Noveria: Luminiferous Aether

"This is a problem."

They sat around a wide table in the Chairman's office. [Redacted]'s desk had been shifted to a side wall, and the room's central hologram had been disabled.

"Honestly, I'm not surprised we missed it. Erebus provides all the Helium-3 we need, so the general market hasn't been on our radar until learned of Mr. Dawkins's troubles. How confident are you of the accuracy of this data, Kim?"

"Depressingly confident." The [R]SC head of intelligence gestured at the table, and a diagram sprung to life. "These," he gestured at four large spheres, "are the four nearest gas giants capable of sustaining He-3 mining. Together, they provide Noveria with the fuel for over 95% of its fusion plants." " Now, each of these gas giants has dozens of orbital refineries. Little pick-axe symbols appeared above each of the planets. "They are owned by eight different corporations. The mining symbols changed colors to indicate ownership.



"Most of them use a small fleet of skimmers to extract the helium and bring it to orbital refineries for processing, though a few have extraction and refinery aerostats that float in the atmosphere and use container ships to bring the fuel to orbit. Once the helium is mined, processed, and in orbit, it's ready to be transported to the customers in Pax. Cyanid Energy - the green one - has its own tanker fleet; the rest are serviced by three different transport companies. Other than Cyanid, there are no exclusive deals between the miners and the shippers. Once back in Pax, they'll sell their cargo to the distributors and any corporation wealthy enough to afford the fuel in bulk."

"Or at least, that's how it's supposed to work. Over the past six months, three of the mining companies and one of the shippers have changed hands. The latest acquisition was Cyanid; that's what really tipped me off. The new owners are all local holding companies, but we've been able to trace them back a couple of steps. Ever heard of Ascentch, Merenzine, Goldstein & Farvale, or Legicon?"

"No. What do they do?"

"Just another layer of holding companies. From Bekenstein."

[Redacted] let out a long sigh. "I guess we're not the only ones using that trick, then. How bad is it?"

The image changed again.



"Their purchase of Cyanid leaves them with complete control over operations on Vergus and nearly 60% over Kouhora."

"Fuck."

"The Regent of Silence?"

"Almost certainly."

"I don't even want to think about the kind of influence she'll develop after establishing a fuel monopoly in this system." Kat turned to look at the Chairman. "What are your suggestions, Sir?"

[Redacted] stared at the hologram for a few moments in silence before responding. "Right now what we need is information. Kat, see if you can set Sonya up with a job on one of the Cyanid's Vergus platforms. She'll need some facial work and a new cover if we want to get her through the Regent's security checks. Kim, let me know when you get more intel on the situation." He looked around the room. "The Regent is dangerous enough already. We cannot let this situation develop any further."

"So who was she?"

Sonya studied the face trapped within the datapad: dusky complexion, amber eyes, curly hair a few shades too dark to qualify as blonde. Full cheeks, large nose, rounded jaw. She glanced in a mirror and snorted.

"Clarisse duBois. Born in the EU 2149, degree in mechanical engineering 2170, moved to Omega 2181. No known living friends or relatives. Official records indicate she fled the station once Cerberus took over; the dossier we've decrypted from the Phoenix archive suggests that she was captured and forcibly integrated. We judge it highly unlikely that the Regent has this last piece of intelligence."

"And you chose her as my cover ID because...?

"She's spent most of her career working on mining rigs, and would the the ideal hire if something were to happen to one of Cyanid's low-level managers."

Sonya enlarged the image and held it next to her face. "That's not why I was asking. Look at this, Kat. A blind hanar could tell us apart from over half a kilometer."

"It won't be a problem. You share the same height, the same language, and the same basic bone structure. The rest can be changed within a month."

The engineer sighed. "I get the feeling this involves a little more than makeup and hair dye..."

In the early days of gene therapy, scientists would reprogram a retrovirus with a few extra genes, inject them into the subject, and hope everything worked. Success rates were low, and even if you managed to change the DNA, there was no way to make sure you changed what you needed. Needless to say, the science has come a far way since then.

The first part of the transformation was relatively simple: a single jet injection and a week of waiting. The high pressure stream of liquid contained tens of trillions of nanostructures, each designed to enter circulation and attach to specific groups of cells in the skin, hair, intestines, kidneys, bladder, and nearly every other tissue that could possibly leave traces of itself outside the body. The structures dumped their contents into their targets and dissolved into the bloodstream

The gene therapy agents entered the cells and began to change them. Sonya Manning's chromosomes were rent apart, their DNA reduced to individual nucleotides, and were reformed in the image of Clarisse duBois. Melanocytes in the skin and eyes shifted pigment production, darkening and lightening in accords with their new genetic programs. Lymphocytes were inoculated with new antigens, to prevent autoimmune response. Outer layers of skin and hair began to peel off or fall out in clumps.

---

Sonya stared at her face the mirror, its fresh set of skin a warm caramel color that was still tender to the touch. Her face was framed with short amber curls that were growing at an unnaturally fast rate, and her newly brown eyes were accented with eyebrows that were far bushier then she remembered. Despite the changes, the face was still unmistakably hers. "No way in hell this will get past facial recognition scans."

"That's what phase 2 is for."

87, 88...

She lay suspended in a mass effect field, turning slowly in the zero gravity to study the array of medical equipment around her.

94, 95...

"Do you have any questions before we begin?"

"Is there some particular reason you've got me hanging naked in a null grav bubble? Most people who do this get paid in tips."

"Yes."

Sonya waited for a few seconds, before realizing the doctor had finished answering. "And that reason would be...?"

"The biochemical agents function most efficiently in the absence of gravity. Clothing would reduce the accuracy of the needles and might possibly hamper their insertion."

"Yeah... about the needles. Is it really necessary to use over a hundred of them?"

"The therapy works best with extremely localized injections. The first one contains a painkiller."

"And the scalpels?"

"Ah, yes. We can use accelerated growth treatments to make certain body parts enlarge, but shrinking is beyond our capabilities."

"Wait, you're going to lop part of me off because it's the wrong size?"

"Oh, don't worry, we can replace them quite easily."

"Them!"

"Yes, your ears are too large. We're replacing them with smaller versions. Don't worry, when you return to your normal appearance after this operation is complete, we won't need to remove them again. Although you might need a smaller nose at that point. Honestly, did you read the medical section of your briefing documents carefully?"

"I - um, I... fuck."

"Cheer up, it's not like you're getting skeletal length adjustments or anything. Those can be dreadfully painful, and take months to recover from. You won't feel anything after the few seconds with this."

"Did they ever cover 'bedside manner' when you went to medical school?"

"Now, breathe nice and slowly. We're about to begin."

"I don't -"

A hundred and seventeen needles moved as one.

"So Clarisse, what brings you to the ass end of the galaxy?"

Sonya's eyes scanned over the woman speaking to her. Turian, middle aged. Facial markings from some colony she didn't recognize. Name was Dailara or something: the other engineer. Like "Clarisse" and the six other gas miners on the beat-up old shuttle, she was wearing a blue jumpsuit emblazoned with Cyanid's corporate logo.

"It's not exactly by choice. I'd been living in the Terminus for the last decade or so, and thought it would be nice to see Earth again. With all the reconstruction going on, they've got a pretty big demand for engineers, and my creditors would have a bit more difficulty reaching me. I couldn't afford standard relay fares, so I made an arrangement with a smuggler." She put on a well-rehearsed bitter smile. "He seemed to think that the layover in the Horsehead would be a great time to renegotiate the terms of our arrangement. Fucking buckethead."


"I guess you get what you pay for. Well, at least you were around when we needed someone to pick up Noleena's job. I can't believe that bitch ran off like that."

"Ran off?"

"Yeah! She won the grand prize in some sort of award drawing. Left almost immediately for a three-month long all-inclusive luxury cruise to Sur'Kesh, Thessia, and Illium."

"Well, it's good luck for me. Hope she enjoys the cruise." Or whatever it is they set her up with. "So how many people are there at the refinery?"


Dailara did something with her mandibles that was probably either a smile or a yawn. "We've got four shifts of eight people; each shift gets one week of leave for every three weeks of work, so there's always twenty-four workers on the station, plus the suits."


"And each shift is capable of running the station on its own?"


"Yep. We don't really see the other shifts that much, since we're all on different schedules."


"Worked a couple of jobs near Omega with similar arrangements. It worked out pretty well." She glanced around at the others. "How much longer are we going to be on this rustbucket?"

"Should be getting to the transfer point in ten minutes. Security checks shouldn't take longer than an hour, and the refinery's pretty close from there."

"Security checks?"

"Yeah. This is Noveria, honey. They've got scanners on everything."

---


Of course, the security screens had been anticipated; [Redacted] Security Consultants did not hire amateurs. Unfortunately, the intended circumvention methods had not gone over well.


"A bluewire tool? You expect me to find and exploit a vulnerability in the Regent of Silence's business interests with a FUCKING BLUEWIRE TOOL! Why? After spending so much time and money turning me into this -" she gestured at the mirror framing Clarisse's face "- would you give me the shittiest omnitool on the market?"


"Because Clarisse duBois would not be able to afford that bleeding edge salarian piece you so adore. A bluewire is cheap, widespread, and utterly forgettable. Once you get through their security scans, you can use its fabricator to make yourself a better one, as well as any other equipment you may need."

"If they're checking our OT's, they're certainly going to be scanning the OSDs too. I won't be able to smuggle in any combat schematics. At least, not on a bluewire."

"We've got a way around that too. Just give me a list of what you'll need."

---


"Clarisse duBois!"

Sonya steadied herself on the wall as she rose and picked up her baggage. Despite two weeks of intensive training, she was still not fully adjusted to her new weight distribution. She handed the over-stuffed dufflebag to the guard, who placed it on a table. "I'm going to need you to empty your pockets and hand me your omni-tool."

"Of course." She reached her hands into the jumpsuit's deep pocketspocket and felt around. He right hand closed around an ID card and credit chit; her left palmed a small injector vial. "Here you go," she said, handing the guard the chit and ID. "And here's the OT - " she handed it to him with her right hand "- and the omni-gel supply." She fumbled with a case that was hanging from her belt and dropped it. It sprung open and began leaking a thick liquid onto the floor. "Oh, shit." The engineer bent down to pick up the omnigel container and discretely pressed the hidden injector to her left wrist. With an almost imperceptible hiss, its contents entered her bloodstream. She slipped the now empty vial into omni-gel case as she stood up. "Sorry about that." She gave the guard the case and stepped into the genescanner.

"Please hold still, ma'am."

As the seconds passed, Sonya's heart began to race. They've found irregularities. The gene therapy didn't work, or they've detected the injection agent. No, the Regent found out! They're waiting for more security to arrive, and I'm just standing here, unarmed, unarmored, and nearly twenty kilos overweight! Oh, shit shit shit shi-


"Thank you, Ms. duBois. You may proceed."

Sonya let out a tensed breath and continued forward, as the guard turned to examine her omni-tool. Looking up from a readout on a datapad, he said "Your tool is clean, though we would all appreciate it if you'd avoid pirating episodes of My Little Moxie when you're on our network." He handed her back the bluewire, unzipped the duffel, and did a double-take. He reached inside, and withdrew a glass ball. "What the Shrell are these?"

"You've never seen a snow globe?" From the look on the guard's face, he had not. "It's a hollow sphere of transparent diamond with microgravity in the center. You shake them, and the snow flies around the model buildings for a few hours."


"But what do they do?"

"They're decorations. Meant to brighten up my living quarters."

"And you need thirty of them?"

"I collect them as a travel. Sometimes my friends send one to me if they go somewhere cool. It's a bit of a hobby."

"Uh-huh." He returned the snow globe to the bag and withdrew another. "Tuchanka?"

"That one's more of a... sand globe."

The guard shook his head as he zipped up the bag. "Humans." Looking back at the datapad, he shouted, "Dailara Patronum!"

In the early days of human space travel, gas mining had been considered a glamorous and risky business. The first helium extraction crew on Saturn became household names, fodder for reality shows and tabloid gossip. Orbital mines were the subject of dozens of films, games, and holos: disaster movies, interpersonal dramas, introspective arthouse vids, schlocky B- horror, alien invasions, and a disturbing amount of pornography. It took nearly a decade for the truth to sink in: automated gas mining was dreadfully dull. Peering into the interior of yet another malfunctioning scooper drone, Sonya wondered how it could have possibly taken that long.

"Damnit. It's going to talk a week to fabricate replacement parts for this. Fifth scooper these fucking storm cells have wrecked in the past three days. I'll work on getting an improved ablative shield for the rest of them. For now, pull the damaged systems out and set the drone next to the others. I doubt it will be the last."

The mechanics grumbled as they set about their work. Sonya stepped down from the platform and walked towards the exit, shaking her head wearily. She had been on the refinery for six days, and had still only seen about 40% of it. Most of the station consisted of automated machinery and barely used access shafts, without the benefit of gravity or atmosphere, and arranging for inconspicuous use of the pressure suits was not easily done. Fortunately, most of the control systems were far more accessible. Reflexively, she glanced down at the underside of her left wrist. Good. We'll be ready tonight. The engineer stepped into Clarisse's cramped office and glanced at the wall-clock. Three more hours of dealing with minor bullshit, and then the real work could begin.

----

Sonya ran the Bluewire's scanner over her left wrist, pausing at the mole that hadn't been there the week before. A holographic display screen floated a meter in front of her, the word "Processing" displayed in bright orange letters. "Come on you piece of shit. Scan." She was sitting in a rarely used storage closet in an out-of-the way corridor; not the most secure location in the refinery, but probably the only place she could access that provided a modicum of privacy. The omni-tool let out a quiet beep. Glancing up, Sonya saw that the display now read, "Scan complete. View results?" Idly wondering what moron had thought that someone running a DNA scan would not want to view the results, she growled "Yes." The screen flashed again:

Two sources detected:

1. Human, female
2. Unknown

Select a source for more information.

Sonya selected the second option. Figures and data appeared, characterizing a genome consisting of dozens of microchromosomes. The engineer scrolled through the results until she reached the "Convert and Save" option and selected it. While Bluewire hummed softly with its task, Sonya began to assemble its rudimentary fabrication unit. Not much, but it will get the job done. The device beeped again, and she looked at the newly created file.

Slicer.OTS

Sliding a pair of snow globes into her omnigel converter, she began fabrication.

Alright, now to put it all together. Sonya reached for the small device that was floating in the space next to her. Her hand closed around it, and seemed to pause for a moment as the device passed through the mass effect field protecting her skin. Relying on kinetic barriers to maintain pressure is a risky choice, but stealing a company hard suit to enter a restricted area of the station is hardly the most inconspicuous of actions, and she hadn't wanted to waste snow globes on fabricating one of her own. Carefully, the engineer began to splice the comm-line bypass cable into one of the box's empty ports. She breathed deeply, oxygen flowing through the mask and into her lungs. Aaand... there we go: my new man in the middle. Well, my new VI system in the middle, anyway. Now to see if it works.

Pushing off from the wall, Sonya pulled out her Slicer omni-tool. "I want to order a Pizza." The tool's VI blinked for a moment, and began dialing.

A VI picked up the call. "THANK YOU FOR CALLING UNCLE JOE'S PIZZERIA, SERVING PORT HANSHAN SINCE 2173. HOW MAY I TAKE YOUR ORDER?"

"I'd like a large, deep-dish pizza with pyjak, pepperoni, varren sausage, and an AzuMold-based sause."

"WOULD YOU LIKE ANYTHING TO DRINK?"

"Decaffeinated Tupari, Large, with three straws."

"WILL THAT BE ALL?"

"Throw in a pair of breadsticks and some cheese."

"THANK YOU. YOUR ORDER IS BEING PROCESSED. WOULD YOU PREFER PICK-UP OR DELIVERY?"

"Delivery."

"AUTHENTICATION CONFIRMED, OPERATIVE MANNING. THIS CHANNEL IS ENCRYPTED. TRANSFERING YOUR CALL TO COMMANER VOLYOVA."

The line hummed quietly for half a minute before a human picked up the line. "Sonya, it's good to hear from you. What's your status?"

"The communications array took longer to crack than anticipated, but everything else is proceeding as planned. I've had a good opportunity to inspect the systems here, and have had no trouble fabricating my new equipment. Props to whoever came up with the snow globe plan, it's been working out well."

"I'll pass that along. Did you find the Snow Varren globe?"

"Yeah, what's up with that one? It doesn't have any eezo or useful metals in it."

"I don't really know. [Redacted] said it might be useful."

"I'll check it out when I get back."

"So what's your analysis on how to neutralize the planet's mining operations."

"Well, we've got a couple of options. Short-term, we could take out the fleet of scooper drones. I have physical access when they're in for repairs, so there shouldn't be much trouble infecting them with a worm. It can spread through their peer-to-peer weather and positioning updates."

"How effective would it be?"

"All the stations on this planet are using the same scooper models with the same firmware class, so it should be able to infect all of them, theoretically. Of course, there would always be some drones that were attached to their stations for delivery or repairs, and they would be insulated from the attack. A few of the refineries on this planet are direct-draw, and wouldn't be affected at all. Still, taking out the scoopers would probably cut their production for a few months while they scrambled for replacements."

"It has potential, but we need more. Transfer a copy of the drone specs, and I'll have a coding team start working on an implementation. What else do you have?"

"If you want to do some major long-term damage, you'll need to take out the refineries themselves. There's a couple of ways to do it, but none of them are going to be easy. Destroying the processing machines themselves would be the best bet, since all of the other options involve killing the refinery crews. The problem is that I have no way of accessing the machinery on other stations. Hell, I don't even know the make and model of the systems yet. I could probably get the info from the other Cyanid platforms if I got access to the central network, but that wouldn't help much for the other companies. I need more information."

"Well, take your time and be careful. You still have plenty of time before the engineer you replaced comes back from that cruise, so play it cautiously. We don't have anyone in the area to extract you if you blow your color."

"Got it. Anything else?"

"Now that secured the comm array, I would look into the central computer network. Might be a bit more of a challenge, but the access it provides could be key to solving this problem."

"I'll look into it. Manning out."