Sins of the Father, Sins of the Flesh
folder
+M through R › Mass Effect
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
15
Views:
3,752
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
+M through R › Mass Effect
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
15
Views:
3,752
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
All Mass Effect intellectual property reserved to Bioware and Electronic Arts; I make no claim to ownership and make no profit from this fiction.
When Answers Lead to Questions
Back in the comm room, an hour later.
“Floor’s yours, Miranda,” said Shepard, taking a seat.
Miranda stood. “As you all know—now—the man who runs the Tyrell Corporation is my father. His name is Maxwell Lawson. He’s sixty years old. Educated on Terra, all the best schools, et cetera. But those aren’t the important things about him.”
“What is important,” she continued, “is that he’s a ruthless, conniving, backstabbing son of a bitch. He’s extraordinarily intelligent and has, as far as I can tell, neither morals nor conscience. And he’s a very sore loser.”
“He started Tyrell when he was twenty-four, with a partner—a brilliant scientist—whose job was managing the wet work. My father handles the business side. Mostly. He’s far from an expert, but he’s got a very good grasp on the biotech side. His partner was the one who did most of the work on me—with a great deal of input from my father, of course.”
“Tyrell currently employs two hundred and eighty-nine high-level medical staff—geneticists, biologists, doctors, biotech experts—and a medical and support staff of four hundred. On the record, they perform modifications on roughly fifteen hundred clients a year. Each surgery costs, on average, seventy-five thousand credits. Some, of course, cost much more,” she finished.
“So basically, they’ve got more money than God?” said Shepard.
“If you want to grossly oversimplify it, sure,” Miranda said, with a wry smile.
She continued. “Tyrell is dedicated solely to human gene mods, with a few notable exceptions. My father actually donated quite generously to Cerberus before they hired me. The Illusive Man still has use for Tyrell, though, so while most of the ties have been severed, Tyrell does occasional research and development for Cerberus, as well as performing modifications on certain high-level operatives.”
“Why does your father do it at all, if he’s so pissed about losing you to Cerberus?” said Jack, sounding interested in spite of herself.
Miranda laughed. “Because not even my father will cross the Illusive Man.”
“Miranda,” said Shepard, “can you give us the rundown on Tyrell’s corporate structure?”
“The corporation went public after seven years. My father retains control of fifty-one percent of Tyrell stock. He answers—barely—to the Board of Directors.”
“Where’s your father’s partner?” said Shepard.
“The official story is that he’s comfortably retired, drinking things with little umbrellas in them on a beach somewhere. Unofficially? His bones are rotting in the ground.”
A look of disgust flitted over Shepard’s features.
“There are several apocryphal stories from Earth regarding certain kings who had the architects of their castles killed after building was completed, so the secrets of the castles would go with them to their graves. That’s much what my father did when his partner’s work on me was finished.”
“Regardless,” Miranda continued, “Tyrell is divided into back-end and front-end departments. Back-end is research and development; front-end is the surgeries themselves.”
“Is there anything illegal going on?” asked Shepard.
Miranda’s expression clearly said “are you kidding?”
What actually came out of her mouth was “Yes.”
“Like what?”
“Tyrell does at least five hundred off the record procedures a year, mostly installing military packages which aren’t supposed to be available to civilians. Prices on those start at half a million credits, by the way. R & D also engages in…questionable practices.”
“Do I want to know?” Shepard asked, wincing.
“Not if you want to get to sleep tonight,” Miranda said.
“Maybe that’s our connection to Fell,” Shepard said. “Maybe he’s part of the R & D team…but no, that’s not right. He’s chief of staff over at IEP, which keeps him very visible. And even if he weren’t, why fake records to show he’s part of the Board of Directors?”
“EDI,” said Shepard, “does Dr. Fell serve on the Board of Directors of any other corporations?”
After a moment, EDI said “No, Commander. However, he is listed as one of the three main investors in GeneCo, a privately held corporation. There appears to be an anomaly in the amount of his investment. The other two investors contributed fifty million credits each; Fell is listed as having contributed exactly one credit.”
“Are you sure you aren’t missing a few zeroes there, EDI?” said Shepard, incredulous.
“I am not, Commander. In addition, GeneCo was founded seven years ago. Fell’s contribution, such as it is, as well as his name, was added last year.”
“So what the hell is going on?” said Shepard, looking around the table. “We’ve got Dr. Fell, according to Mordin a brilliant doctor, according to Jack one hell of a nice guy, who’s currently chief medic at a porn studio, and who—on paper, at least—sits on the board of directors at one corporation and is an investor in another. Mordin, do you know if he’s rich? Does he come from money?”
“As topic of discussion, not quite relevant to work,” Mordin said, with a wry smile. “Did mention he was educated through scholarships. Appeared to earn a comfortable living; rejected several offers for high-profile, highly prestigious, and extremely profitable positions. Seemed happy as respected researcher and clinician.”
“EDI, what can you tell us about GeneCo?” said Shepard.
“It is an Illium corporation which provides organs for transplants. The usual procedure appears to be that when a patient needs a transplant, the doctor contacts GeneCo, which procures the organ. They sell exclusively to physicians.”
“This just keeps getting better. Is Dr. Fell on the client list? Can you get me a copy of it?”
“Dr. Fell does not appear to have purchased any organs from GeneCo. I have downloaded a copy of the client list to your private terminal. Be aware, Shepard, I am currently mining GeneCo’s systems themselves in order to provide this information. While I have only penetrated the second layer of security, it would be best for me to leave before I am noticed.”
“Where does GeneCo get the organs?”
“Records show that the organs are vat-grown. By the way, GeneCo has an exceptional data security system, Commander. Without time to prepare, it is becoming quite taxing to avoid detection.”
“All right, just one more question: who’s in charge?”
“It was founded and is currently run by a salarian named Remin Saleon.”
“Oh, shit,” said Shepard. “Okay, EDI, get out of there.”
“Done, Commander.”
“Shepard,” Jacob interrupted, “you do know it makes us all a little nervous when you start a sentence with “Oh, shit,” right?”
Shepard sighed. “Back on the first Normandy, we chased down a Dr. Saleon who was using people as giant test tubes to grow extra organs. He’d gotten good at growing them, but hadn’t quite perfected the art of getting them out without extreme collateral damage…although if he’d had a little more time, he might have.”
“What happened?” asked Jacob.
“He ran out of time,” said Shepard, with a grim smile.
“Disgusting,” said Mordin. Shepard quirked an eyebrow. “Not removal of Saleon, no. Experiments disgusting. Extraordinarily unethical. GeneCo founder likely relative; most likely, son. Odds too high for shared name to be coincidence.”
“So let’s just say that the organs GeneCo sells probably aren’t vat-grown,” Shepard finished. “Any questions?”
Silence in the room.
“Well, I’ve got lots. We’ve got a puzzle with half the pieces missing and we don’t even know how many there are in the first place. And I think we’re running out of time.” She paused. “But beating our heads against the walls won’t help. We’ll break for today; meet here tomorrow at 0800 sharp. Keep reading. Keep thinking.”
Shepard smiled. “You’re some of the sharpest people in the galaxy. If I were missing, you’d be the ones I’d want looking for me. So get to it.”
The crew filed out, leaving Shepard alone; her smile disappeared once they were gone. She folded her arms on the table and put her head down, and only EDI heard her muffled sobs.
“Floor’s yours, Miranda,” said Shepard, taking a seat.
Miranda stood. “As you all know—now—the man who runs the Tyrell Corporation is my father. His name is Maxwell Lawson. He’s sixty years old. Educated on Terra, all the best schools, et cetera. But those aren’t the important things about him.”
“What is important,” she continued, “is that he’s a ruthless, conniving, backstabbing son of a bitch. He’s extraordinarily intelligent and has, as far as I can tell, neither morals nor conscience. And he’s a very sore loser.”
“He started Tyrell when he was twenty-four, with a partner—a brilliant scientist—whose job was managing the wet work. My father handles the business side. Mostly. He’s far from an expert, but he’s got a very good grasp on the biotech side. His partner was the one who did most of the work on me—with a great deal of input from my father, of course.”
“Tyrell currently employs two hundred and eighty-nine high-level medical staff—geneticists, biologists, doctors, biotech experts—and a medical and support staff of four hundred. On the record, they perform modifications on roughly fifteen hundred clients a year. Each surgery costs, on average, seventy-five thousand credits. Some, of course, cost much more,” she finished.
“So basically, they’ve got more money than God?” said Shepard.
“If you want to grossly oversimplify it, sure,” Miranda said, with a wry smile.
She continued. “Tyrell is dedicated solely to human gene mods, with a few notable exceptions. My father actually donated quite generously to Cerberus before they hired me. The Illusive Man still has use for Tyrell, though, so while most of the ties have been severed, Tyrell does occasional research and development for Cerberus, as well as performing modifications on certain high-level operatives.”
“Why does your father do it at all, if he’s so pissed about losing you to Cerberus?” said Jack, sounding interested in spite of herself.
Miranda laughed. “Because not even my father will cross the Illusive Man.”
“Miranda,” said Shepard, “can you give us the rundown on Tyrell’s corporate structure?”
“The corporation went public after seven years. My father retains control of fifty-one percent of Tyrell stock. He answers—barely—to the Board of Directors.”
“Where’s your father’s partner?” said Shepard.
“The official story is that he’s comfortably retired, drinking things with little umbrellas in them on a beach somewhere. Unofficially? His bones are rotting in the ground.”
A look of disgust flitted over Shepard’s features.
“There are several apocryphal stories from Earth regarding certain kings who had the architects of their castles killed after building was completed, so the secrets of the castles would go with them to their graves. That’s much what my father did when his partner’s work on me was finished.”
“Regardless,” Miranda continued, “Tyrell is divided into back-end and front-end departments. Back-end is research and development; front-end is the surgeries themselves.”
“Is there anything illegal going on?” asked Shepard.
Miranda’s expression clearly said “are you kidding?”
What actually came out of her mouth was “Yes.”
“Like what?”
“Tyrell does at least five hundred off the record procedures a year, mostly installing military packages which aren’t supposed to be available to civilians. Prices on those start at half a million credits, by the way. R & D also engages in…questionable practices.”
“Do I want to know?” Shepard asked, wincing.
“Not if you want to get to sleep tonight,” Miranda said.
“Maybe that’s our connection to Fell,” Shepard said. “Maybe he’s part of the R & D team…but no, that’s not right. He’s chief of staff over at IEP, which keeps him very visible. And even if he weren’t, why fake records to show he’s part of the Board of Directors?”
“EDI,” said Shepard, “does Dr. Fell serve on the Board of Directors of any other corporations?”
After a moment, EDI said “No, Commander. However, he is listed as one of the three main investors in GeneCo, a privately held corporation. There appears to be an anomaly in the amount of his investment. The other two investors contributed fifty million credits each; Fell is listed as having contributed exactly one credit.”
“Are you sure you aren’t missing a few zeroes there, EDI?” said Shepard, incredulous.
“I am not, Commander. In addition, GeneCo was founded seven years ago. Fell’s contribution, such as it is, as well as his name, was added last year.”
“So what the hell is going on?” said Shepard, looking around the table. “We’ve got Dr. Fell, according to Mordin a brilliant doctor, according to Jack one hell of a nice guy, who’s currently chief medic at a porn studio, and who—on paper, at least—sits on the board of directors at one corporation and is an investor in another. Mordin, do you know if he’s rich? Does he come from money?”
“As topic of discussion, not quite relevant to work,” Mordin said, with a wry smile. “Did mention he was educated through scholarships. Appeared to earn a comfortable living; rejected several offers for high-profile, highly prestigious, and extremely profitable positions. Seemed happy as respected researcher and clinician.”
“EDI, what can you tell us about GeneCo?” said Shepard.
“It is an Illium corporation which provides organs for transplants. The usual procedure appears to be that when a patient needs a transplant, the doctor contacts GeneCo, which procures the organ. They sell exclusively to physicians.”
“This just keeps getting better. Is Dr. Fell on the client list? Can you get me a copy of it?”
“Dr. Fell does not appear to have purchased any organs from GeneCo. I have downloaded a copy of the client list to your private terminal. Be aware, Shepard, I am currently mining GeneCo’s systems themselves in order to provide this information. While I have only penetrated the second layer of security, it would be best for me to leave before I am noticed.”
“Where does GeneCo get the organs?”
“Records show that the organs are vat-grown. By the way, GeneCo has an exceptional data security system, Commander. Without time to prepare, it is becoming quite taxing to avoid detection.”
“All right, just one more question: who’s in charge?”
“It was founded and is currently run by a salarian named Remin Saleon.”
“Oh, shit,” said Shepard. “Okay, EDI, get out of there.”
“Done, Commander.”
“Shepard,” Jacob interrupted, “you do know it makes us all a little nervous when you start a sentence with “Oh, shit,” right?”
Shepard sighed. “Back on the first Normandy, we chased down a Dr. Saleon who was using people as giant test tubes to grow extra organs. He’d gotten good at growing them, but hadn’t quite perfected the art of getting them out without extreme collateral damage…although if he’d had a little more time, he might have.”
“What happened?” asked Jacob.
“He ran out of time,” said Shepard, with a grim smile.
“Disgusting,” said Mordin. Shepard quirked an eyebrow. “Not removal of Saleon, no. Experiments disgusting. Extraordinarily unethical. GeneCo founder likely relative; most likely, son. Odds too high for shared name to be coincidence.”
“So let’s just say that the organs GeneCo sells probably aren’t vat-grown,” Shepard finished. “Any questions?”
Silence in the room.
“Well, I’ve got lots. We’ve got a puzzle with half the pieces missing and we don’t even know how many there are in the first place. And I think we’re running out of time.” She paused. “But beating our heads against the walls won’t help. We’ll break for today; meet here tomorrow at 0800 sharp. Keep reading. Keep thinking.”
Shepard smiled. “You’re some of the sharpest people in the galaxy. If I were missing, you’d be the ones I’d want looking for me. So get to it.”
The crew filed out, leaving Shepard alone; her smile disappeared once they were gone. She folded her arms on the table and put her head down, and only EDI heard her muffled sobs.