Mass Effect: Andromeda — Nexus Uprising

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Frustration burned inside Calix’s gut.

It had been two weeks since Irida had been arrested. Two weeks of scrutiny as Sloane Kelly and her team scoured everything, physical and electronic, trying to discover if she had shared the bulkhead codes with anyone.

Of course, Calix felt responsible. In the note she left with the stolen database, Irida had justified it as “doing her part to mind the rations.” She had gone too far, too fast, but as the days progressed…

Calix had yet to tell his team why Irida had been locked up. They asked, daily, but he just said he knew as much as they did. Claimed Sloane had told him only that the woman had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and they were holding her for questioning. That wore thin each day this went on, but if he told them the truth they might get similar ideas of how to help.

Things were bad and getting worse by the moment. Everybody walked around like they expected to be jumped—by security, by the krogan, by their own friends and comrades. Fights had started breaking out between teammates. Things went missing constantly.

His own team had started hoarding. Turian rations, human rations. Tools. Sneaking whatever they could, whenever they could get it. Calix pretended not to see, and his team saw him pretending not to see. He realized that they took it as tacit approval.

Meanwhile, Irida waited in a cell. For his help? For rescue?

For… change.

Calix sat on the corner of an appropriated metal crate, watching the krogan work on a heavily damaged hydroponics bay. The finesse technicians had already come and gone, only to report an issue in the structural integrity of the space itself. The seedlings were too fragile to flourish in anything less than optimal conditions.

That left them with two mostly functional bays, and that wouldn’t put a dent in ration concerns. Especially since—to his critical eye—one looked much less healthy than the other.

The krogan—Nakmor grunts Kaje and Wratch, respectively—worked in tandem. The curses they threw at each other seemed more like encouragement than anger, though rivalry was always a factor in krogan communications.

“You weld like a drunk vorcha,” Kaje grunted.

The other krogan snorted long and loud. “At least I don’t look like one.”

“Said who? Your human buddy?”

“Said your mother,” Wratch replied.

The bantering went back and forth like this with no regard for Calix’s presence, and he chuckled softly. He appreciated that. Nice to sit in the gloom and just be for a while. Pockets like this were becoming exceedingly rare.

His chuckle caught Wratch’s attention. The big krogan slammed a metal bar hard against the panel, holding it easily with one hand while he glowered across the gloomy distance.

“What’s so funny?” he growled. They always growled. He didn’t take it personally.

“Just enjoying the company, fellas.”

Kaje’s omni-tool glowed as the welder activated, searing off any chance at conversation while the metal sizzled and fused. Once done, he glanced over, too.

“You’re engineering, yeah?” His voice was no less grumbly—big krogan throats led to deep voices, even in the rare women Calix had known of—but of a sharper pitch. Like a supersized rotary drill. Embedded in granite.

“Life support and stasis pods,” Calix said. He braced a hand on his thigh, elbow out, and strengthened his balance with a foot against the crate. It gave him a clearer view of both of the technicians.

“He makes sure the clan leader stays asleep,” Wratch added to his partner. The other krogan grunted what Calix assumed to be thanks. Or just acknowledgement. Either way, not a threat. “Sent the appetiz—” The krogan paused. Then, grimly, “The salarian worked with him.”

“Right.” Another nod, this one, Calix felt, for Na’to. And Nakmor Arvex.

“You both seem to be in good spirits,” Calix said thoughtfully. “Given everything.”

“Scarce food and a barren environment, right?” Kaje chuckled, the sound like boulders grating. “Just like home.” Another clang rang out over the large bay, echoing back from the gloom. He grinned a very, very wide and toothy grin over the paneling he worked to replace.

Wratch echoed the mirth, and Calix couldn’t help joining in the laughter. They had a point. “At least we should hear from the scouts soon,” he said.

The krogan exchanged heavy glances.

“Uh-oh,” Kaje rumbled.

“Uh-oh,” echoed the other. Wratch looked back at him, bracing his folded arms on the bar that had been welded in place. “You don’t know, do you?”

Calix went very still on the crate. “Know? Know what?” The worry festering in his gut froze around the edges.

Kaje slugged Wratch in the arm. Hard.

“They’re keeping it secret, idiot.”

Wratch shrugged off the blow, snapping once in irritation, and looked back at Calix.

“Scouts already came back.”

“What?! When?”

“Most, anyway,” Kaje corrected.

“When?” Calix repeated. He could feel the muscles tightening in his mandibles.

Both krogan shrugged in mountainous tandem. “Few weeks.”

For a moment, Calix couldn’t even find the words. Couldn’t settle on any one feeling. Shock. Anger. Betrayal.

The krogan didn’t notice. “Heard it from Botcha,” Kaje continued. He walked out from around the dark bay, stretching out his big, gnarled hands. His hide crinkled with every move. “Botcha was up in Operations repairing an inverter when the news came.”

“What news?” Calix demanded. It took all he had to keep from launching off that crate and shaking—trying to shake—the krogan. Both of them.

“No planets,” Wratch grunted as he punched the metal paneling lightly. It gonged. “No supplies.”

“The Scourge destroyed ’em,” Kaje added.

“Deader’n Tuchanka.”

“Almost.”

“Yeah. No turians.”

“Yet.”

The two exchanged another look and burst out laughing.

Calix couldn’t join in on the joke—not this time. No supplies were coming. No scouts bringing good news.

“And the Pathfinders?”

Kaje gave a hefty shrug. “No sign of ’em.”

No sign of the Pathfinders. They knew this, and yet the leadership was sitting on it. Toeing the same line they had since day one. The scouts will return, the supplies will be restocked, the planets will be terraformed…

Lies. All of it. Maybe not initially, but at least a couple of weeks’ worth.

The krogan were still bantering when Calix, numb with betrayal, unfolded from the crate and left hydroponics.

Hydroponics, where two tanks of algae had taken root. One looked ready to fail. While that was worrisome enough, the leadership kept on telling them all that hydroponics would flourish once they had colonial resources to supplement it. That the scouts would bring back new seeds, new hope for fertile ground.

Without those resources, the Nexus was back to two functional hydroponic bays. Just two. That wasn’t enough to feed a single department, much less the number of active people on the station. Priorities had to be re-shifted, information had to be disseminated. How else were they expected to survive?

None of this made any sense. And how badly did I misjudge Sloane Kelly?

Calix accessed his omni-tool and almost called her. Almost. He sent a short message instead. “Any news from the scouts?”

The reply came less than twenty seconds later.

“Nothing,” was all it said.

He stared at the word for a long time, simmering anger building to rage. A blatant lie, assuming these two krogan could be trusted, but he saw no reason why they would make such a story up.

So the leadership was sitting on the news. Even Sloane, whom he’d imagined to be better than this. For weeks they’d known, and said nothing. Which meant…

His fury drove him back to engineering in record time. “Gather up,” he said, stepping over his team’s greetings. The lash in his voice had them jumping to obey. Not because they were afraid of him, he understood. Because they knew him.

Calix didn’t rattle. Not easily.

The snap in his voice, tension in his demeanor, was all they needed to know something was up. In a matter of moments they’d put their work on hold and came to stand around their boss, each in a different stage of curiosity. As Calix surveyed the faces of his crew—many friends as well as subordinates—a pang of regret struck him at Irida’s absence.

She’d been with him longer than most. Dedicated, skilled. Loyal. Had she seen this coming? Is that why she’d given him that data?

Irida had always been good at planning for this sort of stuff. She had been the first to smell the cover-up by the captain of the Warsaw. Maybe it came with asari intelligence. Maybe she just had a more realistic view of people than he did. Either way, Calix had what she’d given him.

And a crew ready to hear him speak.

Calix wouldn’t let them down.

“You all know what kind of things we’re dealing with,” he began. “The situation here aboard the Nexus.” His hands clasped behind his back, and in unconscious mimicry, much of his team did the same. Alliance and military training. Even contractors picked it up, if they stuck around long enough.

Nnebron’s brow furrowed.

Smart one. Like Irida, but with less tact.

“Rations are tight,” Calix continued. Nods peppered the team. “The station is in need of more repairs than it has crew to repair her.” More nods, a few emphatic grunts. “Whenever we ask for updates, we get the same song and dance we always have.” Calix met the eyes of his crew as he listed them off. “Scouts will return soon with planet coordinates. Rations will lift. The Pathfinders will find us. Just work a little harder, a little longer, and everything will turn out fine.

“New homes,” he added as he turned and paced to the edge of the team. “New food and resources. A chance to create that new life we’ve all been promised. Away from the prejudices and the disasters of the old worlds from which we came.”

The world they’d left behind. Six hundred years in the dust.

Calix had to take a moment, rest a hand on Nnebron’s shoulder and swallow the pang of homesickness he didn’t know he’d carried until he saw it in the faces of his team. His friends. His mandibles moved. He paused. Then said the words nobody had wanted to say.

“We all know what we left,” he said quietly. “The kind of crap that happened on the Warsaw.” Nnebron nodded at that, his mouth a thin line. “Leaders who order us to try and cover up their mistakes, or worse, withhold the truth from us and let us toil while they plan an escape.”

Eyes widened. Calix nodded. “We thought Andromeda would be different. That we’d be leaving that kind of thing behind. And then we lost Na’to.”

“Boss?” Nnebron took a step forward. His dark eyes spoke volumes, echoing the uncertainty in every face. “What’s this about? Is it Irida?”

He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.

“Secrets,” he said, enunciating every syllable, “plague the Nexus leadership. Like a drug, a habit they can’t break.” He opened his eyes. Met the stares of his team, and made the call he knew he could never take back. “They told us we’d have new planets.” His hands clenched. “It’s false. They’ve known for weeks that the planets around us are dead.”

Andria paled.

“Wait, dead?”

He nodded. Andria had been there when Na’to died. Reg and she both had taken time off to get it together.

Reg came back first.

Andria’s tone earned an instant and total state of focus from the entire group. Her question echoed through them all.

“Dead,” Calix confirmed. “Torn apart by the same Scourge that nearly took us.”

She flinched, half-turning to hide the worry in her face. Nnebron put a hand on her shoulder.

“They lied,” Nnebron said blankly, then he swore.

“Weeks?” Andria whispered, and she looked at Calix. Her freckles had almost paled out. “They’ve known for weeks?”

“So it seems.”

She blew out a hard breath and jammed her hands in the pockets of her pants. “I don’t—I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” Nnebron said bitterly. He turned to the rest of the team, his slim back to Calix, and gestured expansively. “How long have we been working down here, eating every word they sent us? Like we were some kind of orphans begging for scraps.” His voice rose, the anger growing. “We’re part of the Nexus, too!”

“Nnebron, nobody is saying we don’t exist.” Calix tilted his head. “Only that—”

“Only that we’re not important,” Andria cut in, her pallor replaced by an angry flush. Calix knew then he couldn’t let her down. Couldn’t let any of them down.

“The planets aren’t going to save us,” he added, raising his own voice, “nor the Pathfinders. We need new plans, friends. New contingencies. New directions—”

“And new leaders!”

Who said it, he didn’t see, but the words started a fire. Andria darted around Nnebron to grab Calix by the arm. Her grip bit.

“How long?” she demanded. “Until the supplies run out? Will they let us starve?”

Whoa. He hadn’t expected this to move quite that fast. Calix covered her hand with his free one, pressing her fingers against his arm in what he hoped was a firm, comforting method. He had a hard time gauging human comfort, sometimes.

“Easy,” he said, trying for soothing. “We aren’t going to starve.”

“No way the boss would let us starve,” Nnebron added.

“Yeah… Hey, yeah!” The others started to nod. To look Calix’s way. To… to almost vibrate. The tension was palpable.

“Plans,” one repeated. “Priorities… we need to lock down supplies.”

“We need to spread the word!”

Andria stared, her gaze pleading. “We can’t let everyone else starve. What about Reg? Emory? Some of us have friends out there…”

“We won’t.” He said the words before he could fully weigh them. Saw them take hold in her features, create a vortex of confidence he’d never known he could inspire. Suddenly his crew surrounded him, all reaching out to touch his shoulder, his arm. Pats of confidence, of pride.

Of support.

“Irida needs to be freed,” he heard.

From someone else, “We need to secure the rations!”

“What about security?”

“Screw them,” someone jeered.

It spun around and around him, a heady mix of anger and relief and confidence. All because of him. They looked at him as a leader. Calix’s shoulders squared. He squeezed Andria’s hand, then stepped back far enough that he could see them all in his field of view.

“First things first,” he said, loudly enough to cut through the voices. They all went silent. Watching. Listening.

Really listening.

Heady stuff, that power.

He summoned every ounce of meritocratic confidence he never knew he possessed. But instead of laying down his orders and forcing them to obey, he met them as equals.

As friends.

He spread his hands. “We need a plan.”

Nnebron’s grin stretched ear-to-ear. “I think we can help you there, boss.”