His eyes widen at the technology suddenly on display. The appearance is one thing, and yeah, he could've written all of that off as a costume or something, but no one has technology that seamless, not like that. Michael snorts because he definitely shouldn't be the one interrogated.
He waves a wrench at her (because the voice sort of makes him think it's a her, but what the hell does he know about alien gender) and gestures around him. "Sanders Junkyard," he says. "You got a car I need to take a look at?" he jokes.
She's not in Andromeda. She's in the Milky Way galaxy. The Sol System. That's... that's not possible. But the hardlight holographic display of her omnitool verifies that, yes, wherever she is, it matches the human homeworld perfectly.
But this guy isn't human. He passes, but her readings are off the charts. She holsters her gun, clamping it into her armor against her back with a quick, mechanical sound, and she drops her shield, too.
"I barely know what a car is," she says. She's frowning now, mandibles twitching against her jaw thoughtfully. "Listen, I was in the Andromeda galaxy thirty seconds ago. You must have some sort of tech that pulled me here, somehow. A micro mass relay, or something? No?"
Michael looks her over, trying to get a read on the armor, the shield, and the alien itself without looking too overtly like he's staring. Fuck, he's fascinated, and he squints at her, trying to decide how much he intends to give away here.
He snorts. "The only tech that I activated in the last few hours is a car lift," he deadpans, though he hasn't gone down into the bunker to see if anything is active.
"You didn't follow any signals or anything?" Maybe Roswell's got a beacon of a different kind, because why would their ship have come here otherwise, all those years ago?
She shakes her head. "We were just doing routine scans..." She frowns, trailing off. There was nothing that they'd been doing to explain why she was on Earth, in the wrong galaxy, alone. But standing in front of her is an alien more human-like than any she'd ever seen before, any in the known database, even. Either he's the one to blame, or they're both somehow victim to some greater, scientific phenomenon.
Since he's already told her Earth, he suspects that's not what she means. He sets the cabin filter aside, grabbing a cloth to wipe off his hands before glancing to her. "Roswell, New Mexico," he says, and there's a slight air of curiosity, wondering if that means anything to her.
Is it galactically known as a landing spot, or did their transport just ave really terrible luck?
"You said we, but you're just a you," he points out, picking up the wrench again to gesture to her. "Where's the rest of them?"
"I can't raise the rest of my squad," she says. "New Mexico, that's..." She frowns again, struggling to remember her Old Earth geography. She grumbles and shakes her head. She'd left Palaven too young for it to properly sink in. If she'd gone into the militia, maybe they would have drilled it into her.
"And the year?" Her dual-layered voice trembles, just a little, and she hates herself for it.
Okay, so no recognition on that level. Interesting. "You probably shouldn't be out in the open like this," he admits, because he's fairly sure that after Caulfield and Alex telling him about his Dad, there's a lot of cameras on this area.
Who the hell knows what Jesse would do with another alien?
"It's 2019," he says, and nods for her to come into an area with netting, where he's tried to set up a lot of obstructions that will prevent any surveillance from seeing them.
2019. That's more than a century before first contact with humanity. More than a century before mass effect physics were discovered on Earth. Before the Reapers, before...
Before the Andromeda Initiative.
"Spirits," she whispers.
She looks around the area he's led her to, looking at it with a new perspective. Everything around her that looks vintage, antique, isn't. It's all new. It's all young. Because she's somehow in the past.
In the past, facing an unknown alien race that passes for human so well she wouldn't know the difference if not for her scans. Does he even know?
He sets the wrench down, dragging over a chair and grabbing a half-open bottle of beer to finish it off, setting it at his side as he watches her with the critical eye of someone trying to learn as much as he can, without asking questions.
He's not the mind-reader, though, so that's going to be a bit hard.
"You're not here intentionally then." Given the appearance, she's probably not related to him, and not here to bring him home. "No ship?"
There's something especially telling in the way he asks, and she follows his lead, sitting on a second nearby chair. She's too tall for it, too awkward, but there aren't any other options.
"No," she says. "Our ship dropped us off on Eos in the Nomad, and we were just... exploring, collecting data, trying to establish a colony. There was nothing. No wormhole, no mass relay. I took one step on Eos and another here."
She's staring blankly at the ground, three-fingered hands hanging between her knees, slowly letting the reality of her situation sink in.
He clocks her height, then wonders about who must have done the armor, and what sort of material it is. He's not about to go showing off the items in the bunker, but he's so curious, especially looking at her anatomy and how it differs.
It's not like he's ever looked at his insides, but this is more what he figured an alien should look like. "So, you're stuck," he says bluntly. "Somehow. Wormhole or some kind of matter transfer." He snorts derisively. "Sucks for you, this place is as backwater Earth as it gets."
"You're stranded, too," she notes. "Did you get here the same way? Or were you born here?"
It's blunt, and she knows it, but right now, she doesn't care. It's hot, here, even in her suit, and she wants to take off her armor and drink some good turian whiskey. But if this really is Earth in 2019 CE, then she's out of luck.
Unfortunately, he's not willing to give himself up so easily. He's been hiding in plain sight this long, why stop now? "I mean, it's definitely not an ideal situation, but I wouldn't call living in an Airstream stranded," he replies, using humor and sass to hide that he's a bad liar.
"I've been here long as I can remember," is the truth, and he shrugs, sipping the last of the beer and throwing it into the nearby bin, listening to it rattling its way down.
Vetra stares at him for a long moment, unsure if she wants to be offended or amused, and realizing he probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference. She sighs and draws up her omnitool and types on the interface for a moment.
An orange display lifts between them, showing a solid silhouette of Michael's body. It even has the shape of his curly hair, the knobby breaks in his left hand. A small square lights up at his shoulder and shows the oddly shaped cellular makeup that defined him as Not Human.
He scowls slightly as he looks at the display, staring at it and his elevated temperature, along with the cellular proof that he's not human. Liz had found it when she had their blood, but he's never seen it like that. "I'm not bullshitting you, I really don't remember anything else," he insists.
Only, he's definitely not human. He sighs and looks back to the empty beer bottle, floating it towards the bin without touching it with his hands.
Those aren't mass effect fields, and the strange reading coming from his torso isn't an eezo node, but somehow they're each operating similarly to the analogues that Vetra's familiar with. She sighs and drops the display.
"How many others are there?" she asks. He'd referred to this place as 'backwater,' which she thinks is a human phrase for 'isolated.' That could either be a good thing, or a very bad thing."
He's not planning to give anyone else up. "As far as I know, I'm alone out here," he says, because Isobel isn't a part of this. She's a normal human, as far as Roswell is concerned, and not the outlier that he is, so he's not intending to drag her into it.
"There were others," he admits. "Used to be, but I was in a stasis pod. They were captured, and there..." Was an incident, he doesn't say. He reaches for a new beer, when the grief of losing them and Max starts to creep in again.
"And you're hiding," she says. "Well... this is... super fun." She sighs and drops her omnitool, then pulls her visor off. "I'm Vetra. I haven't said that, yet. Vetra Nyx."
She'd always wanted to visit Earth, but this situation is less than ideal.
"Same people who did something about my family," he confirms, because if he goes out in plain sight, then there's going to be a lot more trouble than he's willing to deal with. "Which makes you a real interesting problem," he admits with a snort, seeing as he's not sure how the hell he's going to hide Vetra.
"I'm Michael," he introduces himself. "Guerin."
"Welcome to Roswell. Only other alien I've met that wasn't already here," he says, shaking his head. "And you're stuck too."
"Great," she mumbles. She unfolds herself from the awkward seat, picking her visor back up. "Well... at least I won't be alone when I starve to death, I guess." She offers a crooked smile and adds, "Unless you think you can help me find a way back to my timeline."
He gives her a curious look, a touch alarmed. "What do you mean, starve to death?" The rest of it, though, he might have a better idea. He peers around the junkyard and glances to see if anyone is looking. When it looks like they're not, he gestures for Vetra to follow.
"Come on. Maybe you'll see something you'll understand more than I will," he admits, and moves the Airstream to reveal the top of the bunker, which he drags open with his mind.
"Turians can't eat human food," she explains as she follows him. Her armor leaves two-toed tracks in the sand as she walks. "Our amino acids are completely different. I have some rations on me, but nothing that'll last too long."
The bunker isn't a surprise. She'd definitely caught some semblance of it on her scans. She is, however, a little uncertain she'll be able to fit through the opening. Maybe if she weren't in her armor? But her worries are only slightly justified: her carapace scrapes against the opening on the way down, but she squeezes in, then jumps off the ladder instead of climbing down the rest of the way.
He lets his eyes slide over her, figuring she must be a Turian. "Okay, then show me the structure of what you can eat," he says, climbing down and gesturing to the table in front of him. He's a little wary about showing this to anyone else, but Liz and Alex and Max have all seen it now.
He might as well start giving tours.
"Nothing in here's actually finished or could fly," he dismisses, not sure it deserves that kind of awe.
"It's more than I'd get done with scraps and outdated Terran materials," she notes. "But, I'm not a scientist, or an engineer." She's more of an all-purpose runner. And someone who shoots things.
"What would you need to get it in the air?" she asks. She could probably get it... If she weren't on pre-first contact Earth over one hundred years in the past...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2020-01-02 02:17 am (UTC)"What the fuck yourself," she answers. Her mandibles twitch as she frowns. "What is this place?"
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Date: 2020-01-02 02:51 am (UTC)He waves a wrench at her (because the voice sort of makes him think it's a her, but what the hell does he know about alien gender) and gestures around him. "Sanders Junkyard," he says. "You got a car I need to take a look at?" he jokes.
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Date: 2020-01-02 03:06 am (UTC)Earth.
She's not in Andromeda. She's in the Milky Way galaxy. The Sol System. That's... that's not possible. But the hardlight holographic display of her omnitool verifies that, yes, wherever she is, it matches the human homeworld perfectly.
But this guy isn't human. He passes, but her readings are off the charts. She holsters her gun, clamping it into her armor against her back with a quick, mechanical sound, and she drops her shield, too.
"I barely know what a car is," she says. She's frowning now, mandibles twitching against her jaw thoughtfully. "Listen, I was in the Andromeda galaxy thirty seconds ago. You must have some sort of tech that pulled me here, somehow. A micro mass relay, or something? No?"
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Date: 2020-01-02 12:25 pm (UTC)He snorts. "The only tech that I activated in the last few hours is a car lift," he deadpans, though he hasn't gone down into the bunker to see if anything is active.
"You didn't follow any signals or anything?" Maybe Roswell's got a beacon of a different kind, because why would their ship have come here otherwise, all those years ago?
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Date: 2020-01-02 02:10 pm (UTC)"Where... exactly is Sanders Junkyard?" she asks.
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Date: 2020-01-02 02:16 pm (UTC)Is it galactically known as a landing spot, or did their transport just ave really terrible luck?
"You said we, but you're just a you," he points out, picking up the wrench again to gesture to her. "Where's the rest of them?"
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Date: 2020-01-02 02:21 pm (UTC)"And the year?" Her dual-layered voice trembles, just a little, and she hates herself for it.
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Date: 2020-01-02 02:30 pm (UTC)Who the hell knows what Jesse would do with another alien?
"It's 2019," he says, and nods for her to come into an area with netting, where he's tried to set up a lot of obstructions that will prevent any surveillance from seeing them.
no subject
Date: 2020-01-02 02:43 pm (UTC)Before the Andromeda Initiative.
"Spirits," she whispers.
She looks around the area he's led her to, looking at it with a new perspective. Everything around her that looks vintage, antique, isn't. It's all new. It's all young. Because she's somehow in the past.
In the past, facing an unknown alien race that passes for human so well she wouldn't know the difference if not for her scans. Does he even know?
no subject
Date: 2020-01-02 02:56 pm (UTC)He's not the mind-reader, though, so that's going to be a bit hard.
"You're not here intentionally then." Given the appearance, she's probably not related to him, and not here to bring him home. "No ship?"
no subject
Date: 2020-01-02 03:03 pm (UTC)"No," she says. "Our ship dropped us off on Eos in the Nomad, and we were just... exploring, collecting data, trying to establish a colony. There was nothing. No wormhole, no mass relay. I took one step on Eos and another here."
She's staring blankly at the ground, three-fingered hands hanging between her knees, slowly letting the reality of her situation sink in.
no subject
Date: 2020-01-02 03:18 pm (UTC)It's not like he's ever looked at his insides, but this is more what he figured an alien should look like. "So, you're stuck," he says bluntly. "Somehow. Wormhole or some kind of matter transfer." He snorts derisively. "Sucks for you, this place is as backwater Earth as it gets."
He'd know.
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Date: 2020-01-02 03:31 pm (UTC)It's blunt, and she knows it, but right now, she doesn't care. It's hot, here, even in her suit, and she wants to take off her armor and drink some good turian whiskey. But if this really is Earth in 2019 CE, then she's out of luck.
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Date: 2020-01-02 03:37 pm (UTC)"I've been here long as I can remember," is the truth, and he shrugs, sipping the last of the beer and throwing it into the nearby bin, listening to it rattling its way down.
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Date: 2020-01-02 04:01 pm (UTC)An orange display lifts between them, showing a solid silhouette of Michael's body. It even has the shape of his curly hair, the knobby breaks in his left hand. A small square lights up at his shoulder and shows the oddly shaped cellular makeup that defined him as Not Human.
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Date: 2020-01-02 04:13 pm (UTC)He scowls slightly as he looks at the display, staring at it and his elevated temperature, along with the cellular proof that he's not human. Liz had found it when she had their blood, but he's never seen it like that. "I'm not bullshitting you, I really don't remember anything else," he insists.
Only, he's definitely not human. He sighs and looks back to the empty beer bottle, floating it towards the bin without touching it with his hands.
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Date: 2020-01-02 04:17 pm (UTC)"How many others are there?" she asks. He'd referred to this place as 'backwater,' which she thinks is a human phrase for 'isolated.' That could either be a good thing, or a very bad thing."
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Date: 2020-01-02 04:29 pm (UTC)"There were others," he admits. "Used to be, but I was in a stasis pod. They were captured, and there..." Was an incident, he doesn't say. He reaches for a new beer, when the grief of losing them and Max starts to creep in again.
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Date: 2020-01-02 04:39 pm (UTC)She'd always wanted to visit Earth, but this situation is less than ideal.
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Date: 2020-01-02 05:09 pm (UTC)"I'm Michael," he introduces himself. "Guerin."
"Welcome to Roswell. Only other alien I've met that wasn't already here," he says, shaking his head. "And you're stuck too."
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Date: 2020-01-02 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-01-02 07:10 pm (UTC)"Come on. Maybe you'll see something you'll understand more than I will," he admits, and moves the Airstream to reveal the top of the bunker, which he drags open with his mind.
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Date: 2020-01-02 07:17 pm (UTC)The bunker isn't a surprise. She'd definitely caught some semblance of it on her scans. She is, however, a little uncertain she'll be able to fit through the opening. Maybe if she weren't in her armor? But her worries are only slightly justified: her carapace scrapes against the opening on the way down, but she squeezes in, then jumps off the ladder instead of climbing down the rest of the way.
"Whoa."
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Date: 2020-01-03 12:26 am (UTC)He might as well start giving tours.
"Nothing in here's actually finished or could fly," he dismisses, not sure it deserves that kind of awe.
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Date: 2020-01-03 12:42 am (UTC)"What would you need to get it in the air?" she asks. She could probably get it... If she weren't on pre-first contact Earth over one hundred years in the past...
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