Chapter 11: Savior
"You did it, Shepard."
Wrex was covered in blood, some of it likely his own, the rest from countless husks. It ran down his armor and dripped like he'd just marched through an abattoir. In a way, he had; they all had. The price in lives lost for their victory and ones yet to come for the choices Shepard had made today was high. From their current position atop the stable remains of an ancient krogan city, they looked down at the collapsing Shroud below.
"No..." he replied quietly. "Mordin did. The STG sabotaged the facility years ago to prevent exactly what we just accomplished. He stayed behind to make sure that the cure worked."
The Shroud was a hollow shell of what it had once been, explosions having rocked it almost as soon as he and Garrus had made it to the exit. Only parts of the superstructure remained while the rest smoldered. He realized that in his final moments at the peak of the great tower Mordin must have been able to look down and see the world he had saved spread out before him. It was a sad comfort, but Shepard hoped the salarian had truly found his peace.
"He was a hell of a warrior... for a salarian," Wrex admitted grudgingly.
Eve's voice came from behind them. "He wasn't a warrior. Mordin was a healer, one that understood that sometimes even healers must fight. And I will make sure that he is not forgotten. No more than you will be, Shepard."
Shepard turned to face the female krogan, reaching up and slowly removing his helmet before he spoke.
"Mordin never sought fame. Just remember what today cost, Eve, and don't repeat the mistakes of the past."
"We will not, Shepard," she replied, fixing Wrex with a stern look that earned her a quick nod. Focusing her attention on the Spectre once more she inclined her head slightly. "Once you asked my name and I told you I had given it up. This is a new beginning for the krogan. And I think this new future you have given us is reason enough to reclaim what was lost."
"You don't owe me anything."
The krogan cocked her head and chuckled quietly.
"No, we owe you everything. My first daughter will bear the name Mordin as my way of passing on his gift, just as I am sure many krogan sons will bear yours in years to come. But a name can be a powerful thing, and I give you mine willingly," she said, meeting his gaze. "I stand as Urdnot Bakara... and I will fight for your cause, Commander Shepard of the Normandy."
Wrex nodded, moving to stand next to Bakara. "As will Clan Urdnot and every other krogan clan under my banner."
"Wrex... Bakara," Shepard replied, extending his hand to be clasped by each krogan, with Wrex holding on a moment longer.
"You listen, Shepard," the old krogan growled, tightening his grip. "No one knows the hell of war better than the krogan. So when it looks like the end is near and it's all gone to hell, that's when you give the call. We will end this together as brothers, fighting side by side. One way or the other."
"Wouldn't want it any other way, Wrex."
Finally the battlemaster let go and Shepard walked toward the waiting shuttle. Garrus was there, rifle still on his shoulder as he waited patiently. Behind him he heard Urdnot Bakara's voice call after him.
"Even in the darkest hour there is always hope, Shepard. Good luck."
No more words were spoken and they loaded up in silence. The rest of the ground team had returned to the Normandy already, with the exception of Garrus, and the turian cruiser had retrieved their surviving fighters and ground forces. Tuchanka was, for the moment, a safe world with the destruction of the lone Reaper that had been sent to hold it. A few scattered pockets of various husks still held out but would soon be destroyed by the newly invigorated krogan. It was a small victory in the grand scheme of things, but an important one for morale. EDI had already transmitted their guncam footage of Kalros' defeat of the Reaper to Admiral Hackett for distribution to Alliance forces.
He noticed Garrus simply watching him, the turian's elbows propped on his knees.
"What?"
Garrus didn't answer at first, instead tapping his omni-tool.
"Care to explain what you're doing?"
"Disabling the audio/visual sensors for the passenger area," the turian replied simply.
"We going to have a problem?" Shepard asked coolly.
A low growl came from Garrus' throat as he looked away briefly. Armored talons tightened on his knees and then the Spectre found himself looking at sharp blue eyes once more.
"Why don't you tell me, Shepard? Or should I say why didn't you tell me? The Dalatrass wanted to cut a secret deal, one that involved screwing over our friends and, spirits help me, shooting one of them? You didn't think that was worth mentioning?"
"No. It wasn't your problem or your call to make."
"Not my call to make? I didn't ask you to put me in charge, Shepard," Garrus hissed, sounding genuinely angry now. "But I thought you might at least tell me ahead of time!"
Shepard threw up his hands. "Why the hell would I?"
Garrus' armored fist slammed into the bulkhead to his left and he got to his feet.
"Because I thought we were a fucking team! Shepard and Vakarian! Not Shepard - and sometimes - Vakarian, but just when he needs to know!"
"I weighed the options and came to a decision. There was no reason to involve you."
He found himself eye to eye with the former C-Sec officer. One armored talon jabbed the chest plate of his armor.
"I was involved from the moment you let me on the damn ship to hunt down Saren!" Garrus said.
"And look where that's gotten you," he replied bitterly. "Noticing a pattern, Garrus? Kaidan died on this mission. Liara became the god-damned Shadow Broker in the space of two years. Look in a mirror and see how you made out. Ashley is in the damn hospital - and you can see pretty damn well how Tali's life has gone since she joined the Normandy."
"Did you have a point?"
He grabbed the cowl of Garrus' armor, shoving the turian back against the bulkhead, a growl of his own coming unbidden. Shepard could see the anger in his friend's eyes and it was just feeding his own, knuckles white beneath his gauntlets where they gripped the turian's armor.
"My point should be pretty obvious. I got lazy when they brought me back from the dead. I tried to pretend it was all the fucking same. It's not the same and people paid the price for my decisions," Shepard said, his sentences clipped. "That damn little memorial wall on the crew deck? How many names before this is over, Garrus? Why don't you tell me? Because we've got one more name to add to it and we've been fighting this war for a month!"
"One name. One good man that the galaxy will mourn. In a war against ancient sentient starships? I'd say you've still got a pretty good record!"
"It's not bloody good enough! One Reaper. One dead genius. I don't have enough friends to keep playing those odds, Vakarian!"
The turian's eyes narrowed. "So what, you're just going to sit up there in your cabin, come down when it's time to kill something? Because I'm starting to think that's the only time I see the old Shepard anymore. Even the one that tried to crawled into a bottle might be better than the what I'm seeing now."
He barked out a laugh, the sudden change in his demeanor enough to confuse Garrus at least. Shepard moved away and leaned against the shuttle door.
"That's a good one. I can't even get drunk anymore, Garrus. Not physically possible."
"Your memory might be going, but I was on Illium. Me, Tali, and one very forgiving asari matriarch."
He smiled bitterly at the memory, a hazy one, but it was there.
"Fun fact about those wonderful cybernetics that Cerberus installed to bring me back. A doctor on the Citadel told me I hadn't reached my full potential. Got a report from Miranda not long before I turned myself in that said the same thing. They woke me up early so I guess everything wasn't quite finished 'integrating' yet. The biotics? The strength? All there and then some. Now I can throw out a warp field almost as strong as Liara. And I can down an entire bottle of whiskey and not even get the courtesy of a buzz for my trouble."
An entire bottle of whiskey wasn't an idle boast. Vega had managed to get him a bottle of pretty decent stuff during his enforced stay on Earth at his request. When the first two glasses hadn't done anything, he'd kept going. When the bottle had been emptied his head had still been clear, nothing more than the faintest feeling of warmth telling him he'd had a drink. Beneath his feet he felt the deck plating shift, the faint vibration that signaled that they settled into the Normandy's docking clamps.
Garrus sounded grim but continued on after this latest revelation.
"Fine, so you can't get drunk. The mission, one you almost died on again I might add, is over. Raise a glass of something that won't get you drunk to our salarian friend and let go for a little while."
He hit the door release, the pressurized hatch opening with a slow hiss.
"The mission isn't over until the Reapers are ash or I'm dead, Garrus. This isn't Saren or the Collectors. This is a war."
"I'm not sure which of us looks worse," Anderson said, voice filled with fatigue and wry humor.
"Most admirals old enough to be my father are usually manning a desk and not a guerrilla campaign. I'd say you're looking pretty good, sir."
The other man laughed. "That compliment could only have been more backhanded if you'd added 'with all due respect' to it, Shepard."
They were certainly a matched pair. Shepard in his armor, the advanced prototype now looking like little more than a collection of dents and scratches after the conflict on Tuchanka and Anderson, wearing Alliance 'working blues' that were devoid of rank insignia and stained with mud, soot, and other unidentified substances. Probably blood.
"I try, sir."
"You certainly do," Anderson agreed. "Hackett sent me that footage as soon as he got it. Quite a sight. I never thought I'd see a thresher that big... no residual effects on you?"
Shepard crossed his arms. "Residual effects?"
"You know what I mean, Shepard. The Alliance nearly slapped you with a section eight after Akuze... the only reason they didn't was because some of us thought you had it in you to pull through. That and it would have looked bad for the brass to discharge the only survivor of such a disastrous mission."
He set his mouth in a tight line, remembering the earlier encounter. It might have been a problem a year before, but now he was just... numb. There had been a momentary spike of adrenaline when the Spectre had felt the first telltale sign of the creature's approach. A faint shudder in the ground that made him want to just run as fast as he could. The encounter with the much smaller thresher during Grunt's Rite had at least helped him to exorcise that particular demon, it seemed. Facing it and killing it without the wholesale slaughter of his team had been enough to let him keep his head. The fact that Anderson had been one of the people to go to bat for him after Akuze, though, that was information he'd never known.
"I encountered another thresher maw during the course of the Collector mission. We killed it. It helped. I'll be fine, sir."
"There are different levels of fine, son," Anderson said quietly, his concerned look piercing even through the electric haze of a hologram.
Of all the people he knew there were few that could read him the way his former CO could. Maybe Garrus by now. But, despite their argument in the shuttle, he did see the turian as his equal. Anderson would always be his superior, a voice of wisdom and, occasionally, rebuke. It had been Anderson that had helped drag him back on the straight and narrow after the nightmare that had been Akuze. He'd seen him at his worst and ever since Shepard had been driven to make sure that he was the best. Every time Shepard thought of the choices he'd made to reach this point he wondered if he'd failed in that regard.
Shepard didn't answer for a long moment.
"We've all got the same war to fight. I've got a handle on it. I'm more concerned about how the war is going for everyone else. I'm surprised that it was you on the comm."
"These QECs are the one good thing to come out of Cerberus other than bringing you back. Hackett has been keeping me apprised. With no chance of the communications being intercepted I'm rather well informed for someone stuck on an occupied planet."
"And how is that occupation going? Hackett hasn't given me anything concrete," he asked.
Anderson sighed and took off his hat, knocking it against his thigh before slipping it back on, as if it would make any difference in the amount of dirt caked on it.
"It's a damned mess, but the fight isn't over. The Reapers have either destroyed or taken control of the largest population centers. They started broadcasting on general frequency demanding world leaders to enter their facilities for negotiations... which we both know just means indoctrination. Right now we use the QEC's to coordinate as best with can through Hackett and hit their ground forces whenever we get a chance."
"Can't believe they're making it easy."
"They're not," the older man said ruefully. "But they're not creative. We hit one area and the next day they're back, just with more troops. Their tactics don't seem to change much but they've definitely got the numbers to get away with it. Right now we're just focusing on disrupting their attempts to capture civilians, every person that gets away... that's how we're measuring success. Our only real advantage right now is that they're poorly equipped to deal with armor. The Makos do a number on them."
Success was a deceptive word, he knew. The Reapers seemed to possess an inexhaustible supply of ground troops and now that they were harvesting Earth that number would only increase. It was good to hear that they hadn't lost the will to fight, though. The real question would be whether they still had that spirit in another month or however long it took him to come up with a plan to take back their home.
"The krogan are all-in now. Assuming Victus keeps up his end of the bargain we'll have the turians as well. I don't know if it will be enough but we're in a better position than we were a month ago," Shepard replied. "I won't stop until we come back to Earth with every ship in the galaxy behind us, Anderson. I promise you that."
The admiral frowned. "We'll hold, don't worry. Don't get target fixation, Shepard. You've always been like a dog with a bone. Taking back Earth... it won't win this war, no matter how much I would like to say otherwise."
"I'm not abandoning you to the damned Reapers... sir," he added, through clenched teeth.
A distant voice could be heard on the admiral's end of the line and the older man turned away briefly. Anderson nodded once at someone outside the visual range of the communication device before turning his attention back to Shepard. He gave the Spectre a tired smile.
"Don't think I said anything about abandoning. Just keep your head clear. I've got to go, it's time to move out again. Looks like we've got patrols heading this way. We're still fighting here, Shepard. You do the same. Good luck, Anderson out."
"You too," he muttered, but the hologram had already faded, leaving him in the now silent comm room once more.
A few keystrokes brought up an endless stream of reports on the console. The Normandy's war room was likely the most informed information hub in the entire war between the direct line to Hackett and Liara's network. It was both a blessing and a curse. Knowing more let them react faster and more effectively than they might otherwise... but it also meant that he was keenly aware of every casualty report and battle. Data from Palaven reported a death toll of over five million just in the past week. Earth was the same or worse. Entire colonies were going dark and every fleet engagement showed the galaxy's forces to be grossly outmatched by the sheer power of the Reapers.
Shepard closed the terminal, shaking his head and making his way through the war room to the elevator outside, then finally to his cabin. Every step he took felt like his boots were filled with solid lead. Once he arrived the Spectre began the slow process of removing his battered gear piece by piece, the occasional hiss of pain offering a counterpoint to the gurgling of the fish tank. The fish that Kelly had so considerately saved for him were once more floating lazily inside, blissfully unaware in their simple existence. All save the ugly little rock fish that Shepard had named 'Wrex'. It sat motionless at the bottom, seemingly watching him.
He gave the tank a thump with his knuckles near the lumpy looking creature's position as he passed by on the way to his shower.
"Don't give me any looks."
The fish was as unimpressed as its namesake, remaining still. It apparently had no intention of going anywhere as it was in the same position when he emerged from the shower. From the desk his omni-tool beeped, reminding him that he had an urgent message. It had been doing so for the better part of an hour, every innocuous tone somehow sounding accusatory. Shepard sighed and opened his terminal, finding the message easily. Opening it was less easy, even as he read the identification tag over and over.
To: Commander Shepard - From: Mordin Solus
He took a deep breath and finally pressed the key to open the message. There was a brief pause and the terminal's screen flickered on and off before finally settling down into the image of a black screen with a circular pattern in the center, rings within rings broken into sections. Shepard gave the screen a puzzled look until EDI's hologram appeared in the lower corner of the screen and she spoke.
"Shepard, I received a notice from... Mordin?"
A hint of surprise, maybe even sadness. The salarian had been part of EDI's crew, the people she was programmed to protect. He wondered if those same positive feedback loops she had told him about had negative counterparts, the machine equivalent of guilt, sadness, and grief.
"He sent me a file. I can only assume it was... something he had planned."
"I see," the AI responded, pausing momentarily before she continued. "It appears as if Professor Solus encrypted the message knowing that you would likely receive it aboard the Normandy. The complexity of the security algorithm would preclude decryption by most organics."
"Most?" he asked.
"There is a fifty eight point four percent chance that Kasumi Goto would be able to crack the encryption with sufficient time. Similar probabilities apply to Tali'Zorah Vas Normandy. Four point zero zero three percent chance of Garrus Vakarian accomplishing a similar task. Would you like me to proceed?"
He stared at the circle, each ring moving slowly, out of sync with the others. It was almost hypnotic. Shepard wondered if Mordin had somehow always known he wouldn't return from Tuchanka. The scientist would have scoffed at ideas of predestination or fate, he thought, but there was always the lingering question. Whatever it was, clearly the good doctor had considered it important enough to secure with the utmost care. What could be so significant that Mordin would leave him a final message after his death?
"Shepard?"
"Do it."
The rings were already moving, flashing and shifting on the screen as the first one locked in place and began to glow green.
"Processing... decryption complete. The file is ready to be accessed."
"Thank you, EDI," he said quietly.
"I enjoyed Professor Solus' time aboard the Normandy. He would often engage in philosophical debates with me while running tests and simulations even before Jeff unshackled me," the AI said suddenly. "Now that he is gone I find my processes... preoccupied reviewing this previous data."
Shepard smiled sadly, his previous question clearly answered. "It's natural, EDI. We want to hold on to the people that we've lost. For you... I guess you have both a blessing and a curse as a synthetic. You'll remember him perfectly, forever, while our memories will fade with time until it's no longer so distinct. So that loss will always be fresh for you. I'm not sure which is worse."
"I do not know. I am still trying to process such a question. I will disable my internal sensors until you have completed playback of the message. I expect that the Professor would have wished for his final words to remain private."
EDI's hologram disappeared from the screen, leaving him alone once more. With a sense of resignation he activated the message. Immediately this time, an image of Mordin appeared. The salarian wore an expression Shepard had seen often, a barely perceptible smile that always seemed to be present when the man had found some fascinating new data.
"Shepard. Will attempt to avoid further vid cliches after initial greeting. If you have received this message then failsafe program has activated after designated elapsed time without update. Alternatively, activated myself if understood. Either case, am deceased. Odd statement to record."
Mordin's recording seemed to pause, considering the novelty for a moment before he continued. His expression became more serious as he spoke.
"Always understood stakes. Also fully aware of your psychological profile and tendencies. Will blame yourself for death. Guilt levels likely completely unrelated to actual ability to stop it. Do not do so. Platitude, but must be said. Have lived long life. Accomplished much. Hope that genophage was able to be cured before my death."
"It was Mordin... you did it," Shepard told the screen, not even realizing he was whispering. "I just wish I could have found a way for you to see it."
"Getting into personal musings, will return to relevant topic. Copy of this message was sent to Padok Wiks. Also STG, likely former by the time of this message. Assisted me during attempts to save krogan females and provided access to secure STG databases. Continued to supply Urdnot Wrex with intelligence. Good man, almost as qualified as I am, if younger. Sure he will continue to improve with age. Somewhat strange views on origins of universe and sentient life. Punched him once. Still friends. Personal musings again."
"Did not mention this before as did not wish to preoccupy you during mission preparation. Have named yourself and Padok Wiks as joint heirs to all of my assets. Not rich, though not bad off. Vid appearances surprisingly lucrative. Minor assets unimportant, however. Contained within message are all notes on current and previous projects including Collector data, viral cures, and many other items."
The image on the screen sighed.
"Salarian lifespan short. Knew that I would not have time to accomplish everything. War further decreases likelihood of completion of projects. Obviously most data contained within will be outside of your scientific understanding but Wiks fully capable of assisting in translation. Did many things, Shepard, hoped to make up for... past mistakes. Important things. Dangerous things. Padok Wiks good man and intelligent, but leaving it up to you to decide how to use data contained within."
Dark eyes somehow managed to meet his own, even through a flat digital recording. Another smile appeared on Mordin's face, this one the simple expression of a man at peace. The same expression he had seen when Mordin had stepped into the elevator on Tuchanka.
"Would liked to have run tests on the seashells. But clearly was time to take my place in the Great Wheel. Your responsibilities... beyond normal men, Shepard. But so are your capability, will, and integrity. Must make the decisions that others cannot. Firmly believe no other sentient better suited. Good luck, Shepard. Was an honor."
"Yes... yes it was," Shepard said, voice thick.
The image faded from the screen and in the dim light of the cabin only a small, ugly fish saw the wetness on the soldier's cheeks as he put his head in his hands.
Below him is smoke and fire, an endless sea of it. Jagged, irregular forms jutted above it in places. He recognizes, after a long moment, that the blackened forms were buildings, concrete and steel blackened by fire. Shepard sees small forms moving, trying to escape the fire only to be engulfed by it. They must have been miles away but he still hears the screams.
"I warned you, human... told you this would happen."
He spins on his heel and jerks backwards in shock.
"No... you're dead!"
Saren Arterius' plated lips turn up into a vicious grin, eyes flashing with malice. The turian's face is covered in dark blue blood, still wet where it coveres his left shoulder and his right mandible, which dangles brokenly off his cheek. Between every plate he sees the red glow of cybernetics. When Saren speaks his words were perfectly clear despite the damage.
"So were you, Shepard. But look at you, two years a corpse and now you're faster and stronger than ever. Metal reinforced bones and synthetic muscle fibers laced through your body. You can feel them under your skin, can't you? Even a year later... I know I felt them every second."
When the turian rolls his neck Shepard can see the gaping hole in the side of the other man's head. The exit wound when Saren had come back from the brink and put the pistol to his own head, pulling the trigger. A last ditch grasp for freedom from Sovereign's control. But he hadn't really been free, even in death the Reaper had used his body.
"It's not the same."
Saren's ruined face smiles again, predatory and fierce. "Isn't it? Sovereign implanted me, improved me. Cerberus... where did they get that technology? The ability to raise you up from a pile of meat and tubes, improved, better. A synthesis of flesh and steel."
The human doesn't answer, instead turning and looking away, down at the sea of fire once more, trying to ignore the turian's words.
"I fought them. I'm still fighting them," he whispers.
"Maybe you just think you are..." Saren hisses in his ear.
On reflex he brings up an elbow but finds only air, spinning with the force of the blow. Saren stands a few feet away, motionlessly beneath the dark gray sky. Ashes float down like fresh snow and the turian surveys out over the devastation below.
"You destroyed one of them. But your precious doctor, he burned, didn't he? What if the salarian could have discovered the secret? That one weakness that would have let you defeat them... and you let him die for what? A bunch of lizards? Love? Honor? Mercy? Pathetic!"
"Shut up!" Shepard roars, charging at the man.
There was no impact once again. He falls to his hands and knees on the scorched earth, fingers digging into the ground. Burnt grass cracks and disintegrates between his fingertips as he looks around for his antagonist only to find Saren crouching next to him.
"Who's the next sacrifice?" the dead Spectre asks, splashes of thick blue blood hitting the ground with each word. One talon gestures to his right and Shepard looks, seeing a new scene playing out below.
Husks swarm over a few lone defenders, guns blazing as a massive metal form hangs behind them. A bomb, just like the one they had defused on Tuchanka. He was looking at himself. Firing into a husk, knocking another aside. A slim woman in a hood appears at his side just as another creature leaps for his throat. Claws tear into thin armor, vibrant crimson spraying over them both. The woman clutches her stomach, the same crimson stain running down her lips.
"No..." he grunts, trying to drag himself in the direction of the fight.
Saren laughs, a wet, choking sound. "Yes... they'll die for you. Their saviour. One by one."
"No."
A turian is at the side of the other 'him', cradling the hooded woman, easing her to the ground as the light leaves her eyes. He fires and fires, killing more husks. The endless wave of them crash like waves on a bloodstained shore. Blue armor, blackened around the neck and torn open wide. The turian tells him it's the only way and begins to run. Running towards the bomb, scrambling up the side. A husk claws up the other side, slashing at the turian as he frantically presses controls. The turian looks back and down at him, words clear. Victory at any cost. The world goes white.
"Garrus!"
"Two turians. You killed me first," Saren says.
The dead Spectre's boot is on his back suddenly shoving him down onto his chest.
"But you'll kill him too. Maybe even the same way. Get him to kill himself for your cause... wouldn't that be fitting?"
"NO!"
This time his arm does connect with something as he rolls. Saren staggers back and falls down as Shepard lunges forward, knocking the turian's legs out from under him. He's atop the other man's armored form in an instant, hand wrapping around Saren's throat.
"I won't!" Shepard growls. "I'm not going to watch them all die!"
"Who said you have a choice?" Saren asks, unfazed. His mangled face is still laughing even as his voice deepens, becoming more resonate and echoing. "We are your salvation through destruction. We are beyond your comprehension."
"ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL."
He looks down at the hand around Saren's throat, suddenly able to see blood and bone beneath his cracking skin as fire pours through his veins. Burning golden light etches every inch of his body. Shepard screams. And Saren's laughter echoes across the dead plains.
He awoke with a scream, muscles carrying him out of bed and onto the floor through sheer reflex. Shepard's shaking hand found the pistol at his bedside and he ran his thumb down the grip almost like it was a rosary. One notch. Two, three, four... all the way to that fresh seventh notch. Kneeling on the floor, he felt sweat running down his body as his lungs sucked in air in desperate breaths. It was a dream but he would swear that he could still feel the fire in his veins. He looked down at the gun in his right hand. Visions of Saren's final moments played through his mind even as he tightened his grip on the pistol, thumb now pressed against the safety.
"Commander Shepard?" EDI's voice asked urgently. "Shepard, I am detecting a dangerous spike in your vital signs. I will alert Dr. Chakwas immediately."
"No... EDI, no," he said, repeating it more firmly. "Belay that. I'm fine."
"Heart rate and respiration are indicative of possible onset of shock. Medical procedure-"
"Do not alert Dr. Chakwas. I am not going into shock. Tell Traynor to compile the latest reports and have them ready. I'll be in the CIC in half an hour. That'll be all, EDI."
The AI didn't sound convinced, but agreed. "Very well, Shepard. Logging you out."
Shepard was in his armor again by the time he made it to the CIC. Their current destination was the Citadel, but he couldn't help but wonder how much longer that would be a true safe haven. He could only surmise that with their initial gambit failing, the Reapers no longer considered it of importance to their war effort. He found Traynor in the cockpit speaking with Joker and EDI, datapad in hand.
"I'm not apologizing," Joker said, throwing up his hands.
"Jeff, deceiving Specialist Traynor during the refit was necessary but still a breach of trust. It would only be polite to apologize for your part in the deception," EDI chastised.
"Keyword: necessary. Makes it totally kosher."
"I'm fine, really," Traynor insisted. "We're all friends now, right? So it's water under the bridge."
Shepard interrupted, rescuing the woman from the impending argument between pilot and ship's AI.
"Specialist?"
"Commander! I have the reports you requested... maybe the CIC terminal would be more appropriate?" she asked.
"Most likely, lead on."
Joker and EDI didn't even notice their absence, still sniping back and forth. Apparently EDI having a physical body didn't soften their pilot's usual sarcastic demeanor at all. Once they made it back to Traynor's station she sighed with relief, running hand through her hair.
"Wow, they really are like an old married couple, aren't they?"
"You would not be the first person to make that observation," Shepard agreed dryly.
"Somehow I am not surprised. Here's what I've gotten in so far. We're discharging our drive core before the last jump to the relay, then we'll be at the Citadel. Once we're there I can probably get more detailed information."
The reports were telling a similar story to what he'd seen in the war room the night before. Smaller colonies bombarded briefly from space to destroy any spaceports and their satellite coverage wiped out... then simply left behind. One report made his jaw clench, noting that Illium had officially fallen with no current estimate on how many had made it off world before the Reapers struck. Their stay on the asari world had been brief but there were good people there. Now those graceful towers were likely reduced to rubble and melted glass, pillars of asari grace wiped out in an instant.
They were in the middle of reviewing the final set of reports when Shepard's omni-tool began to chime urgently. He looked down to find it pinging constantly, tapping at the display to see what was triggering the alert, only to catch a glimpse of Garrus exiting the elevator behind him. He noted the glow of the turian's omni-tool flashing as well.
"You too?"
Shepard nodded. "What the hell is it?"
"Uhh... Shepard, we've got company," Joker's voice called from the cockpit.
He and Garrus practically sprinted the distance. Hanging in space outside was a slate gray ship of utilitarian design. A picket ship, one of the Alliance's earlier models that had long since been decommissioned. Not even close to half the Normandy's size, it barely even qualified as a frigate. He looked down at Joker who merely shrugged.
"Commander, they are attempting to open communications," EDI informed him.
"Let's see it."
A surprising image appeared on the nearest viewscreen - the unmistakable form of a quarian helmet. Male, from what Shepard could tell by previous experience. The eyes shining behind the visor were fixed on the screen.
"SSV Normandy, this is Captain Borto'Nara vas Resuca. Do you copy?"
He blinked. A quarian ship?
"This is Commander Shepard, Captain Nara. This is an odd place to meet a quarian ship. Care to explain how you got here?"
"Carefully, Captain Shepard. And we came looking for you."
"We're in the middle of space," Garrus interjected, sounding suspicious. "You don't just stumble across one ship in an entire system."
The quarian captain shook his head. "We were not 'stumbling'. It is a... long story. Why we came is more important right now, however. I have the Admiralty Board on my ship, Shepard."
"The... entire Admiralty Board?" he asked incredulously.
"Minus Admiral Gerrel, yes. The Board is requesting permission to come aboard the Normandy, Captain Shepard."
"Why?"
Captain Nara's sigh was audible even over the comm. "Because we need your help, Shepard... or this ship will be all that's left of the quarian people."
"Didn't realize quarians had such a flair for the dramatic," Garrus muttered, leaning back against the railing in the war room.
"When we studied them in our cycle they already possessed a very advanced social structure for a primitive species," Javik added. "I would be unsurprised to find that this trait continues to express itself."
The turian chuckled, eying Javik. "That why you decided to hang out for this little meeting?"
"I have encountered most of the species that my people discovered. The results have been... interesting. I have not yet encountered a 'modern' quarian, aside from the data contained on your information network."
"Glad we entertain you so."
Shepard stopped pacing and held up a hand, cutting them both off.
"Stow it. EDI just updated me that they've docked. Westmoreland and Campbell are escorting them here now."
"Any indication as to what this is all about?" Garrus asked, demeanor immediately turning serious.
Their argument in the shuttle hadn't been brought up by either party and Garrus for his part didn't seem inclined to push the issue thus far. Shepard was fairly certain that it was going to come up again but he'd take the reprieve. For now they both were acting like it had never happened in the light of whatever crisis had now arisen.
"Nothing. Captain Nara said that it wasn't his place and that the Admirals would explain."
"The quarians appear to have developed a much more militaristic society than I would have expected," Javik said.
The Spectre shrugged and a rush of information spilled from his lips before he even thought about it.
"They have a democratic conclave as well that acts as the governing body of the people, enacting fleet-wide laws and similar policies. The Admiralty Board is their way of preventing politics and red tape from endangering their species, a few people with a great deal of power in the right situation but theoretically answerable to the greater whole of the Conclave. They have the power to override the entire Conclave but in turn each Admiral must immediately resign. In practice the Board has a great deal more power than just the 'oversight' they claim. As a species, however, they're probably just as democratic as the Alliance or the asari."
"Your knowledge of quarian political structure is extensive, Commander," the prothean commented.
A gravelly voice with an artificial edge cut in.
"That's because Shepard had to put up with our crap before."
His attention snapped to the door that he hadn't even noticed open. Standing at the threshold was a male quarian wearing reddish wraps, taller and broader than most quarians he'd ever seen. Hearing that voice, there was no mistaking the man and Shepard moved around the holo-display in the middle of the room to greet him.
"Reegar? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Keeping on the VIPs like a mother varren, sir. Your marines wouldn't let me keep my gun," the quarian responded, grabbing Shepard's outstretched hand and shaking it firmly. "Wasn't going to let them leave me on the shuttle, though."
"I think Lieutenant Reegar can be trusted with his weapon, private."
The two marines both looked sheepish upon realizing that they'd apparently hassled someone that was actually friends with Shepard and quickly returned the quarian's pistol and shotgun before heading back to the security checkpoint. Reegar settled both weapons into place instinctively and patted the gun at his hip.
"Much better. Feel naked without it."
"We wouldn't want that," Garrus said dryly.
"No, we wouldn't. I'm a powerfully ugly creature under this," Reegar responded, tapping the visor and earning an appreciative guffaw from the turian.
"Can you tell me what's going on here, Reegar?" Shepard asked.
The marine glanced over his shoulder at the approaching forms of three more suited quarians before speaking quietly.
"It's a damned mess, sir. But I'll let the Admirals explain it all, I'm just here doing my job as honor guard."
They moved back into the room near the holo-display as the other quarians filed in. Always covered in envirosuits and cloth wraps, it was often difficult for most species to tell quarians apart and even Shepard wasn't an expert. The ones before him now, however, he had dealt with them first hand. It wasn't terribly difficult for him to pick them out even before they spoke.
"Admiral Xen. Admiral Koris. Admiral Raan."
Shala'Raan stepped forward and inclined her head. "Commander Shepard. It is good to see you again... I only wish it could be under better circumstances."
"I could say the same. I had hoped to have your support for the war against the Reapers, but I haven't heard anything from the Migrant Fleet since the invasion began. Now you show up in the middle of nowhere and I start getting cryptic answers. What's going on?"
"A week ago - in direct violation of our agreement without the Council, I would add - we initiated precision strikes against four systems inside the Perseus Veil. And so began the war to retake our homeworld," Zaal'Koris explained, his tone resigned. "In doing so we made a grave mistake."
The simple statement stopped any response Shepard had in its tracks as his brain tried to catch up. War. In the middle of the invasion of the most powerful threat the galaxy had ever seen, the quarians had started a war against the more numerous, better equipped forces of the entire geth collective. The Migrant Fleet was supposed to be safe, mobile and with sufficient firepower concentrated in one place that even the Reapers might leave it be for some time. He finally spoke and his voice sounded harsh even to himself.
"You're throwing yourself at the geth? At the height of your bloody civilization you lost that war! A war that should never have happened in the first place."
"On that we can agree," Zaal'Koris said.
"We did not enter this war unprepared, Shepard," Daro'Xen interjected quickly. "Using information obtained from the Alarei... incident I was able to develop advanced anti-geth countermeasures. By bombarding their systems with corrupted garbage data and overriding safety protocols we were able to reduce them to near helplessness!"
"It would seem your countermeasure was insufficient if you come seeking aid," Javik said.
Three visors turned to look at the prothean as if registering his presence for the first time. Shepard was beginning to wonder if the prothean's mental talents didn't also extend to remaining unnoticed when he wished. Between the encounters with the crew and his time on the Citadel there had been amazingly few instances of panic, far less than he had expected, at least.
"Who or... what is this?" Admiral Xen demanded icily.
"I am called Javik, quarian. And I am a prothean. But that has little bearing on whatever folly your people have perpetrated now."
Already Shepard could see Xen's posture changing, preparing the usual statement on the impossibility of Javik's claim, but he cut her off.
"You can ask your questions later. For now I want to know exactly what the hell is it you've done."
Admiral Raan opened her omni-tool and sent data directly to the Normandy's databanks. An image appeared on the display at the center of the room. It was a large planet covered in swathes of brown and red, broken up by simmering blue seas. Through human eyes it looked almost as if someone had combined Earth and Mars into a single planet. Ringing the planet were the glowing icons of ship designators. Hundreds upon hundreds of them.
"Our initial assault was unbelievably successful. The geth could not counter our new weapon and we forced them back to the home system in a matter of days," Shala'Raan explained. "We thought that this war would be over with only superficial losses on our part."
"What went wrong, then?" Garrus asked flatly.
Zaal'Koris supplied the information this time, another display appearing to the left of the planet. It showed a discordant pulsing line and coding beneath, cryptic icons that moved almost too fast for the eye to see. But he recognized them. He could almost hear it himself after living with it in his dreams since Eden Prime.
"When we began the final push to Rannoch, this signal began broadcasting to all geth in system..."
"The Reapers," Shepard said.
"Correct. This signal has increased the geth's effectiveness by an order of magnitude. My countermeasures have absolutely no effect as long as the geth ships are in receiving the signal," Xen agreed in exasperation. "What should have been our moment of triumph quickly became a losing battle. We attempted to retreat but geth warships had blockaded the relay."
The Spectre threw his hands in the air and began to pace, doing his best to reign in his emotions, trying not think about crippled ships floating in space, lifepods picked off by precision fire from relentless geth cruisers. He tried even harder to not wonder whether the Neema would be amongst them.
"Are you telling me the entire Migrant Fleet is trapped in your home system with the geth fleet? An upgraded geth fleet that you just provoked a war with?"
"In essence, yes. That is exactly what we are telling you," Koris said. "Admiral Han'Gerrel is coordinating the Flotilla as a whole now, making micro jumps between the various planets in-system to stay away from the bulk of the geth forces. But we cannot keep this up. A fleet as large as ours cannot avoid confrontation forever confined to a single system and even with our numbers... the resulting battle would be the final act of the quarian people. Under the Reapers' control the geth fleet will wipe our people out."
"There is hope, however. We did not come to you without a plan," Shala added quickly.
"How did you come to us? You said the geth had blockaded the relay."
Shala'Raan nodded. "They did, but Captain Nara's vessel is an experimental ship using principles similar to the Normandy's stealth drive. It is unfortunately not as advanced but it was enough to allow us to escape the system."
"Which is why we need your help," Daro'Xen said, picking up where Raan left off and zooming in on one of the blips over Rannoch. The image of a colossal warship appeared, flanked by dozens of smaller cruisers.
Garrus gave a small hiss of astonishment. "Spirits! Shepard, that thing has to be half again the size of the Hierarchy's Imperator-class dreadnoughts."
"Indeed, the geth dreadnought is equivalent in size to one of our liveships," Raan explained. "But it is vastly superior in terms of armor, barriers, and firepower. It also appears to be the source of the transmission of the Reaper signal. We have surmised that it requires a vessel of the dreadnought's size to generate sufficient power to transmit to all geth units in the system."
He could already see the plan in his head. Shepard laughed mirthlessly.
"And with the Normandy's advanced stealth systems we could get in undetected. Any other force in the galaxy and we'd never get close because someone would look out a window."
"But 'windows are structural weaknesses and geth do not use them'," Garrus finished for him.
"Exactly. And when we knock out the signal, the Fleet burns hard for the relay and gets of there before they find some way to fix it."
"That is our hope, Commander. Unless we can disable that signal our people are lost" Zaal'Koris said with a sigh.
It could be done, of that much he was certain, but it would be risky. All it would take was one screw up in the stealth system and a hundred geth warships with the latest Reaper targeting algorithms would reduce the Normandy to so much scrap. Not to mention they would have to deal with an unknown number of geth platforms once they boarded the dreadnought. But a fast, precise strike could succeed. Then at least the quarians could get away with only whatever losses they had already sustained.
Shepard leaned against the console and gave a sigh of his own, shaking his head. "We'll do this. But I have to know... why? How, even?"
"Why? Because our existence as wandering nomads has gone on long enough. We have been exiled for far too long by our own creations," Xen snapped.
"Then how? Last time I was aboard the Migrant Fleet there were only four Admirals and your people were still divided over the idea of war."
"Ah... no, Commander. The final vote was with the full Board. In light of Admiral Xen's new countermeasures and the arguments presented I am afraid that I voted in support of this war, along with Admirals Gerrel and Xen," Shala'Raan said. "Our newest Admiral opposed the war along with Zaal'Koris. She said she would be joining us shortly. As our expert on the geth... I only wish we had listened to her."
Shepard looked at Admiral Raan in confusion for a moment before connecting the statements in his head, breath catching in his throat as the door to the war room hissed open once more. A thousand emotions boiled up all at once at the achingly familiar sight of an envirosuit swathed in deep purple, her voice taunting him with memories of the past; memories of nervous laughter and joking comments... emotional pleas and pleased gasps... painful words and strained goodbyes.
"We can't change the past. But we can at least make sure we make up for the mistakes we've made..." the quarian said, looking down at his position from her place at the top of the short set of stairs leading into the war room.
"Tali'Zorah vas Normandy, reporting for duty."
And there is our long lost Tali!
A few more items: I'm still hunting for an artist to do a full on cover for RE. I've gotten a few good pieces to build off of but still hunting! Also... for all of you that have been reading since the beginning between the dedicated efforts of Fanghur (who made a very awesome PDF version of the original!) and Bahroo who has managed to edit the story in its entirety in an impressive amount of time... the original Razor's Edge will be getting an update sometime soon. Better formatted, purged of typos, and maybe even a few small tweaks! So stay tuned...
Some more 'mood music' that is definitely appropriate for this chapter I think...
www . youtube watch?v=Los0g9Et7Ow