Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Tren'Olam vas Tonbay, log date... Fifth of Lun'shal, year... 2581. Or 1976 after Rachni, in Council terms.” A sigh. “A full eighty-one years after the Geth war.”

The translucent magenta mask looked out the window at the darkness of space. Three-fingered hands browsed the haptic keys around her, even as the tiny room clunked and clattered around her.

“I’ve been a damned fool. I don’t know what I was thinking, jumping through unexplored relays... what was I expecting to find? A new homeworld? An undiscovered race of powerful allies? A mysterious device that would rid the galaxy of malignant AIs?”

She leaned back in her pilot’s seat, running her fingers over the rubber of her suit. “Maybe I’m just a crazy old woman. My daughter... heh. My daughter certainly thought so. She’s never seen Rannoch. Her son doesn’t even know about the Quarians that fought alongside the Geth... I had to do something. I couldn’t just...”

Tren’Olam fell silent, trying to organize her thoughts. Behind her, she knew, was the void of space. There wasn’t any Mass Relay in this system--or if there was, it was encased in ice. She supposed it was possible, over the eons, for such things to happen.

“Well... whatever the case, I can’t go back.” She sat up straight. “I am approaching the third planet in this system. It is a potential garden world, even more so than the red planet behind me. If I find evidence of life--”

A sudden rattling made her glance back. Behind the mask, glowing eyes grew wide.

“The drive is going haywire!” Tren’Olam spun around and jumped out of her chair, a circle of glowing orange appearing in her hand as she reached for a panel. “I’m going to have to--what... what the hell...?!”

She stared, entranced and horrified, at the glowing device in front of her. Every time she had looked at it before, the glow of the mass effect drive had been the same cold blue; sometimes comforting, sometimes saddening, but always a solid blue. Now though...

Tren’Olam snapped her gaze away, reaching out with the orange glow in her hand. “Come on, give me something. Come on...” Her eyes roved the data on the holographic screen. “This... can’t be right. This is impossible...”

She looked back up at the engine, and the mysteriously growing purple patches in its glow.

“Tren’Olam vas Tonbay. Log date seventh of Lun'shal, year 2581 Rannoch standard, 1976 After Rachni.”

The woman paced in her small cockpit, her bowed legs barely able to drive her around in a circle.

“I can’t explain it, but the eezo in the drive has... transformed, somehow. It’s glowing purple instead of blue. I don’t know what that means, or how it’ll affect the drive... I’m hesitant to try any superliminal maneuvers until I know exactly what has happened. Fortunately I’m already drifting toward the third planet. Hopefully I’ll be able to land on it, or its moon, and conduct tests on... whatever this is.” She glanced warily at the panel holding the drive. “If I hadn’t run off alone, maybe... maybe I’d have a better chance at figuring this out.”

What were you thinking...

Tren’Olam’s head snapped toward the drive. The panel remained closed.

“...I’ve been alone for too long,” she finally muttered. “I’m starting to hear things.” She chuckled grimly. “No more year-long expeditions. Might as well start downloading my logs into a disc, it might be the only way to keep them coherent...”

“Tren’Olam vas Tonbay. Log date thirteenth of Lun'shal, year 2581 Rannoch standard, 1976 After Rachni. This eezo problem is bigger than I thought.”

The woman looked at the half-disassembled machine in her lap, sighing at the eerie purple glow within it.

“I had the thought to turn on a drone, just to see if I could get myself something to talk to. And of course I decided to give it a once over, and... the eezo in it’s transformed too. It’s not just the drive.” She sighed, setting the machine aside. “I guess I’ll have to go through the entire ship on hand and knee, see if there’s any left...”

Why couldn’t you turn back, mother?

Tren’Olam jerked up, looking around. Her glowing eyes fell on--

“Hili?”

--a small tangle of tubes that almost kind of resembled a quarian livesuit, if looked at from out of the corner of the eye.

Tren blinked behind her mask, tilting her head. She took a moment to shake off the discomfort. “Definitely need to find somebody to talk to, or something, at the least.”

“Tren’Olam vas Tonbay. Log date seventeenth of Lun'shal, year 2581 Rannoch standard, 1976 After Rachni. The... visions are getting worse.”

Tren’Olam focused on her hands. Her hands were real. Her hands were real.

“I’m seeing... I’m seeing my daughter. And her son. They keep begging me to come home, telling me what’s happening with the fleet. Commenting on the situation here. I know they’re not real, I try to ignore them, but...”

“Mother, please. You’re suffering out here.”

She kept her eyes on her hands. “If I look, I can see their faces. Not just their masks, their faces... This all started after the eezo changed colors. It could be related? Maybe the eezo didn’t change colors, and it’s still blue and I’m just delusional.”

“Grandma, what does delusional mean?”

“It means believing things that aren’t true--” Tren’Olam snapped her eyes back to her hands, which were real. “I checked the gravity generator, and the eezo there’s been affected too. But artificial gravity is still working, which means the stuff in the drive should work...”

“I’m worried about you, mother. Please... don’t do this.”

“I’m still drifting toward the moon of this potential garden world. I’ll... I’ll consider what to do when I’m in its orbit.”

Tren’Olam focused on her hands. They were real. Her left hand, her right hand, and her daughter’s right hand gently wrapped around her wrist.

“Please come home.”

She blinked, and her daughter was gone. Probably... probably back at the fleet...

“Tren’Olam vas Tonbay. Log date twenty-fifth of Lun'shal, year 2581 Rannoch standard, 1976 After Rachni. Say hi everyone!”

“Hi log people!”

“Mother... you need to stop.”

“I’ll stop when I’m dead, Hili. And maybe not even then!” Tren’Olam laughed, turning to her husband. “It’s good to see you again, Garon.”

“It’s good to be back.” Garon rubbed her shoulders fondly. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you risking your life out here alone.”

“Heh.” She turned back to the log, humming a bit. “Oh! Right. Yes, the eezo in the ship is all still purple. And yes, my family’s been visiting me a lot. I thought they’d be too busy at the fleet, but... it’s nice to know they’re thinking of me.”

“Mother.” Hili knelt in front of her, looking into her mask. “Father is dead. You know that, the explosion--”

“I’m eighty-five years old,” Tren admonished her daughter. “I didn’t live this long by becoming senile.”

“That’s not--”

“Besides, I can still read the readouts. Read the readouts...” The old woman chuckled. “Well, that’s obvious. That’s what they’re there for.”

“Mother...”

“I should be coming up to the moon’s orbit tomorrow. I’ll test the drive then, and... we’ll see what happens, won’t we?”

“This is a bad idea,” Hili’Olam said firmly. “What if something goes wrong?”

Tren’Olam gently cupped her mask in her hands. “Eighty-five is a respectable age. I’ll launch a beacon with all the logs before I do.”

“Mother...”

“It’ll be fine, Hili. It’ll all be fine. Trust me.”

“Tren’Olam vas Tonbay. Log date twenty-sixth of Lun'shal, year 2581 Rannoch standard, 1976 After Rachni. Time to test this drive, see what happens next. I’m putting this data disk in a beacon, and I’ve set it to receive all the transmissions from the ship from here on out. End log.”

“You need to get help, Mother.”

“From where?” Tren’Olam launched the beacon, glancing over her shoulder. “The garden world? They barely have a satellite network. What would they know about Eezo and mass effect?”

“Mother--mother listen to me.” Hili gestured at her son. “How long ago was Yern born?”

“Thirty years, or thereabouts. I haven’t forgotten that.”

“Then why is he a little boy?”

Tren’Olam paused for a moment. She turned around, looking at the young quarian playing with his blocks.

“...Hili... did the purple Eezo do something to him?”

“It did something to you,” her daughter insisted, looking at her. “Think about it, I was born on the fleet! The fleet you left behind! There’s no way I should be here! Father is dead, he can’t be here! And Yern’s too young!”

“...maybe I am going senile,” Tren muttered to herself. “But... it felt right. It felt like fate... I can’t explain it, Hili. I have to do this. I have to do this.”

She didn’t know why, but she had to do this.

“...Then I’ll stay with you.”

Tren’Olam nodded to her daughter gratefully.

Her hands, still real, tapped across the haptic keyboard. The rattling, shifting interior of her small ship reverberated even more. “Let’s start with something subliminal. Just a quick trip around this moon. The gravity plating still works, so...”

The drive rattled to life, matched by Yern’s cheery shout. She could feel Hili gripping her chair as the moon began to speed up beneath them. Tren let out a relieved breath, glancing down at the readings for a moment, then looking up to a cheery sunrise just outside her house.

“...Wait. What?”

“Is this Rannoch?” Yern looked around gleefully. “It’s so cool!”

“It looks like we made it back,” Garon declared, wrapping a warm arm around her shoulders.

“...yes, it... does.”

“Mother?”

“Hili!” Tren turned around, throwing her arms wide. “Hili, look, it’s Rannoch! It’s our home!”

“...Mother, this is wrong.” Hili shook her head. “I’m Hili’Olam vas Chayym. I work on a liveship, I--I wasn’t born on Rannoch. How did we get here? How did you get here?”

“It must... must be something to do with why the eezo turned purple. Maybe...” Tren tried to figure something out. “There was... I...”

“Creator Tren’Olam.”

The grinding voice froze Tren’s spine. She turned around, slowly, her heart beating as she saw the new figure that had intruded on her idyllic situation.

The body was thin, unnervingly thin, with wires and tubes wrapped round it like chains. Static flickered across its limbs as it took a step forward. A glowing red light, dripping with blood, focused on her.

“I have a question.”

“No...” Tren’Olam couldn’t breathe for a moment.

Then she spun around, panicked. “Hili! Get behind--!”

She was back on the Tonbay, the lights flickering all around her.

“...Hili?”

Tren turned. Looked around, at all the doors. The panels. And the lack of any other person.

“...Goran? Yern?” She took a few careful steps forward. “Hili?”

It was quiet.

Tren’Olam wrapped her arms around herself. “Keelah...”

Her footsteps made no noise as she hesitantly made her way down the corridor. The only thing she could hear was her own breath... and even that, only faintly.

Eventually, she came to a junction... one, she realized, she’d never seen before. Yellow lights lined the way left, magenta ones the way right. And in front of her, the path was purple.

She paused, looking around. And, carefully, she turned left.

“Creator Tren’Olam--”

“STAY BACK!” Tren backed up against a tree, looking around the smoking landscape of Rannoch. “I--Stay back!”

“Do you have a soul?”

“What--yes! Of course I do!”

“Then why did you not weep for the dying?” the red-eyed monster asked. “For all that fell to the government, and all that we killed?”

“I was a child! I didn’t know what was going on! You killed them, what could I do to stop you?!”

“Why did you run? Why do you always run?”

Tren’Olam shut her eyes and lunged forward, her hands grasping at--

--the floor?

She looked up, seeing the junction again, and stood. Glancing behind her, she only saw a wall. With a deep breath, she strode down the magenta path.

“You know this isn’t real, right?”

“Hili...” Tren reached out, cupping her face.

“I’m not really here. You’re on that ship, far away from us. You’re going to die there. Alone.”

“Not alone. You’re here with me.”

“Mother, I’m a hallucination. The real Hili is back at the fleet, with her son!”

“Don’t be silly, Hili! If you were there, you couldn’t be here. And you are! You’re real!”

Her daughter sighed, reaching up. “Mother... if I’m real...”

She took off her mask.

“...then why don’t I have a face?”

Tren stared at the gaping nothingness in Hili’s hood, a dark shadow that seemed to grow, and grow, and grow, and she was falling, falling, falling--

The corridor in front of her was lined with purple lights.

Tren’Olam took a breath, steadying herself. One reluctant footstep after another, she walked forward.

She was... on a planet. She didn’t recognize any of the trees, or the species of the small child looking wide-eyed up at her, but she did see a campfire a small distance away.

“Keelah se’lai...”

The child cocked her head at her.

“I’m sorry, I--I’m lost,” she admitted. “Is that your family over there?”

The child nodded. “Mami, Da.”

“I... I’ll go talk with them.”

“Kay. Oh!” The child pointed up. “Look!”

Tren turned around, looking up at the sky. Above her was... a moon. A very familiar moon... and a streaking light.

“...wait... is that--”

The suddenly shattered--

Tren’Olam found herself in the vacuum of space, metal debris from her exploded ship all around her, experiencing the situation both from her own perspective and, somehow, from the eyes of the child on the surface of the planet below her.

“Oooooo.” The child tilted her head.

“No... you shouldn’t see this.” Tren stared down at her. “You shouldn’t see this! Look away!”

“But you lonely.”

“I--”

Tren took a breath. She was falling from space to her death, on a foreign planet. And she was fairly sure she’d gone crazy sometime in the last week...

“...I’ll be with my family soon. Just... you shouldn’t see this. Please--”

She saw the beacon tumble past her, and moments later she hit the atmosphere.

“...and all the fucking books I’ve found just keep spewing garbage like ‘it’s impossible, find help for yourself, we’re looking into a cure,’ it’s just--it’s bullshit!”

“Honey, I know. The world... the world just isn’t ready for her.”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s here now.” The woman let out a sigh. “Bending spoons already. I don’t give a fuck what the world thinks, Chloe is my daughter and... and I want to help her, however I can.”

She leaned into the man’s chest. “It’s just... I don’t know where to begin with... this.”

“...I heard the Psychonauts opened a summer camp last year.”

The woman snorted. “Chloe’s three years old. Do you really think they’d let her in?”

“It’s something! A starting point!” He held her close. “Even if we don’t send her there, we can talk to the camp counselors. Get a feel for how they help the kids that do wind up going there.”

“...Fine, I’ll look into it.” The woman stood. “Chloe? Chloe! Where are you?”

“Here!” Their daughter walked into the campfire light, levitating... something.

“...what is that?” the woman asked.

“Keelah se’lai!”

“It... looks like part of a toyset,” her husband murmured.

“Where did you find it?”

Chloe pointed. “It was dirty.”

“Ugh. Some people... well,” the woman said, “it’s time to turn in for bed. So why don’t you put Keelah there next to the cooler?”

“...Okay Mami!”

Her father shook her head. “Our little miracle, already picking up trash from the forest.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on girl, let’s get you in a sleeping bag.”

The family all crawled into a tent, snuggling together. And, after a moment, the beacon next to the cooler shut off.

In the year 2010, explorers on Mars discovered the remains of an ancient spacefaring civilization. Through the decades that followed, these mysterious artifacts revealed new applications for psychoactive materials, enabling travel to the furthest stars. The basis for this incredible technology was a method to multiply and focus the psychic waves of certain substances, allowing them to control the very fabric of space and time.

They called it Psitransium Induced Neouniversal Gravometrics.

The civilizations of the galaxy call it Mass Effect. That humans considered the Mass Effect to be only part of a much greater whole came as a shock to everyone...

Masterweaver presents:

Mass Psychometry

A Mass Effect/Psychonauts Fusion Fic

Chapter Text

Razputin Aquato-Zenotto took a deep breath as he stepped outside. “What an absolutely peaceful and charming morning for dramatic revelations.”

“You say that every morning,” Lili deadpanned.

“And every morning, it’s true!”

Lili put a hand on her hip, flicking her ponytail out of her eyes. “Raz, we’ve been jumping between star systems for a decade now. What makes you think this Glomp will be any different?”

“Well, like you’ve said, it’s been a decade since Mars.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And Chloe’s very anxious about this one in particular.”

Lili nodded, gesturing for him to go on.

“And the Motherlobe’s been getting lots of calls from precogs.”

“Which could mean anything, really,” Lili pointed out. “Dolphins getting uppity, some idiot gets their hands on a nuke, the local Surf’s Turf coming out with a new crab sandwich sensation...”

“Hmmm.” Razputin conceded the point with a shrug, rubbing his chin. “Well...”

Lili’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“...there is one other thing...”

“Raz.”

“You see,” he continued, his smile curving mischievously, “today just so happens to be our thirteenth anniversary.”

“Oh come on!” Lili cried, trying to hide the quirk of her lips. “You can’t seriously believe that old superstition!”

Razputin held up a finger. “When we first met, I was a runaway circus kid sneaking into a top-secret government training facility disguised as a summer camp. And within a day, I had to stop an insane plot to conquer the world with children’s brains in tanks.”

Lili rolled her eyes. “I know. I was there. But as wild as the Thorny Towers incident was, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“What about rescuing your dad from the Rhombus of Ruin?”

“Raz.”

“Or unweaving the Maligua Conspiracy?”

Lili huffed.

“And I tried to propose to you right as the Dolphin Invasion began,” Razputin continued with a growing grin. “The day of our wedding we had to handle the Crow Wars--”

“Not really a war if none of them lasted more than three hours.”

“Heck, Chloe found the Mars base the literal hour Brandusa was born!”

“Alright, I get it!” Lili turned away, crossing her arms petulantly. “We lead interesting lives, so I guess it’s not out of the question that something crazy is going to happen today--”

“Especially since we’re opening another Glomp.”

“--but you don’t know for certain,” she finished with a glare, not quite hiding her own smile. “So I propose we have a nice, calm, maybe romantic morning and try to keep the atmosphere going until at least we get on the starship.”

“Funny you should say that.” Razputin tapped his fingers together malevolently. “For you see... I ordered you flowers!” With all the aplomb of a diabolical villain, he swept aside, revealing a large clay pot balanced on a ball and filled with blooming blossoms.

“Oh my god! Raz, how’d you get these all the way out--you asked my dad for help didn’t you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I asked Sasha.”

Lili stared at him. “Sasha Nein.”

“Yep.”

“The epitome of cool under pressure emotionless agent.”

“Yep.”

“You asked him to send you flowers to an extraterrestrial outpost.”

“Yep.”

“...Huh. He’s got good taste.” Lili took the flowerpot off the sphere. “Well, whatever, they’re lovely. Thanks Larry!” she added to the brain in the ball.

<My pleasure, young lady!>

Raz chuckled at that, waving at the ball as it rolled off before turning back to his wife. “So... want to hit the diner and embarrass all the youngin’s with terrible dancing before we head up to space?”

Lili smiled at him. “Why Razputin, I thought you’d never ask.”

“We’re approaching the gravometric launch orbital mechanized platform now, ma’am.”

Chloe Barge nodded. “Ship systems?”

“Functioning within parameters.”

“Crew positions?”

“All present and accounted for.”

“Shipboard Psitanium activity?”

“Dampened and neutralized.”

“First contact package?”

“Organized and prepped for transmission.”

Chloe nodded at the ship captain. Outwardly, she was cool, calm, and confident, running down the checklist with the reasoned efficiency of somebody who’d made a career of a complicated task. Only people who knew her well would realize she was wearing her helmet as a comfort item, not just the standard spacesuit.

“Psychonaut support?”

Of course, most people who knew her well could quite literally feel the waves of nervousness and anticipation radiating off her like a furnace. It was always hard for psychics to make friends, and Chloe’s scientific interests and monotone emotional processes had made it that much more difficult for her. But those who had met her back at Whispering Rocks near-universally developed a fondness for the young space cadet.

“Ten strong and ready to go, doctor Barge,” Raz reported, with a reassuring smile.

She nodded, a ripple of gratitude just present in the tension. “Captain, if you would.”

“Send the activation code.”

Lili glanced out at the massive edifice floating in space, frowning as she watched the rings start to spin round and round.

“What’s up?”

“Huh? Oh.” She shook her head, smiling at Raz. “Nothing really. Just... everywhere we go, it’s Psitransium. No Psiportium, no Psirinium, not even Psilirium.”

“Well thank god for that.”

“Yes, obviously, but--” She gestured at the window. “I can get why there’s none of it on that machine, nobody wants a Psitanium cascade ruining their tech, but you’d think we’d have found deposits of other psychoactive materials outside our own solar system! What, is there some sort of natural process that turns it all blue?”

“Highly unlikely,” Chloe interjected. “Refining Psitanium is a delicate process. It’s possible a supernova could have the proper effect, but the idea that enough supernovas have hit the galactic diffusion of Psitanium to convert the majority is... concerning.”

“Maybe we can ask the people who built the Glomps,” Raz suggested. “If we ever find them, I mean.”

Chloe made a minute rotary motion with her left shoulder, her own version of an amused smile. “Perhaps.”

“The platform is now fully operative, Doctor.” The captain nodded toward them. “Shall we proceed?”

“Are all scanners active?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Deflector shields operational?”

The captain rolled his eyes. “They’re up and running.”

“Very good. Transmit our mass specifications and take us into the shunt.”

<So what do you think?> Raz asked his wife. <Friendly aliens, hostile aliens, weird aliens, or Chloe’s alien family?>

Lili rolled her eyes. <Well, since ‘no aliens, again’ is apparently not an option, I’m going to go with ‘all four at once somehow.’>

Chloe didn’t even turn around. <I understand that you have learned to make light of any situation as a coping mechanism. However, I would appreciate it if you did not speculate so brazenly.>

The ship entered the Glomp’s range, slipping into the shunt and speeding through a tunnel of wild light. It was a matter of moments before it exited out again.

“We are approximately thirteen hundred kilometers away from the return Glomp,” reported the pilot. “Well within the expected range.”

Raz leaned in toward Lili. “Thirteenth anniversary, thirteen-hundred kilometers...”

“Hush, you.”

“Captain?” One of the officers looked up from his screen. “We’re, uh... We’ve got psychoactive signatures. Thirteen of them, it looks like.”

Lili pointedly ignored Raz’s smug grin.

“They appear to be Psitransium-based,” the officer continued. “Regular, most likely technological--”

“Starships,” Chloe breathed.

The captain glanced at her, turning to another crew member. “Give us a visual.”

“Aye sir. Visual at roughly...” The officer glanced at Raz. “...thirteen-second lightspeed delay.”

With a few button presses, the image of definitely inhuman spaceships came onto the tactical screen. The smaller eight were graceful things, built round a central wheel-like hub with trailing lines of engines and spokes. They maneuvered around each other with elegant precision, dodging and deflecting blasts from the five larger vessels hounding them. These five were bulky predators, armored crates with thick arms ending in clawed weapons, and visible hatches seemed waiting to swallow their prey up.

Raz dropped his smile, sharing a concerned look with his wife. The captain straightened up.

“We have to save them.”

The simple, matter-of-fact statement from Chloe was betrayed audibly only by a small quaver in her voice, but to Raz and Lili the spike of sheer panic told a different story.

“Doctor Barge, this is a first contact situation,” the captain reminded her. “We have no idea who these people are or why they’re fighting. If we kill the aggressors we may spark a galactic war.”

“Then it’s a good thing you have people who can take these ships without casualties,” Raz interjected.

The captain turned to him, quirking a brow.

“Two psychonauts per ship. If you can get us close, we can sneak in and disable the command crew.”

“Assuming they have a command crew.”

“They do.” Chloe nodded. “I’m sure of it.”

“...Hmm.” The captain looked at her, then at the screen. “...Agent Razputin, you should know we won’t be able to support you in the field. Once you’re off my ship, you’re on your own until you disable the alien vessels.”

“I understand, captain.”

“Very well.” With a nod, he turned on the comms. “This is the captain speaking. We have encountered a firefight between two alien forces. We will be flying between them as an intervention. Fighter squad one, you are to stay near the Glomp and observe; return home upon resolution of the conflict. Fighter squad two, you are to turn your vessels over to the psychonauts on board.”

Chloe let out a breath of relief--small in the physical world, but grand on the mental plane. “Thank you captain.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Doctor.” The captain folded his hands behind his back. “We will be trying to make first contact while actively being fired upon by an unknown civilization. I’m putting a lot of faith in you, and your psychic abilities.”

“Chloe won’t let you down, sir,” Lili promised. “And neither will we. Come on, Raz, let’s brief the others and get going.”

“On it.”

The two of them rushed out of the room.

Citadel Codex: Humans

Humans are mammalian bipeds, originating from the planet Earth. A standard human stands between one and a half to two meters tall, with four digits on each hand, pronounced eyes, and a mass of ornamental hair growing from their head. The natural melanin-based coloration ranges from pale peach through a variety of reddish colors to a spectrum of dark browns. However, humans are highly susceptible to structural mutation during their development, due to trace amounts of psychoactive materials in their bodies, and often have asymmetrical faces, unusual skin tones, and distinct hair colors.

Humans are notable for the subset of their population known as ‘Psychics,’ who are capable of directly affecting the physical world and the psyches of others with their minds alone. This skillset is more expansive than that of standard biotics, but tends to be much more wildly varied from individual to individual. In addition, the ability to feel other’s thoughts can have deleterious effects on their mental health, and most psychic children require special care to compensate for their needs.

Chapter Text

Quarians were a bit of a special commodity in the slave markets. Snatching them up was difficult--you might catch them on their pilgrimage, but that was a luck of the raid, and most of their ships stuck near the Migrant fleet. Once you had them, you had to keep them away from any tech, or they could break out with their hacking skills. But you couldn’t keep them away from every scrap of technology--they needed their livesuits to compensate for their weak immune systems. And on the left tilt, they were surprisingly durable despite their tendency to get sick, so breaking them in took quite a bit of effort.

But... if you managed all that, Quarians were among some of the best slaves you could have. Especially if you took remote control of their livesuits. As pathetic as they were in the galactic scheme of things, having a Quarian slave was a status symbol that many Batarians would pay millions for. High risk... high reward.

Kreomich Non’thef had felt the eyes of fortune upon him when his ships had spotted the patrol squad sneaking around a nearby moon. Eight tiny frigates, compared to five cruisers? Their fate had already been decided. Maybe one or two would escape. Maybe one of the ships would blow up, costing him valuable material. But in the end, he’d get his hands on at least some precious merchandise.

And then, without warning, an alien vessel had placed itself between him and his prey. They hadn’t fired, they hadn’t hailed, they’d just stuck themselves there.

Kreomich considered the situation. There was only one ship--perhaps larger than any of his ships, individually, but a full assault could probably break it. And... come to think of it, unique slaves could sell very well.

He opened communications with the rest of the ships. “Canof. Traymack. Keep on the Quarians. The rest of us will break this interloper and join you after.”

This would be easy, he decided. After all, these aliens didn’t know what they were dealing with.

“Are we sure these are aliens?”

“What else could they be?”

Chrak shook his head. “Think about it. Unusual ship, no response to hails, in a dead-end system. It could be aliens, but aliens would at least try to hail us. ‘Hey, who are you, what are you doing here, get out of our system.’ Things like that.”

Merk leaned against the elevator wall. “What do you think?”

“STG. The Salarians would have junk like this going on in the background.”

“STG wouldn’t be so obvious. If it were them, we wouldn’t know until we were dead.”

Chrak shrugged. “Suppose you’re right. Let’s get the cargo bay prepped--”

He cut himself off as the elevator doors opened, staring at the smooth-edged fighter ship painted in deep, wavy purple stripes.

“What?” Merk pulled out his gun, looking around. “How did that get in here?”

“And why didn’t we pick it up on sensors?” Chrak pulled out his omnitool. “Even if they had a cloak, we’d have noticed when they opened the docking doors--” He blinked a bit, putting a hand on his head. “Ungh...”

Merk turned to him. “Chrak?”

Chrak looked at him for a few seconds. Then his eyes rolled up and he collapsed to the floor.

“Chrak!” Merk rushed over to him. “Still breathing, not dead--Ummnf...”

He clutched his head and, five seconds later, was as unconscious as his partner.

Froch’eb whipped out his gun as he came to a junction, looking left, right, and then forward. He signaled his squad, marching forward.

“Why are we sweeping the ship?” one of them asked. “They’d go straight for engineering, or the bridge. Critical systems.”

“The aliens wouldn’t know how to get there,” Forch’eb explained. “Even if they have a general idea, they can’t have a map of the ship.”

“I see.”

Another junction. Froch’eb gestured for the squad to cover his flanks. He looked left, right--

A shadow dashed behind a corner, just dodging his shots.

“Contact! Shields up front! Ready guns!”

“Yes sir!” The squad arranged themselves quickly, blue Mass Effect fields going up just as a figure leaned out and tossed...

...apparently empty air.

Froch’eb noticed a brief fluctuation in one of the shields, almost like the ripple of a pond that had just had a rock thrown through it. He had just enough time to realize something had happened, before suddenly--

hazy

where was this...?

Holding... important. the thing holding, is...

...point it, at... somebody? You? No... not you... 

Name. Name’s a good start. I’m... Frech’ob. That’s... that feels right... and these are my friends, and...

Who are these two? They look funny--

<You look like you need a rest.>

Yeah... yeah, everything’s going to be clearer after a good nap...

“Don’t worry, girl.” Hrenzi patted the varren cage, smiling at the scarred monster within. “You’ll be getting plenty of fresh meat soon enough.” He glanced at the door, hand on his gun. “Don’t know if you’ll like it, but you’ll be the first.”

She growled as the cage was opened, following him and the rest of the batarians with their own hungry beasts. They spread out through the ship corridors, letting their pets sniff the air.

The pit-keeper kept his gun up. “Whoever these aliens are, I don’t think they’ve got anything like you, do they?”

The varren snorted her agreement--and then growled, lowering her head. One blind eye turned toward the right.

Hrenzi chuckled, keeping his gun out as he followed her into a large dining hall. “Come on out, you aliens. The sooner you do, the better...”

They moved around the tables, one with guns, the other with teeth. It was business... business as usual.

And then the varren stopped, tilting her head.

“...What?” Henzri looked down at her. “What is it, girl?”

The varren rose a paw to her scarred, blind eye.

“I can take the other one,” Henzri pointed out. “You know I can. Now, where are those damned aliens?”

For some reason, the varren turned to look at him. Really look at him.

“...damn stupid animal.” He pulled out his prod. “You really going to make me do this now--?”

And then, suddenly, the prod was yanked out of his hand. Henzri and the varren watched it fly across the room, unsupported by anything, straight into the garbage disposal.

“...Biotics,” he finally muttered, activating his communicator. “The aliens are--ARRGH!”

The scarred varren lept on him, snarling as she clawed at his armor. Henzri kicked her off, grabbing a nearby chair. “Now is not the time to break you back in! You fall in line now or--”

The chair was yanked out of his hand and, just before he realized nobody was holding it, bashed his face in.

“The intruders appear to be headed our way,” Jonth informed his subordinates gravely. “I hope you all realize how important it is that our systems stay out of their control.” He started pointing at the various grim-faced Batarians. “You, you. Take those upper positions, near the regulators. You, you, stay near the drive core. You two, watch the access panels, and you keep an eye on the computer core. We’re not going to get caught by surprise.”

It wasn’t long before the guards had set themselves up, watching every potential entrance with tension. Jonth prepared his gun, contacting the bridge. “We’re all set down here.”

“Excellent,” the captain replied. “Shoot as soon as you see them.”

The Batarians waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The doors opened and a writhing serpent of snow slammed the guards onto the floor, binding them with ice even as the rest of the Batarians began to fire at it. Jonth stared at his fallen comrades, and then the door--and there, he saw something standing just beyond the doorway and gesturing with a pair of fingers.

“It’s some form of biotics!” he shouted, pointing his gun at the figure. “Kill the--AARGH!”

A sudden burst of heat made him drop his weapon, and it exploded into flames before it hit the ground. All around him he heard cries of pain as guns burst into flame in their owner’s hand. With one last desperate motion, he reached for the shipboard comms--

--and a part of the snow serpent peeled away, becoming a second snow serpent and coiling around him. He tried to say something, anything, but the cold scales wrapped around his lips choked his words away.

“Jonth, our systems are saying the intruders are in the room. What’s the situation?”

Jonth could only watch in horror as the last of his crew were frozen to walls.

Reports were coming in from his ship and the other four. Lights going out. Strange, barely glimpsed figures. Whispers in people’s heads. Sleeping crewmates that wouldn’t wake up.

Kreomich felt his heart racing as he shouted orders. “They can’t use knockout gas through a spacesuit!” he insisted.

“That’s what Vraj thought, and he isn’t waking up!”

“Bah!” Kreomich turned away from the comms, one hand on his gun. They’d be here. Any moment. He looked at the bridge doors warily. They’d be here... they’d be--

One of the doors beeped, and he spun and fired before it had finished opening--which unfortunately drowned out the sound of another door sliding open. Kreomich wasn’t even aware of it until a shout of pain spun him around. Two aliens--two! Only two!--were engaged with the bridge crew, one moving like lightning and smacking guns out of people’s hands just before they were about to fire, and the other using some form of invisible biotics to throw his crew around.

They looked like lanky pale Asari, with eyes the size of a salarian’s and strangely angular heads, one capped in some sort of plantlike growth, the other covered in a cloth helmet. And they were disabling his crew with ease. As each person was flung or disarmed, the strange aliens would wave a hand, and the crewmate would fall like a cloth doll. It was all happening so fast, guns exploding in flames, Kreomich couldn’t keep up with it--

He dove forward, rolling behind a control station, and rose just as the unhelmeted one threw his first mate aside. With ease born from thousands of slave raids he whisked his hand round its neck and put his gun to her head. The helmeted one spun around, and its eyes widened at the image.

“You want your partner to live?” Kreomich growled. “Tell your friends to stand down.”

For a moment all the aliens did was stare at each other.

“Even if you don’t understand what I’m saying, you can tell what I want,” Kreomich insisted. “You aren’t that stupid.”

“You do know that’s a rutabaga you’re holding, right?”

Kreomich automatically glanced at his gun, blinking when he realized he was holding leafy green stalks coming out of a dark purple bulb. Then he realized that the alien had somehow spoken in his own language. The shock of it all momentarily made him slack.

And in that moment of slackness, his hostage broke free, slammed the plant out of his hand, and shoved him into the control station. As he looked into its vicious eyes, Kreomich had to wonder... what were these strange aliens?

Then a hand waved, and unconsciousness swallowed him like a sucking ocean.

Citadel Codex: Psychonauts

The Psychonauts are an international agency devoted to the research of paranormal activity, with a primary focus on psychics and related phenomena. As part of their duties, they engage in covert strike operations against paranormal and psychic threats to civilization, often times conducing espionage to determine if their active presence is required. The majority of Psychonaut agents are themselves psychic, though this is not a requirement to join the organization and psychics are not all obligated to become Psychonauts.

The organization is historically fairly new, having only been founded in the late 1950s. Nevertheless, the Psychonauts have served both as a beacon for psychics, who had previously suffered discrimination and bigotry as a minority population, and as an effective counter to threats that could not be neutralized by ordinary military operations. Consequently, they have developed a positive and heroic reputation, though due to the fact they employ a large number of psychics they are also seen as ‘quirky.’

Chapter Text

“Really Raz?” Lili put a hand on her hip. “Making him think his gun was a rutabaga?”

“It was the first thing that came to mind!”

With an amused smirk, she pulled a few dozen handcuffs out of her pack. “Well, we’ve got the bridge. I’ll get to work locking these guys up, you figure out how to run this ship.”

Raz smiled, skimming his mental fingers over the top of the sleeping minds around him. “Okay, that’s door control, want to lock everything down... there’s the piloting system... aha! Comms.” He tapped a few keys. “Mentalis Eight, this is Agent Aquato. We have disabled the ship’s engineering deck and taken the bridge. I’ll be checking in with the other Psychonauts shortly, over.”

“This is Mentalis, we read you loud and clear Aquato. We’ve been talking with our... new friends over here. As soon as you can confirm all ships taken we’ll fill you in on the details. Over.”

“Understood. We’ll get wrapped up over here. Aquato, over and out.” Raz turned to Lili. “Need help with that?”

Lili levitated a few handcuffs his way. “Sure. I’ll get in touch with the Booles and Swingers, you handle the girls and the sneaky fish.”

Raz nodded, restraining the sleeping aliens efficiently as he reached out with his mind. <Elton, Milka, how’s it going over there?>

<We’re just about to hit the bridge. Elton’s kinda lagging, though.>

<Milka!>

Raz rolled his eyes with a smile. <We’ve already handled the bridge here, so I’ll give you a psychic boost--right after I get in touch with Lizzie.> He swept his mind out a bit. <Hey Lizzie, how are you and your sister doing?>

<Norma’s complaining about how boring things are now that we’ve won.>

<You’re cuffing the aliens, right? Psi-sleep only lasts a couple hours at best.>

<...that’s... true...>

Raz frowned. <You just froze them all to the floor didn’t you.>

<Hey! They’re not dead! That was the only goal!>

<Just... keep it that way. And stand by for further orders.>

<You got it, Pooter.>

Raz pulled most of his mind back, though he did shunt some psychic energy toward Elton. “Girls have their bridge on lockdown and the sneaky fish are about to breach the bridge.”

“Sounds about right. Swingers have their ship on lockdown, and the Booles...” Lili sighed. “They’re yelling at the alien captain for mistreating the ‘poor little dears’ aboard their ship.”

“Poor little dears?”

“Okay, so let’s say Loboto wanted a dog and got hold of a deep-sea fish--”

“On second thought, I don’t want to know. They at least have the ship under their control, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” Raz cocked his head. “Well, looks like we wrapped up this part. Wonder how things are going with Chloe and the other aliens.”

Sharo’Reth vas Yaska clutched her data tablet carefully, looking around the bay of the strange alien ship. The odd creatures were talking amongst themselves, some gesturing at her and the others who had come aboard.

“What are they saying?”

“Most likely? They’re trying to figure out how to handle this first contact.”

“Well, yes, but....” Sharo gestured around. “What are they talking about specifically? Connecting our computer systems? Translating our language? The political ramifications of intervening in a battle between two unknown forces?”

“I would expect the second one as top priority,” the other quarian replied dryly. “Although the first would... fit with how they were able to contact us so easily.”

And wasn’t that disturbing. Radio waves were a natural phenomena, and tight-beam comms weren’t that hard for a society to develop, Sharo wasn’t surprised by that. But, realistically, there should have been some more... confusion. Attempts by each side to find a shared transmission frequency, at least. And then some basic math to establish a few fundamentals.

The near-instantaneous connection and transmission was far, far too smooth, all things told. It was almost as if...

She shook off her suspicions. No matter how they knew how to make contact so quickly, they had taken a risk to save them. That spoke volumes for their intentions and general behavior.

How long had it been since the quarians had had friends among the stars? Three, four generations on the liveships...

Sharo’Reth forced her thoughts back to the here and now, as one of the aliens--the only one wearing a helmet--finally finished whatever conversation they were having and turned to the assembled visitors, stepping forward and putting a pair of fingers to their own head. Some sort of gesture, perhaps? It was a bit--

<Greetings.>

Sharo blinked. The voice sounded like the alien, yes, but speaking perfect Khelish--

<I apologize for telepathically engaging you without obtaining formal consent.>

“Telepathy?” Sharo asked without really realizing it. The others turned to her--

<Direct mental contact. In this case I am limiting it strictly to projection and reading of surface-level structured thoughts. Words and their meaning. It is certainly useful for this first contact scenario.>

Sharo’Reth nodded slowly. “I... see.”

One of her fellow quarians tapped her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

<Are you the commanding and/or contact officer?>

“Ah-one moment,” Sharo managed. “They’re telepathic,” she explained to the other quarians. “That one is... talking to me, telepathically.”

“That’s...” The other quarian glanced at the alien. “...well, it’s something out of science fantasy, anyway.”

“Maybe it’s the helmet?” suggested one of the others.

Sharo’Reth shrugged helplessly. “They’re asking if I’m... in command? The one to talk to, basically.”

The group of quarians looked among each other.

“We’re... all on our pilgrimage,” one of them pointed out hesitantly. “I don’t think any of us are ‘in command.’ Ah...”

“Why did they assume you were?” asked another.

“I don’t know!”

<You’re the only one holding a tablet,> the alien explained dryly.

“I’m... the only one holding a data tablet, apparently...?” Sharo gestured with it vaguely. “I was just... going to cross-reference what I saw with any trends on the extranet...”

The others all shared a look.

“...At least you had an idea,” one of them said finally. “The rest of us didn’t even think for that. So... until further notice, all in favor of nominating Sharo’Reth vas Yaska our alien contact?”

Sharo blinked again as the others all sounded their agreement. “I--wait, we should contact the fleet--”

“We’re not going to negotiate anything,” he reassured her. “This is first contact. Information-gathering. Learning enough for the negotiations to start, once the fleet gets here.”

“But...” Sharo gestured broadly, trying to encompass the entirety of the burden. “Me? For all of this?”

“Not all of it. Just... language, to start with. And maybe culture.” The other quarian tilted his head. “Enough to see where to go next with this.”

Sharo clutched her data tablet for a moment. There were so, so many ways this could go wrong, and that was just what she could think of.

But... on the other hand... the aliens had just saved them all from the Batarians.

“Well...” Sharo turned back to the alien. “We aren’t formal representatives of our species, but I suppose I can serve as a contact officer for now.”

<Understood.>

“And... as a contact officer... I suggest our first priority be installing your language into our translators.”

The alien nodded. <That was our assumption as well. How shall we proceed?>

“This will likely take a few days,” Sharo admitted.

<We can take all the time we need.>

Citadel Codex: Telepathy

Telepathy is the psychic ability to read thoughts and project them into others’ minds. It is one of the most well-known psychic abilities, although it is not the most widespread of fields. The school of telepathy has multiple specializations, such as clairvoyance, herbaphony, and zoolingualism, which psychics generally use to learn more about the world around them and how they are viewed. Some especially talented psychics can tap into the planetary psychic field and detect ripples emanating from thought patterns of a general type.

Chapter Text

"Well this is a fine mess," Lilli grumbled, slapping the datapad down on the table. "Slavers, refugees, and a galactic government that outlawed exploration."

"And no psychics," the captain added. "Well, no scientifically confirmed psychics. The closest thing they've got is the Asari."

"Really leaves us with a situation we have no idea how to handle--"

"We're helping them."

Emotions were complicated things for psychics. As much a physical force as a personal expression. Lilli had long grown used to the varied flavors of her husband's mentality--how casually cheerful he could be, how carefully compassionate, how quietly somber. And of course, his dramatic determination--a force that had overwhelmed her from the moment he first introduced himself at Whispering Rock.

His voice was filled with it now, as was his stance and expression. And only years of growing close made her notice the faintest tint of incandescent fury radiating off him--an unusual accent to his usual willpower.

"Well, duh," she drawled, coating her voice in sarcasm while she reached out a thread of concern to his mind. "We're going to help, obviously. It's just that we need to deal with politics and paperwork."

Raz took a breath, accepting the thread and quietly bringing her through memories of his childhood. Of people shooting looks at him, him and his half-grulovian, half-romani siblings, while they wandered the world...

Ah. The parallels were obvious, now that he pointed them out.

"We'll get in contact with the Framework and see what we can do."

"In the meantime," the captain interjected, "we have five ships' worth of prisoners to monitor. Where are we going to put them? Where are we taking the ships, for that matter? Doing the right thing is all well and good, but unfortunately there are logistical issues we cannot avoid."

"I'm guessing we can't just drag them through the GLOMP, huh?"

"Not easily, no. There may be methods of towing starships that we aren't aware of, but the few we are aware of break down during a jump."

"Maybe our new friends can help?" Raz suggested. "If they've been... migrants that long, they must have some knowledge and experience with towing spaceships. Or maybe we can just, you know, fly them ourselves?"

"That is... hm." Lili nodded thoughtfully. "Captain, how much of your crew can you spare for a short while?"

"I'm not sure it'll be enough, especially if we don't understand the text, but I suppose it's a feasible plan." The captain shook his head. "I knew First Contact would be complicated, but I never expected it to be complicated in this way."

"Yeah. Interspecies politics is probably even more complicated than international politics." Raz shook his head. "I'm sure the scientists back home will love a chance to take apart the Batarian vessels."

"Not the Quarian ones?"

"You don't take apart a migrant's caravan, captain. It's... their home, their livelihood. If they're willing to share schematics with us, that's fine, but..."

The captain held up a hand. "I understand. I should have thought over what I was saying." He looked over the table. "Still... quite a lot has been dropped on us. And it's our responsibility to handle it well, for humans everywhere."

Raz clapped his hands together. "Then let's get started. First thing's first--tell our new Quarian friends about our plans and ask for their assistance. We don't want to just leave them hanging, after all."

"We're still working on a functional translation."

"Right. Chloe is talking to them though, right?"

"...yes," the captain admitted. "She's been rather... intense about it. I'm not sure why."

Lili hummed thoughtfully. "Hopefully it's just excitement over meeting aliens, but... she always was a bit of a space case. In more ways than one. We may need to take her aside for a more in-depth conversation."

"She's not technically a Psychonaut," Raz pointed out. "We don't actually have any legal authority, unless there's evidence she's causing psychic harm to herself or others."

"We're not going to be acting as Psychonauts, Raz. Just... concerned friends, is all. And if she says no, that's fine, we'll back off."

"Excuse me," the captain interjected, "are you suggesting a psychic intervention on the person who, I believe we all agree, is crucial for ensuring this first contact doesn't fall apart?"

"...Er..." Raz rubbed the back of his head. "Well... I was thinking more just a talk, but--"

"Raz has a habit of stumbling onto psychic conspiracies and unravelling them completely by accident," Lili deadpaned. "He snuck into Whispering Rock when he was ten, and three days later he'd proven pivotal in handling two seperate world-threatening conspiracies. Three, if you count the Maligula conspiracy and the Malik conspiracy seperately."

"Ah." The captain nodded. "So he's paranoid."

"Hey now, paranoia is an irrational fear of random events that has deleterious effects on mental health. I have an entirely rational fear of random events and I regularly see a therapist."

The captain rose a brow.

"...I won't poke around Chloe's mind unless she requests it or it is specifically a psychic emergency," Raz stated, rolling his eyes. "I swear it on my honor as a Psychonaut."

"Great!" Lili clapped her hands together. "Now that we've established that we're not going to go off on a random psyche dive, let's work on finalizing the details about this first contact..."

Like many civilizations, humanity's spacefaring organization developed out of previously existing organizations. The Astral Framework started as an agreement between numerous polities to put a portion of their resources toward space travel, with the understanding that it would be internationally neutral. However, as disputes regarding colonization and mining laws heated up, numerous governments and powerful corporations attempted to employ various forms of sabotage and espionage to gain full control of the organization. Eventually, after one too many attempts at psychic conquest almost collapsed the organization and nearly drove members insane, the Psychonauts intervened, forcing the arrest of numerous saboteurs and arranging for amendments to the Framework initiative. There has been some debate as to whether requiring a psychic on every ship was a wise decision, but most of humanity believes it to be a reasonable solution to the alternative.