughing, “but I think we’ve earned a nap.”

Several of her staff chuckled politely. The others gave knowing, happy nods. They were really going. Really getting it done. “The Nexus,” an announcer trilled over the system-wide comms, “is prepared for final inspection. All personnel to your designated stasis pods.”

Garson held up a finger, pointing up at nothing as the echoes rebounded. Most came from the sudden rise of chatter, of giddy laughter and nervous exhales. “Hear that?” Her dark brown eyes sparkled. “Let’s get to where we need to be!”

Sloane took a deep, steadying breath.

“Repeat,” came the voice, “all personnel to your designated stasis chambers. Launch will commence shortly.”

“To a new world,” Sloane muttered. To herself, really, but Garson slid her a sideways glance full of amusement.

“To a better galaxy,” the woman corrected.

Yeah. Okay. Sloane liked that one, too.

Sloane walked with the party of the core leadership as they finished one last ceremonial review of the vessel. Everything was as it should be, and she felt enormous pride at this culmination of all the hard work they’d already done.

She’d known it going in, but every time she paced the ship, she thought it again. The Nexus was a freaking marvel. Part ark ship, part space station, the construct was second only to the Citadel in scope and ambition. Yet unlike its spiritual progenitor, this place had been built by them. For them.

For a new future.

Humans, salarians, asari, turians. The only non-Council species on board the Nexus were the krogan, and the Nakmor clan had signed on under the contract of working for it. Even so, equals or not, they’d all come together, driven by Jien Garson’s vision. And they’d done it. The Nexus was almost ready to go.

Sloane stood back as the leadership made their way to the designated cryostasis pods. Of them all, she only had more than a passing relationship with two: Garson herself, and Matriarch Nuara, who served as one hell of an advisor on the team. Whatever else the asari did, Sloane appreciated having the long-lived Matriarch on board.

If they were going to make a successful run at this, they’d need the asari’s wisdom. And, Sloane noted with an inward laugh, her biotics. Only a fraction of the Nexus’s passengers and personnel possessed the ability, and much of that came from the asari themselves. Having Nuara made a lot of them feel better, too. Remnants of speciesism the Nexus’s journey was designed to quell.

They were all in this together, now. Nuara and Garson clasped hands, friendship clear between them, and parted with encouraging farewells.

Sloane watched them carefully, mindful of the launching procedure. Their pods had to seal correctly, with no abnormalities in final readings. They and the other first-tier leaders would be first to wake in Andromeda. The hierarchy was set, and it began with top-tier staff—a trained and prepared doctor among them. Top medical would follow, then Sloane would wake soon after. Then the colonization effort would begin in earnest.

A short nap, huh? Sloane shook her head, bemused by the brevity of the concept. Six hundred years was a bit more than a nap. Not that they’d feel it.

She waited while the others, personally escorted to their stasis pods, exchanged farewells and encouragement. She’d oversee the sealing of this chamber before returning to hers, where part of her team was already fast asleep.

Soon enough, Sloane found herself alone with Garson. As if the woman felt like she had to, she waited and watched with Sloane until every pod was sealed and blinking all the right colors for successful stasis.

Sloane wasn’t sure what to say.

Garson had no such problem. “Did you enjoy my speech last night?” she asked brightly.

“Er…” When the woman’s smile turned wry, Sloane grinned sheepishly. “I didn’t hear it. I was…” She trailed off, trying to frame an excuse that was honest, but didn’t make herself out to be a total asshole. Not my thing probably wasn’t it.

“It’s alright, Director Kelly.” She tapped her nose with a knowing finger, dark eyes openly laughing up at Sloane. “It was a very busy night.”

“Busy,” Sloane repeated. And if Garson believed that, Sloane was a naked quarian. “Yes, exactly. Lots to prep. Briefings and things.”

“Well.” She stepped into her own waiting pod, her tone amused. “If you want to listen to it, there is a recording in the core. Just in case people needed some last-minute inspiration.”

Sloane shrugged, but knew she would. “Everyone did say they really liked it,” she admitted. “I guess I should know what my team’s been raving about.”

“Good. Do that.” Another smile, this one more her signature power move. Clean, bright, and not a thing weak about it. Or her. Garson hadn’t gotten this far by being a pushover.

Sloane respected that.

Garson lay back, adjusting the folds of her uniform. Like maybe she’d get uncomfortable? Sloane wasn’t sure how it’d all work, but she figured a centuries-old wedgie would be among the worst of their problems.

She may have dodged most of the science meetings, but she’d seen Garson’s meticulously noted plans, cleverly rewritten so even the laymen among the Nexus crews could get it. The data had long since come back. There were habitable planets, welcoming space, lots to explore, to settle, to grow.

They were pioneers, the first to travel to another galaxy, and by whatever gods among them, they’d get it done.

Every last one of them believed that. Sloane did, too.

A wrinkled stasis uniform wasn’t really on her list of priorities. But hey, whatever floated Garson’s prelaunch freighter was fine with Sloane.

Garson folded her arms over her chest, drawing Sloane’s attention back to the woman nestled inside the comfortably detailed interior. “The other side,” she murmured, as if more to herself than to Sloane. “Andromeda.” Then, meeting Sloane’s gaze, she asked, “What do you hope to find there, Director?”

She blinked. “Hmm… I haven’t much thought of it.” An outright lie, and at Garson’s crestfallen look, Sloane added wryly, “How about a cure for the common hangover?”

That earned another bout of laughter, bright and genuine. “We can only hope,” Garson said, still chuckling, and gave Sloane the nod. That nod. The one that said the time for talk was over.

Sloane oversaw the closure of the pod. She smiled at the leader of the Initiative through the small porthole, patted the pod twice in old habit, and waited until the indicators all showed cryogenic success and stability.

“The other side,” Sloane echoed—and the advent of her real work.

Rubbing the lingering effects of the previous evening from her temples, she began her own final inspection. For whatever reason known to whoever designed the procedure, Director Kelly had wound up with the strange honor of being the last awake.

It was up to her to declare the station safe to fly. A ceremonial gesture, she reminded herself, but that little excited portion of her brain also reminded her that she wielded the power to stop it all. If anything at all was amiss, she could put the whole thing on lockdown.

That meant something, didn’t it?

“Not that anything could go wrong,” she said aloud as she walked the long, echoing corridors. The place was built by the top minds in the whole galaxy. Everything down to the last wire was the end product of countless hours of genius. If something went wrong now, it’d have to be an act of some pissed-off god.

Sloane didn’t believe in gods. Or in dodging procedure. Not when it was this big, the stakes this high. The final walk was one of the few items on the departure checklist at which she hadn’t rolled her eyes.

In truth she’d been looking forward to this ever since the plan had been made. A few hours of blissful silence and solitude to roam the halls of the station—her station. The place she’d sworn to protect and shepherd on its great mission. The place for which she’d given up her life in the Milky Way.

Granted she hadn’t left much behind. Not really. No family, no responsibilities beyond that which she’d earned with the Alliance. There were pioneers who had given up much, much more. When it really came down to it, Sloane was only really leaving behind baggage.

A galaxy’s worth of it. Old scars. Enemies made across old battle lines, and subsequent grudges lobbed diplomatically across political tables. Idiot officers far more concerned about the shine on the medals earned on the back of dead soldiers…

The old, familiar anger welled in the back of Sloane’s mind. She gritted her teeth and shook her head again, which mostly served to set her hangover back into swing.

Enough was enough. She’d landed the best job in the entire galaxy—soon to be two galaxies. She had the chance to make it right, and right now. Though even that was jumping ahead. First, the journey. Then the time for change. Which sounded a hell of a lot better to her than the poor suckers left tangled in the Milky Way’s red tape.

Sloane went through her checklist with unwavering attention to detail. She didn’t care if it took her six hours or six days, she would make damn sure every last door was closed and locked, every supply crate was properly stowed, and no nefarious “rogue elements” were hiding in the air vents.

Mostly, this meant a lot of walking. Which meant the perfect time to pull up Garson’s speech on her omni-tool. The speech, much like the woman herself, had zero preamble.

“Tomorrow we make the greatest sacrifice we have ever—or will ever—make,” Garson began. Bold words, and confident as hell. “At the same time, we also begin the greatest adventure of our lives.”

Sloane agreed with that. The lure of the unknown wasn’t her drug of choice, but she appreciated the excitement.

“Many have weighed in. The gossip, the media coverage, even threats, have had more than enough to say.” She spread her hands, as if she could hold the weight of all the thousands of hours of committees she’d attended. “Some claim this plan is nothing more than an attempt to flee the galaxy we helped shape, taking our very expensive toys—” Her eyebrows lifted.

Sloane chuckled.

“—and going somewhere else to play. Others decry our mission as the most expensive insurance policy known to any sentient species.”

Sloane would’ve been happy to punch out this metaphorical they. Instead, she had to settle for muttering a terse epithet, and continued on her path. At least there was no one to hear her talking to her omni-tool.

“The message I left with the Hyperion is similar to the one I’m saying to you now. You are about to embark on a journey unlike anything ever attempted before. And make no mistake…”

The holographic Garson paused, looked into the camera for a long moment. Sloane’s step faltered as she watched. She felt a chill run up her spine, crawl across her scalp. In that deliberate pause it felt as if Jien Garson stared right at her.

Focused on her. Really saw her.

Her and the thousands of pioneers like her.

“This is a one-way trip. What all those politicians, naysayers and threats don’t understand is that we are here, together, because we believe in something they don’t. We put our effort and our faith into something those people can’t imagine, can’t even begin to understand. In other words, they,” Garson said flatly, “are wrong.”

Sloane nodded. Firmly. Hell to the yes.

“The circumstances that have led to the creation of this magnificent station are vast and varied, that much is true. We all know some of these reasons.” But with this, Garson smiled faintly. Reassuring or rueful, Sloane couldn’t tell. “None of us can know them all, not even me. Yet they are only part of the equation. You and I,” she said, gesturing to Sloane—to the audience, “are the other part.”

Sloane found herself nodding again. Silently shouting another hell yes! She was another part. A big part. Sloane had plans. Ideas. And Garson had already made it clear she liked that. A new way for a new hope, right?

“Each and every one of us has our own reasons for volunteering to go,” she continued, “and those too are legion. Some of us feel a sense of duty. Some of us do indeed fear what the future has in store for the Milky Way. We flee our past, we seek a future. We wish to begin anew. We crave the unexplored wonders that no doubt will reshape all that we know.” Garson smiled, encouraging. Warm. “All equally valid, in my estimation—but that’s not important here. What is important as we depart, what I want to be sure you all know as you prepare to cross this ocean of time and space, is this…” She held her breath a moment.

Sloane couldn’t help but admire the woman’s skill, especially compared to her own. Sloane’s speeches tended to be short and to the point. Things like get it done or put them down. Things you could say fast and on the ground.

But the camera loved Jien Garson. Her force of will, her trust, radiated out through every pore. “None of those reasons,” Garson said plainly, direct and without so much as a shred of humility, “matter anymore. Not for us. What matters now, for you and me, is what we do when we arrive. Who we become, and how we carry ourselves in Andromeda.”

Sloane halted as she stared at the image. Yes. Yes! Garson got it. More than she’d ever hoped, the Initiative leader got it.

“We journey in one of the most incredible marvels our species have ever created,” the founder reminded them, “built in a spirit of a cooperation that is without precedence in our galactic history. We carry with us, collectively, centuries of culture, millennia of government, beliefs, of languages and art, incredible knowledge, and incredible sciences. Hard-won things, the result of endless work, unfathomable suffering and, most importantly, the efforts of countless billions of sentient beings over millennia and across dozens of worlds.

“We carry all these things like the honed tools of an artist, to our great empty canvas. To Andromeda.” Garson’s hands came together. “We go,” she said intently, “to paint our masterpiece.”

Sloane leaned against the wall, staggered by the power of the woman’s words. Just words, and yet Sloane knew without a shred of doubt that if Garson commanded her to stride into hell, Sloane would. In a heartbeat. Because that was Garson’s strength, she thought.

People. Knowing them. What moved them.

What they hoped for.

Garson allowed a moment, then once again fixed her deep, knowing gaze straight ahead. “So I say to you now what Pathfinder Alec Ryder just said to me.” Her smile, Sloane thought, could power Ilium. Another oratory skill Sloane had never bothered with. Why should she, when people like Garson had that on lockdown?

“I will see you all on the other side.” A pause, and the light caught the high shape of her cheekbones as her grin deepened. “When the real work can begin.”

The recording ended. Silence descended in its wake, heavy as fog and still as ice. It was cold in the halls, and would be for another six hundred years. But Sloane? She didn’t feel the cold.

She’d been a soldier for a long time—her whole life, really. She’d witnessed speeches made to celebrate victories, others intoned to condemn atrocities. War had been her path for so long, the life of a soldier her only way, that she’d forgotten what a speech about hope could do to the brain. A new start, huh?

Sloane shook her head, laughed aloud. It rolled back at her from a thousand echoes in the barren corridor. “Andromeda,” she said aloud, trying the word out. Andromeda, the echoes whispered back.

The other side.

She stood there, leaning against one bulkhead out of a million, not even really sure exactly where she was, and took that moment to feel the ship. Listened to it breathe in its own mechanical way. The whirr of systems engaged and ready, the constant dry whisper of circulated air. That one would stop soon enough—there was no need to waste the power when nobody needed the air.

Next, Sloane would sleep. For hundreds of years. Across that eternity of cold nothingness, the Nexus would reach its destination guided by meticulous programming.

Sloane pushed away from the bulkhead and continued her rounds. She passed through the hydroponics farm, the machine shops and the archives, the sterile places that would become the great plazas once the station unfolded into place. Over there would be the cultural offices, and her own security headquarters—the best, she thought with fierce determination, there ever was.

She made sure everything was where it should be, and as it turned out, everything was. It was perfect.

The Nexus was perfect.

Sloane checked a box, and the station lit its engines and set off. Simple as that. So smooth, she barely felt anything. She grinned, pleased with the ease of it all, and returned to crew storage to shed her omni-tool, stow her gear, and prep for her own cryo. Soon enough, she returned to cryostasis chamber 441. The small room was one among countless others on the Nexus, each identical to the last. Eight pods, a surgical couch for post-revival certification, terminals, and little else.

This was it. The final step.

Sloane lowered herself into her stasis pod, and found herself adjusting her uniform. The same way Garson had. With a sudden snort, she gave up and pulled the hatch closed.

“Cryostasis procedures logged,” a mechanized voice said. “Rest well, pioneer.”

Naptime, huh? Smiling, Sloane closed her eyes.

Within minutes, she—and everyone aboard—slept.