"Here at the academy you learn a hundred ways to kill your enemies. Marksmanship, orbital strikes, close quarter combat...it's all very useful, but it's also missing the point. Any fool can learn to aim a gun and fire it. It's never the enemy in your sights that changes the course of history; it's the knife in your back."
-Saren Arterius, during a speech to graduates of Cipritine Military Academy
...
Chapter 1: Knives in Their Backs
...
There are many ways to win a war. The rachni clouded the fields with countless numbers and beat back the turians. The krogan struck out with a primal fury and stomped out the rachni. The salarians engineered a devious new virus and thinned out the krogan. For countless centuries the fire of conflict has roared through all corners of the galaxy. These are the battles we hear about as children. They are the stories that we beg our parents to tell, and the ones that they never get tired of telling. They are the fights that light up the skies and blacken the earth. They are the conflicts that crown kings and emblazon the silhouettes of heroes into our collective memory. But there is another sort of war. A sort that needs no light or sound or heroes. A war that is fought within the shadows. Where the casualties are never mourned and the heroes are never celebrated. Where misplaced trust and deception are as deadly as the rounds from an enemy dreadnaught. As Praxalla Naveet stepped into the darkened office, she remembered the words of her mentor: for every battle you see, there are a hundred you don't.
The young asari was not the strongest Spectre in the Citadel arsenal, nor was she the fastest or the best in a gunfight. Praxalla's expertise was silent reconnaissance. She was an infiltrator, and a good one. For fifty years the Council had trusted her to recover information that was hidden from their view, and in fifty years she had never let them down. Praxalla had been stalking this particular piece of data for over a month. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure she was alone, she eased into a chair and lit up the interface.
ExoGeni Systems: Astrophysics Division: Department of Intra-Stellar Phenomena
The glow from the monitor was the only light in the room. She passed a hand over the interface and watched as the names of various research teams scrolled past. Eventually she found the one she was looking for.
Childs, Margaret, PhD
Status: Missing. Presumed Dead.
Current Project Title: Aberrancies in the Caspian magnetosphere coinciding with the fall of the Reaper fleet
Preliminary Data ::Locked::
ExoGeni was notorious for tight data security. Locked files were nearly impossible to access. Encased in firewalls, shrouded in ciphers, and littered with system lockdown traps; most hackers would not even try to proceed. But Praxilla was anything but ordinary. Carefully, she drew a small metal device from her breast pocket and attached it to the back of the terminal. It gave off a low hum and whirred to life. The neuro-binary interface symcorder, affectionately known as a data-screw, was illegal in Council space. This was partially due to the obvious security risks, as well as to its arguably perverse mechanism of action. It worked by translating computer data bits into electrical impulses similar to those given off by neurons during Asari mating. By making physical contact with the device, an Asari could literally meld with the computer. It was more effective than any method of hacking, but was considered extremely taboo. When the device first came on the market, there was a movement by the Church of Athame to declare melding with inorganic objects an offense punishable by death. Praxalla, however, had long ago learned to put the Council's wishes above any law or moral code.
With a deep breath, she placed a hand on the terminal. Her silvery eyes went black, and her muscles tightened. The images began to flow at a chaotic pace. Shapes and colors coalesced into glimpses of faces and names. Seconds after they appeared, they shuddered, lost focus, and ripped at the seams. Making sense of it was a maddening process, like trying to flip through a picture book while standing in a hurricane. Most of what she saw was useless: schematics, project data, smiling family members. Praxilla squeezed her fists and tried harder. She felt a pressure begin to build behind her eyelids. Her tensed muscles spasmed in protest. A thousand more files splashed across her consciousness. One by one she tossed them away. It was getting painful now. The images became speckled by pinpoints of white light, a sign of retinal cell lysis. The Asari mind was not meant for this sort of sustained electrical activity. Another minute and more permanent effects would take hold. Entire neural cords would snap like steel cables and spill excitatory cytokines into surrounding tissue. Seizures, brain damage, and death were all possibilities. The young Spectre shook off the thought and pushed onward. Death before retreat.
It was another minute beforeshe saw it. It was blurry, but definitely there. A map of the stars with locations marked by the computer's owner. She dragged her mind across the image. Her lips moved as she read the names of the marked systems. One of them was a telecommunications hub owned by the Salarian research guild. Childs had been using it for years to distribute her publications. Another was a well known Sirta production plant. Most of the lab's heavy equipment could be traced back to the warehouses there. The third was a small world in Sigurd's Cradle called Laena. Praxalla furrowed her eyebrows. There was nothing out that way. Nothing but...
She heard an earsplitting crack as the link was broken. She leaned back into the chair and exhaled. Every muscle in her body felt like it was on fire. As the ringing in her ears died down, Praxalla could hear air passing in and out of her lungs. After a minute's rest, she brought a hand to her forehead and wiped away a sheen of perspiration.
"Laena."
That was it. It had to be. A small planet near an enormously active star. Far from the Councils trading routes, and with no value to the local mercenary groups. It was a perfect place for the doctor to continue her research. Praxalla had done it. She had found Margaret Childs. The council would be pleased with her report. Now she just had to get back to her ship.
In the glow of the terminal, she removed her supply pack and fished out a long range communicator. She turned the dial to a preset channel and started speaking.
"Primary objective achieved. Begin purge of all mission data. Confirm, that's a total drive wipe. Extraction at exit Delta. Fifteen minutes."
With that she grabbed the communicator in both hands and snapped it in half, dropping both pieces on the floor. Leaning forward, she reached an arm behind the terminal and plucked off the data-screw. In its place, she planted a small explosive device. After priming the charge, she powered off the terminal display, plunging the office into total darkness. She rose to leave and took a step toward the door. Before she could take a second, something stopped her in her tracks. She felt something different in the air. It was subtle at first, then the smell of rotten meat met her nose. The odor was unmistakable. Vorcha. She looked down at the light coming in from under the door. It was suddenly blocked out by a shadow.
Praxalla reached for her pistol. There was a crash as a vorcha mercenary kicked open the door. He raised his rifle and snarled.
"Don't move."
Praxalla froze. She took a second to size up her options, then raised her hands and sat back in the chair.
The vorcha froze as well. Stunned that he had managed to subdue the Spectre so easily. "That's...that's good. Now keep your hands in the air."
"OK. Just don't shoot. I'll do whatever you want."
His surprise giving way to confidence, the vorcha widened his toothy grin and stepped forward.
"That's right. You will. Now move away from the terminal...slowly."
Praxalla looked up at her own hands. "Do I have to keep my hands in the air? Because this is kind of a deep chair, and I might need some help getting out of it."
Still aiming the rifle he said "What? I...No. Just figure out a way."
"Can I use one of my hands maybe, just to push off?"
"No you can not!"
She flashed a helpless pout. "Well I'm out of ideas. Maybe you can figure this one out."
The vorcha spat out an expletive in his own language. "Don't push me Spectre, or I swear I will-"
Before he could finish the sentence, Praxalla leaned back in the chair and kicked the computer clear off the desk. It flew across the room and hit the his chest with enough momentum to carry him into the hallway. Before he could rise to his feet. Praxalla vaulted the desk, dashed toward him, and slammed her foot into the side of his head. There was a sickening crunch, and the vorcha sank under the weight of the displaced terminal.
Now standing in the hallway, she looked to her left. Between her and the elevator were at least seven additional vorcha mercinaries. They were gathered around a massive, armored Krogan. He made eye contact and yelled.
"There she is. Move!"
Praxalla spun on her heel and bolted in the opposite direction. The mercenaries took off in pursuit. Just as they were stepping over the fallen vorcha, she tapped a key on her Omni-tool. The explosive detonated, and the hallway erupted into a fireball, spewing embers and burning paperwork. She smiled and kept running.
A little further down, the corridor opened up into a large room. It was a square space, stacked with shelves and storage lockers. She saw shuttle parts, engine blocks, weapon components, but no exits. It was a dead end. She shut the door behind her and sealed the lock. The door was solid steel, but it wouldn't hold up against a vorcha arc torch. They would be on her soon if she didn't keep moving. Praxalla took a deep breath and tried to calm herself.
"There's always a way out." She said aloud.
She lit up her Omni-tool and pulled up blueprints of the structure. She traced her path and located her position on the map. According to the schematics, she was in an auxiliary supply bay. She rotated the three dimensional image and spotted a ventilation shaft leading from the bay to a maintenance corridor. If she made it there, she could ride an engineering lift all the way to the surface, not far from her waiting ship. Unfortunately the shaft had been out of use for some time, and the entrance was hidden behind a pile of equipment.
She closed the interface and found the pile. She began pulling materials away from the shaft entrance. First she tipped over a row of lockers, then a pair of propeller blades and a set of shuttle drive axles. The pieces hit the floor with noisy clangs. As she worked to escape, she heard the mercenaries banging on the other side of the door. Before long the banging was replaced by silence. The scent of burning sulfur filled the room. They were lighting a blow torch.
A minute later Praxalla pulled away the last box of engine parts. She was almost through, but a large steel panel had been laid over the shaft. She bent down and tried to move it with her hands, but it was heavy and only budged an inch.
"Move damn it."
Suddenly a red glow filled the room. The lock melted and fell away from the door, leaving a small gap in the steel. Through the gap peered the red eyes of a Vorcha Pyro. Praxalla lifted a pistol from her hip and sent a shot right between them. The beast fell sideways to reveal the Krogan standing behind. He charged and slammed into the door. It swung open, and he stepped into the room. The space seemed suddenly much smaller.
"Enough running little Spectre. You're coming with me."
"I appreciate the offer, but I think I've got a better one."
With a surge from her biotic amps, she tore the panel free from the shaft and launched it straight into the Krogan's face. It tore past his cheek, leaving a gaping wound. As he clutched at his cheek, Praxalla dropped to her knees and dove for the opening. She slid her arms and shoulders through, but was suddenly snagged on something. She could feel the Krogan's hand squeeze around her ankle.
"You're… coming …with me!"
"Sorry, but this little Spectre isn't done running yet!"
She bent at the waist and slammed her free foot into his chin. The Krogan growled and released his grip. Praxalla fell into the shaft and landed on a metal surface a few meters down. Without looking back, she began to crawl as fast as she could manage. The mercenaries would not be able to fit through the space, but it wouldn't be long before they found away arround.
…
The maintenance corridor was dark and damp. Humidified air rose up, condensed along a network of pipes overhead, and dripped down the walls to accumulate in muddy puddles on the floor. Yellow lamps flickered dimly at intervals. The light caught the contours of steam pipes and cast long shadows. An industrial hum permeated the space, punctuated only by the sound Praxalla's footsteps. She moved steadily and cautiously, with her gun up and ready. If her calculations were right, the lift would not be far ahead.
As she stepped over a large power cable on the floor, she heard something stir in the darkness behind her.
She raised her pistol. "Who's there?"
She heard a few rushed footsteps. A circular piece of scrap metal tumbled out from the shadows, rolled toward her, and fell at her feet. Then there was silence.
She aimed at the source and called out again. "Who is that? Speak up unless you like the taste of hot tungsten."
At first there was no response, but then a figure stepped out of the shadows. Praxalla could not believe her eyes. She had to squint to be sure.
"T'Soni?"
The figure stepped into brighter light and smiled. Praxalla lowered her gun.
"Goddess, I almost shot you. What are you doing down here."
Still smiling, Liara said, "Believe it or not I'm here to rescue you."
"Me? My mission is classified. How did you even know which planet I was on?"
"The council was worried about you. When they missed your last report, they sent Shepard to pick up your trail."
"Shepard? He's here?"
"Yes. The Normandy landed about an hour ago. When the alarms started, I hacked the security system and guessed you would find your way down here. It won't be long before those mercenaries follow the same trail. We need to move."
Praxalla exhaled and holstered her pistol. "I can't argue with that. I think there's an elevator up ahead."
"There is. That's how I got down here. It's this way." Liara motioned with her hand. "Just stay close. It's easy to get lost down here."
In the dim light they started moving. Their shadows stretched out in front of them as they walked.
"It's been a long time T'Soni. What is it now? Forty years? Fifty? I didn't think I'd see you again."
Liara laughed. "I thought the same about you. I'm sure we'll have more than a few stories to trade once we're on board the Normandy."
Praxalla nodded and smiled. "From what I hear, you've got me beat in that department. Is it true that you were there for the final battle with Harbinger?"
"Yes. Front and center I'm afraid"
"One of these days you're going to have to tell me how you lived through that."
"You can count on it." Liara said. Then her eyes narrowed a bit, and she asked "Have you had any success with Dr. Childs?"
"I had my big break just a few minutes ago, right before the mercs started tearing up the place. The good doctor went to some pretty great lengths to cover her tracks, but I found files on her computer that gave her away."
"Her computer? The security report stated that all her personal data drives had been wiped clean."
"The computer in her office was a decoy. She was storing all of her actual research on a terminal in an engineering annex. The engineering department runs on a skeleton crew that barely uses the terminals. It was a natural place to hide information that she wanted to keep secret."
Liara's face lit up. "So how much of the raw data were you able to recover?"
"None. She took it with her."
"So she isn't dead after all."
"No. And I know where she's hiding."
"Where?"
"Come on Liara. This is beyond confidential. I would be more comfortable discussing it with another Spectre. I'll give Shepard a full debriefing when we get to the Normandy."
Liara stopped walking and crossed her arms. "Another Spectre? We grew up together. Are you really going to treat me like a stranger?"
"Look, I'm sorry. But I've been a deep cover agent for years now. Trust isn't part of my normal repertoire. It's not personal."
"It should be. I risked my life to come down here. I may not be a Spectre, but I've been working with one for years. You know that. The least you can do is answer a simple question."
Praxalla let out an exasperated sigh. "Alright, fine. Dr. Child's is on Laena, out in Sigurd's Cradle. Happy?"
"Very."
"Then can we get moving please? I've seen enough vorcha faces for one day."
Liara nodded and they continued onward toward the elevator. As they approached the industrial lift chamber, Liara spoke up again. "Are you absolutely sure that you didn't see any of the research? Laena's a big place to search. Any information might help to pin her down."
Praxalla was getting annoyed now. "Would you relax? I'll be searching right there with you, and I'll be happy to—"
In mid sentence she noticed something that caught her attention. She stopped walking and turned toward her companion.
"Liara, didn't you say that you rode this elevator down here?"
"That's right."
"Then why is the lift still at the surface. It hasn't been called down yet."
Liara followed her companion's eyes to the empty chamber. She looked back at Praxalla and tilted her head slightly to one side. "Well I suppose you were going to find out sooner or later."
Praxalla narrowed her eyes and then opened them widely. "You…you're not T'Soni."
She reached for her gun, but Liara batted it away with surprising strength. It slid down the corridor and disappeared between the flickering lights. Praxalla took a step backward.
"What the—"
A hand shot out and closed around her neck. She was lifted up against the wall, a sharp edge digging into her back. Two blue eyes stared into hers.
"No. I'm afraid I'm not."
Praxalla brought up her arms and tugged at the fingers clasped around her throat. The grip would not give.
"Shhhh. Just relax. It would be better to save your strength."
Praxalla growled and continued to fight the grip. In a fit of desperation she bioticaly pulled a pieced of jagged scrap metal from the floor and sent it flying toward her attacker. With lighting reflexes, the false Liara spun Praxalla around, using her as a human shield. The metal lodged in her lower back and jutted out through her abdomen. She gasped and coughed up a spurt of blue liquid.
Still holding her throat, the attacker just frowned and shook her head. "Now look at you." She wiped some blood off of the wounded Spectre's chin. "I suppose it doesn't matter anyway. You've told me what you know, and you know what?" She leaned in close. "I believe you."
Praxalla, too injured to speak, could only stare with pure rage in her eyes.
"It's sort of funny really. This reminds me of a passage I used to read in school. A poem from the Matriarch Kala'shi. Stop me if it sounds familiar. 'I do not fear the blackest night, for the darkness, like a grindstone, sharpens my senses. Every sound is a suspect, every form a threat. My battlements are strong and my sentries ready. What I fear is the light of day, for in the violet glow of the Thessian sun, all things are beautiful. And even the most dangerous enemies approach as friends.'"
With those last words something strange began to happen. First the attacker's eyes changed color. Then her bone structure began to distort. It was like looking at a face under a thin layer of rippling water. Her features melted and re-solidified. As she watched, Praxalla's rage gave way to recognition, and then to terror. With her last ounce of strength she opened her mouth and screamed.
…
Liara sat up in bed and clutched at her chest. Her heart was racing. She looked around the cabin, expecting to see something terrible, but all was quiet and still. She closed her eyes and took a moment to catch her breath. Slowly she leaned back onto the pillow. The surface was cool against her cheek. For a while she stared up at the stars passing overhead. After she had calmed down, Liara turned to Shepard, but he was still asleep.
She pulled the sheets up around her shoulders. The sensation of linen sliding across her bare skin brought warm memories of the hours before she fell asleep. Less than twenty four hours aboard the Normandy and already so much had happened. It felt good to be reckless for once; to not think about the consequences. She rolled onto her side. It calmed her just to look at him; to take in the features and scars. It seemed like an eternity that she had known Shepard, but she rarely had the chance to study his face. She traced a spiral on his shoulder blade with her fingertip and smiled. Then she realized he was smiling too.
"How long have you been awake?" she asked.
"Since you sat up a minute ago. I was going to say something, but I'm enjoying this too much."
"What?"
"Just lying here with you. I don't think I've ever slept as well as I did last night."
"So sleeping was the highlight?"
He laughed and pulled her close to him. She let her muscles go soft and submitted to the squeeze.
"Seriously though. Are you OK?"
"Yes. I think so anyway." She looked around the room once more. "Did you hear anything just before? I could have sworn I heard a scream."
Shepard furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "Nope. No screaming. At least not in the last few minutes." He pulled her on top of him and squeezed a little tighter. She laughed and rolled off on the other side.
She rested an elbow on the bed and propped her head up on her palm. "I don't know then. Bad dreams I suppose."
"Unlikely. Vivid dreams typically occur during REM sleep, and I detected no ocular movement preceding Dr. T'Soni's episode." The disembodied voice came from somewhere in the room.
Shepard sat up and pulled the sheets tighter around his waist. "Hanna? Is that you?"
The interface over the desk materialized into the face of the curious geth intelligence.
Shepard turned red. "I asked that there be no cameras in my cabin!"
"And I complied. There are no cameras on deck one. However, in order to maximize the Normandy's stealth capacity, the walls of every interior surface are coated with a material that has photo-absorptive properties. I have learned to extrapolate feedback from the photo-detectors into visual information."
"I don't care about the details. I don't want to be watched."
The panels around Hanna's eye flicked up and back. "Interpreting the data as real time video footage would be far too complex for any organic. Your privacy is secure."
"Secure? The geth that watches my eyelids while I sleep is confident that my privacy is secure."
Shepard made a move to get up. "Can you at least turn around for a minute?"
"It would be meaningless for a synthetic intelligence to comply with that request."
Shepard rubbed his eyes with both hands. "Never mind. Just try to ignore the photo detectors while I'm getting changed."
"I will focus my consensus elsewhere."
"Thank you Hanna."
The display swirled and disappeared. Liara covered her mouth and started laughing.
"It's not funny," Shepard said "We're going to have to deal with her from now on."
"Oh, go easy on her. She's just a child when you think about it." Liara said. She stood and stretched her arms over her head.
"All the more reason to keep her out of our cabin." Shepard answered, looking up at her.
"Our Cabin?" Liara laughed again and walked over toward the shower. "I think I am going to enjoy this mission." Just as she passed the desk, a message lit up in his inbox display.
SPECTRE ID: SHEPARD – HUMAN
PRIORITY: ALMARCRUX
"There's a communication from the council here for you." Liara called over her shoulder. "They will be expecting you to contact them as soon as possible."
"Of course they will." Shepard answered, rising and scratching his head.
"I was going to take a shower, do you want me to wait outside until your done with them?"
"Of course not. Go ahead and take one now."
"When they hear water running in the background, they'll know you have someone up here with you. That's not exactly professional behavior on a mission."
He pulled a shirt down over his head.
"One of the benefits of being Commander Shepard…" He kissed her on the lips, "is not having to give a damn." Liara smiled and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Shepard turned toward the terminal. A ribbon of blue light ran up and down his face. The shower started behind him as the QE communicator came online.
A hologram of the asari councilor, Nisa T'Sukk, appeared and nodded in greeting.
"Commander Shepard. I hope all is well on your journey so far."
Shepard sat back in his chair. "No complaints yet. Charting space is certainly easier without Reaper scouts hiding behind every moon. We will be approaching the Caspian system within the hour."
"That's good to hear." She looked downward and then back up at him. "I would have preferred to bring you better news, but I am afraid that an unfortunate complication has arisen."
"I can't say I'm surprised. What's up?"
"We were not entirely honest with you yesterday when we told you that you were the only Spectre investigating the disturbance at Almarcrux. As you know, Spectre assignments are cloaked in the deepest secrecy, even from other agents. At the time of Dr. Child's initial disappearance, we sent an asari Spectre named Praxalla Naveet to search for her."
Shepard heard the shower shut off behind him. The name must have gotten Liara's attention.
"In her most recent report, Praxalla suggested that she had picked up a promising trail. She claimed to have found something that would be crucial to our search."
"And you didn't think it was important to share this with me?"
"Praxilla prefers to work alone and in deep cover. She is one of our finest agents, but she is also a little unpredictable. You were to serve as a more reliable backup in case something went wrong."
"And it has?"
"Yes. She was discovered by security guards in the Almacrux lab complex."
"You mean that her cover is blown?"
"No. I mean that she is dead. Her body was found less than an hour ago in a maintenance corridor. The security department will provide you with the details when you arrive."
Shepard rubbed his eyes again. He had prepared himself for interviewing a few scientists. Now he was following up a Spectre assassination. Either way, everything pointed to that lab.
"Alright. I'll find out what I can."
"Just be careful Shepard. The Reapers may be gone, but I'm becoming more and more convinced that a new sort of war has already begun. Local governments have not yet settled from the chaos, and there are many opportunities for those with… moral flexibilities… to position themselves in powerful places. At least with the Reapers we knew who the enemy was. Now I'm not sure who I can trust, even here at the Citadel. In the coming weeks I expect to see many honest people fall with knives in their backs. Make sure you're not among them."
With that the image went dark. Shepard stared into space for a moment, considering what had been said. When he turned around he saw Liara standing in the doorway. There was a towel around her waist, and tears in her eyes.
Next: To Open a Door