Liara sat in the darkness of the dig site, her face buried in her hands. Her comm unit lay shattered at her feet, a bottle of Serrice brandy the only other thing on the small table next to her, an empty glass still fouled with a few drops of the drink lying broken on the floor.
Why… Why does everything go wrong?
Liara knew she was far more sheltered than most asari her age. The first fifty years of her life had been entirely spent within the T'Soni estates on Thessia, overlooking the sea, snuggled up against the awesome peaks of the Skypillar Mountains. Apart from the occasional off-world trip – Palaven, Sur'Kesh, once even to Earth – her whole life had been the classes and training she was put through by her mother.
And the disagreements.
Every argument with her mother about her chosen path made her withdraw more into her studies, and the more she dug into the Protheans, the more enraptured she became. Even during her years at the University of Serrice, there were few who persevered through her shyness to make her acquaintance, and none were able to draw her into the wild debauchery that filled their nights. Activities wilder than Liara had heard of, imagined, or could even comprehend.
Instead of pursuing the company and pleasure her fellow students engaged in, Liara had fallen into a slippery pit of books, research, and quiet, hopeless despair, buoyed only by the encouragement of her professor. Though she graduated with honors, and her master's thesis was hailed as a brilliant deconstruction of the Expert Pan-Empiric Collapse Theory of the Prothean extinction, the completion of her doctorate opened her eyes for the first time to the real world.
Museums were the corporate faces of research for profit. They attracted crowds and allowed the ignorant to 'ooh' and 'aah' over bits of Prothean architecture about as important to the Protheans as a datapad or pair of shoes. Much of the real research was digging into Prothean energy fields, sifting through the wreckage of colony sites searching for weapons and defensive technologies, and the ever-present race to discover more Prothean caches and beacons. The caches were stockpiles of useful technology, from blueprints that had led the asari to develop the first dualpulse FTL drives to full out technologies, like the ultra-light fighter squadrons that made human carriers so deadly.
Even above all of the tech that was laying around to be found, it was the beacons that were the real prize. Each one of the slender green monoliths was an adaptive supercomputer, intergalactic comms relay, and VI-driven monitoring system all rolled into one. Only nineteen beacons had been discovered, and eleven of them were classified as 'dark.' These beacons, corrupted by some sort of data overlay that had been uploaded to them in the last days of the Prothean Empire, only transmitted mind-blasting images of death. No one had ever connected to such a beacon without severe mental trauma or insanity, not the strongest of asari matriarchs nor the most stubborn krogan. While the asari were the most successful and had methods to repair some of the mental damage, many of the dark beacons were simply incomprehensible, and some were so warped that nothing had survived making contact.
The other beacons though, were full of useful knowledge that they implanted on a memory-driven level. The salarian Urtha Beacon, for example, had given the salarian who used it the impetus for the development of modern two-stage kinetic barriers. The asari had made contact with no less than five beacons, three of which dealt with the advanced biotic techniques of the commandos and the justicars. The only known human beacon on Mars had shattered the minds of its researchers, but had led the humans to master mass effect travel and FTL centuries before they would have discovered such concepts on their own.
For all her love of things Prothean, it had been a bitter drink to Liara to discover that the only people employing Prothean experts were corporations looking to loot the sites for caches, beacons, and useable tech. No one seemed to really care why they were gone, or why their technology had such strange disconnects. They could build the Citadel and the mass relays, but none of their other architecture resembled these structures in any way. They could master biotics on a level even unmatched by the asari, yet their computer systems were almost antiquated when it came to processing power. They were clearly master biotechnicians, capable of altering genetic structure almost as if they could interpret the DNA like a book, yet there wasn't a single educational document, ruin, or even data disk about such things.
Most frustratingly of all, Protheans burned their dead, and there was astonishingly little evidence of what the Protheans even looked like. There were bits of skulls that had four eyes, with a asarioid build, mixed in with heavily built tripedal beings with oversized fists. There were strange creatures like elongated salarians comprised of neuroactive cartilage and no brain area to be found. And of course, there was statuary of bizarre semi-asarioid figures of great regal bearing with tentacle-covered faces and claws on their four fingered hands that would not look out of place on a Thessian novatiger.
Were the Protheans much like today's Citadel races, a unified force? Prothean documents only spoke of the Prothean people, as if they were all the same species.
But the businesses did not care. The academics only wanted more grants for more digs, to find more artifacts to sell for more money. The technical researchers cared nothing for Prothean culture or history, destroying so many priceless cultural sites merely to retrieve power systems or technical schematics.
Liara had given in almost a decade ago, after the final heartbreaking separation from her mother, and had spent the time attaching herself to whatever science teams would take her. She still published her papers and books, but mainline researchers had no time for her, and most academics believed the question of how or why the Protheans vanished of zero import. The only people who seemed to pay Liara's theories any attention were conspiracy theorists and the occasional disaster-preparation figure, who would query her on how to avoid a future galactic collapse. For a life of one hundred and six years, it was summed up by a few bursts of discovery and joy, mired in the soul-consuming mire of despair.
She didn't have her mother's endless resources to draw upon anymore, only her slender salary from the University of Serrice. She was an 'associate research technician,' a glorified digger of holes in the ground until someone more properly focused could come along and reap the rewards. She had spent her meager earnings on what little equipment she called her own and on paying her way through various digs and researches.
She had never really expected her whole life to spiral down to this, months spent filthy and harried, moving from dig site to dig site, trying to find something to support her own theories. She found tantalizing hints at the cost of months of backbreaking labor and ever-escalating sniping from other researchers. She found the occasional useful find, which brought her much needed credits, tempered by the fact that she knew such devices were being torn apart to figure out how they worked instead of curated and valued.
And the whole time, she was so utterly alone. Never able to find a way to just be a part of the group. Always stumbling through her words, her emotions misfiring like badly tuned guns.
Her hand curled into a fist on her thigh, clenching. Tears leaked past the fingers of her other hand, still cradling her head. She had thought herself clever, even righteous, snapping back at Dr. Sanaris via vidlink. And yet, once again, what she had thought a proper response, a sign that she had grown emotionally enough to hold her own, had turned into a disaster. Yesterday morning, she had opened her comm tool to find two communications from the University of Serrice.
The first was from the Office of Prothean Studies, thanking her for the years of work she had put in. However, due to budget cuts, not only was her request to move to teaching or full participant in dig sites denied, but she was one of eleven technicians being terminated from employment. Her final two solar tencycle's worth of pay would be credited to her account, minus the cost of her transport off Therum.
The second email had been from Dr. Sanaris, only a few, cruel lines. "Spoke with your mother via videolink. Amusing that she seemed to feel you were not following her chosen path for you. Agreed, per her request, that you had better things to do with your time than blunder around our digs. Your papers and database logs have been purged from our system; we have better uses for the space than childish fantasy."
Liara had wept angrily, and sent messages to the netbox of her mother, demanding why she had just destroyed her career, but got no answer that day. She had spent the rest of yesterday focused solely on the extranet coverage of the Eden Prime attack, particularly anything she could find about the Beacon the humans had found. She learned some soldier, a Commander Shepard, had accessed it and survived. But more astounding, the Beacon had been destroyed, meaning this Shepard person was the only one who knew its contents.
Infuriatingly, the extranet was full of useless theories and rumors instead of hard details. The geth had attacked the planet, or batarians, or perhaps Collectors. The humans tried to frame Saren for the attack, or it was the Shadow Broker doing it. The Council had sabotaged the humans from the get-go and had stolen the Beacon somehow. One particular lunatic claimed he too had survived Eden Prime and touched the monolith and that it showed him datapads and VIs eating all living beings alive.
That had been yesterday. Two hours ago, she had been disturbed from her final assessments of a Prothean statue by her comm-link vibrating.
O-OSaBC-O
"Incoming call: Noveria, Benezia T'Soni"
Liara had hesitated, then hit the connection button. Rather than text, an FTL comm-link connected her to a recorded, non-interactive evocation of her mother.
Benezia was wearing a white suit, cut tightly around her waist and breasts, with a high, shimmery faint gray skirt. Her head and shoulders were concealed under layered draping of gauzy silver cloth, which formed a sort of shawl over her. Her eyes were narrowed and hard, her lips set in a firm blue line.
"Liara, by now you should have heard from the University of Serrice. I can only presume you are upset, given the fact that you sent several disrespectful emails to me. I will not tolerate your intransigence any further. I have been tolerant and even forgiving of your silly infatuation with the corpse of a failed civilization, much as I was tolerant with you digging holes in the garden. Because you were a child then and you are still a child now."
The image of Benezia flickered, and she lifted her chin, continuing. "But the time for silly pastimes is gone. I have need of your service to me, as is my right as your mother and the matriarch of our House. I will no longer allow you to waste the time, money, and energy spent on training you on foolish stubbornness. It would have been more useful if you had whored yourself in some Terminus hellhole, for at least then you'd know how to use your body to achieve your goals. But you have failed even at that which comes naturally to us."
Benezia had sneered. "I do not have the time to waste picking you up myself, and you are simply not worth the time of any of my acolytes or commandos to retrieve. I have sent krogan mercenaries under the employment of my friend Saren to pick you up, with orders carry you away by force like a tantrum-throwing child if you resist. I have already informed every asari university of any acclaim that taking any application of employment from you will be held as a personal insult to House T'Soni.
"I am ashamed to call you my daughter, and perhaps I was wrong to ever think you would amount to anything at all. You will board the ship with the krogan mercenaries when they arrive, or when the ExoGeni teams arrive to your location they will have orders for your arrest and incarceration, and I will disown you and take from you the name of your proud ancestors, who must weep at your foolish actions. Do not disappoint me again, Liara."
The message then cut out, leaving her in the dark.
O-OSaBC-O
She had spent the night drinking the two bottles of brandy she had bought back on Thessia, back when the expedition was just gearing up and she was still trying to be as friendly as she could with Amania. The young asari was the first person Liara had been able to relate to, her own history of poverty and want a sharp contrast to Liara's background. But Amania had not been intimidated, or awed, and didn't care of the disapproval of others.
It was only later, when Amania's intentions became clear, when Liara realized she wanted to be more than friends, that Liara had backed away. Unsure of herself, unsure of how to even react or respond, she had stupidly panicked, overreacting to Amania's own loneliness, and ending up driving the closest thing she had ever developed to a friend away. Dr. Sanaris had actually been pleased, saying that Liara at least had the taste not to dip her crest in the gutter classes, and Liara had fled in tears, trying to find a way to explain to Amania what she had meant, what she was scared of.
Of not being able to understand how to handle someone else caring about her. She had searched the entire site, hoping to just… try to get the words out. To fix at least one thing that had backfired on her. Amania had already left the site, and never answered a single email. The two bottles of brandy Liara had planned to share with her friend at the completion of the dig had sat in her pack, untouched and unnoticed, until that message had come through.
What have I done to make my entire life a painful, pointless wreck?
Liara felt sick, heavy, and above all else, empty. The fiery liquor had burned through her slender body and left her listless and with a spinning head on the cot in her tent. All of her supplies were gone, only a jug of water and a single tube of long-endurance rations left. Her belongings were neatly packed in two heavy cases, stacked by the landing pad outside of the dig, except for her journals, her personal positions, and her omni-tool, all in her satchel. The minutes passed, empty and wasted.
Liara examined her hands, wondering what she was to do in her mother's service, but her thoughts were just rote, pointless fragments, ricocheting around in her head. Just as she was about to try to sleep again, she felt the ground shake, and sighed, feeling her stomach roiling with the liquor. She hoisted her satchel in one hand and staggered to her feet, unsteady, and slowly moved her body ahead.
The Prothean elevator leading to the upper dig level was its usual, unyielding self, gleaming pure white and undamaged, as if fifty thousand years was nothing more than an afterthought to it. She passed the bizarre control panel set into the wall, intending to ride the Prothean elevator to the surface, when she heard the rickety dig site elevator installed during the first excavation activating.
Of course, they don't know about the Prothean entrance, they're just hired thugs. Mother didn't even bother to tell them how to enter.
She let her satchel fall to the floor, spending a last few minutes examining the control panel, for the stubbornness of doing it rather than any other reason. Then she heard a curious sound… a digital clicking and chittering.
Why does that sound so… familiar?
Then a rough, angry voice, like rocks having a fist fight. "Don't chatter at me, geth. Shut up and stay out of sight until I pick up the stupid blue bitch. Saren wants her alive if possible."
Liara's mouth seemed to go completely dry, her nerveless hands shaking. She heard another voice now, but this one carried a hard, digitized cadence. "Understood, Weyrloc-Strikeleader. We will switch to non/NoCarrier fire patterns."
The growling voice – it had to be a krogan – spoke again. "You can shoot the stupid bitch to pieces for all I care; Saren just pays more if she's able to speak. Now, silence. I have to act… nice."
Liara's breath came in great, heaving gasps of panic. They are going to take me… maybe kill me, or worse. Why are there geth here? Why are they…? What…?
Liara's pistol was foolishly packed away with her cases topside. She bit her lip, and then prepared to call upon her biotics. She knew it would not end well. She was tired, drunk, exhausted, and hadn't slept properly in days. She didn't even have her Serrice-made neural focus to amplify her natural biotics.
The elevator shuddered to a halt, its doors sliding open in a spray of sparks. "Spread out. She's biotic, if she starts glowing, put a round through her leg."
The krogan was huge, broad and heavy looking, with a glowing set of tubes lining his angular black armor in a menacing red color. He had a shotgun of some kind flung over one shoulder, the plate over the shoulder wider than her chest. Thankfully, his back was to her, he was looking toward the camp site. Behind him trailed five silvery, elegant figures, all organic curves in steel and strange, gray bundles of what looked like muscles. Curved heads spread illumination around the cave, seeking a target.
The krogan whispered harshly, "Cut the stupid lights off," and the geth – they had to be geth – went dark, clutching menacing, flowing weapons in three-fingered hands.
There was no way she could take out a krogan and five geth with her biotics, even if she had been in the best of health. She bit her lip, wondering, if she was quiet, if she could maybe sneak out and trigger the elevator. It was noisy, but if she was quick, she could get to the surface far before the service elevator could. Her flitter was still there, she could take off for Nova Yekaterinburg… someone in the human city would help her.
She carefully took a step back. The krogan called out, his voice pitched to an almost calm mien. "Doctor T'Soni? I'm Weyrloc Gulm, your mother sent us to retrieve you. We're here to help you move your belongings to our ship, miss."
Silence. She took another step back, drawing even with the control panel to the barrier field she had discovered.
"Doctor T'Soni?"
One of the geth half turned, and gave an electronic trill. "Weyrloc-Strikeleader, she is behind us."
"What?!" The krogan spun, staring down the long ramp leading to the ruins entrance proper. "Doctor T'Soni, don't do anything… stupid." Liara's voice wouldn't work as the krogan advanced slowly, red eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. "I'm sure you are confused, doctor, but these geth are… docile. It's a project your mother is working on with Saren." Liara shook, shivers overcoming her. She tried to remember how far it was to the controls of the elevator, if she could run that fast. The krogan's mouth twisted from a grim line to a menacing smile. "T'Soni, I'm only going to politely ask one more time. Come with us to the ship. Your mother demands it. You will not be harmed."
"N-No!" Her voice was almost a squeal, shaking and pained. "S-She would never—" Her fear and stress made her biotics flare, as she panicked.
The krogan sighed. "Shoot the bitch's kneecaps out, boys."
The geth lifted their rifles with mechanical precision. Liara just… reacted. She threw up a barrier, her feeble strength barely enough to form it, as the guns erupted in a spat of high-pitched whines. Five shots tore across the barrier at knee height, and it shimmered faintly, almost collapsing. She knew it wouldn't hold long enough for her to get to the elevator, but she had one more trick.
Her lips twisted in a smile. Finally, some use for my knowledge. She slammed her fist down on the control panel, intending to trigger the defensive screen that would seal the entryway.
A voice in Prothean spoke, the words barely understandable to her. "Warning… misfunction. Unfirst detection failed. Enacting ward."
She had expected a barrier curtain to seal the entryway. Instead, the entire entryway filled with blue light, and she found herself jerked up, off her feet, her arms and legs spread-eagled by a force like a thousand grasping hands. She couldn't move, she could barely breathe or turn her head.
The krogan stopped, jaw open, then shut it. "For the love of rutting Shiagur, what the hell is this?"
Liara said nothing, but the geth next to the krogan spoke, its mechanical voice carrying an undercurrent of concern. "It appears to be some form of energy curtain, combined with a low-grade stasis field. Surmise: probable use in detaining unauthorized visitors."
The krogan grunted. "Shut it off."
The geth examined the field for several seconds, building consensus. "Not possible. Design conforms to Rebel-Prothean field defenses. Nazara-Giver-of-Future identifies this as a military communications array. It is powered by geothermal reactions and can only be deactivated from the inside."
The krogan threw his hands up. "Stupid machine! That is not an answer that is acceptable!"
"Suggestion: inform Saren-Prophet of events. Likely to have organic contacts capable of disrupting energy field, retrieving T'Soni-target."
The krogan half turned to look at the geth as if the machine had grown three heads. "Admit failure to Saren?! He'd use my hide as a cape! Blast this stupid field down!" The krogan lifted his weapon, firing three shots that blazed with the fire of disruptor mods. Liara flinched… but nothing happened.
The geth's voice sounded almost apologetic. "Inadvisable action. Field strength estimated in excess of four thousand haat'ra."
The krogan cursed. "Dig through the wall!"
"Rebel-Prothean metal is plasma forged composite carbon nanoplating. Estimated time to completion of bypassing tunnel: eight days, four hours, fifty-two minutes."
"Saren will be furious at the delay. No. What else?"
The geth paused. "Reassembly of Colossus-mobile platform primary defense cannon to large scale multi-tiered EMP phased energy array would theoretically disrupt barrier energy."
The krogan nodded. "I'm going to pretend that babble made sense. How long?"
The geth calculated. "Three days, eleven hours. Assuming no external disruptions."
The krogan laughed. "There's some kind of human research team incoming in four days. Cutting it close, but that should work. Get it going."
The krogan turned away from the machine to face Liara. "You hear that, you little bitch? Three days. Then we're going to break all your arms and legs and haul your little blue ass back to Saren." The krogan leaned forward. "But before that, I think I'll have a little fun. Saren doesn't let us go out and have any… relaxation time, after all, and you look like you could use a good hard fuck."
Liara's eyes widened in horror, and the krogan laughed and walked off. "Three of you stay here and keep an eye on the bitch. If she's faking and gets free, you know what to do."
The krogan and the rest of the geth moved to get back in the elevator, and it ascended with a shriek of tortured metal. The remaining geth stood there, stock still, illuminated only by the glow of the energy fields.
Liara's head couldn't bow in defeat, held stiffly aloft by forces she didn't even understand, but her eyes closed, as she shook with sobs. Either the monsters would get her out of this field to torture and probably kill her, or she would slowly and painfully die of dehydration and starvation. No one would come to get her. No one cared what happened to her. The University wouldn't even notice her absence, now that she's been terminated.
The geth watched the young asari cry… unmoving, uncaring.