30 November 2580, Executive Tower, Presidium Ring/Citadel
It all felt horribly familiar.
Once more, my friends and I moved to storm what had once been called the Council Tower. Once more, a madman had occupied the place, and we had only minutes to wrest control of the Citadel away from him before the end of everything.
Shepard heard my thought, and glanced at me with a grim smile. "Yeah. Except this time, the scary Reaper agent trying to take over the Citadel is me."
I caught one or two C-Sec officers giving Shepard a very uneasy glance.
Perhaps this isn't the time for ironic humor, love.
"You're right," he said aloud. "Liara, Vara, there's something we should do before we hit the dirt. Both of you should know what to do at the primary Citadel controls, in case I don't make it."
I exchanged an apprehensive glance with Vara, but then she only nodded decisively. "Three chances are better than one."
"All right," I agreed.
Suddenly I could feel a flood of data pouring over our three-way link: access codes, key sequences, decision trees. None of it felt like verbal knowledge, anything I could explain, but I felt confident I could save the Citadel. All I would need was a few moments with the control interface in the old Council chambers.
Shepard nodded, and turned to check his weapon and gear one last time. Vara and I did the same, me with my sidearm, my bondmate with her sword, all of us checking the status of our pressure suits.
Then the C-Sec transport carrying us came to a halt, the side panels flying open. Shepard leaped out amid a C-Sec assault squad, Vara and me an instant behind him.
At least this time, we didn't have to climb the Tower from the very bottom. C-Sec brought us in as high up as they dared, hovering beside the Tower, close enough that all of us could leap across and land on the structure's side with our magnetic boots already active.
We found ourselves in the middle of a free-fire zone.
When we fought Saren, most of the Tower's defenses had been inactive, only a few turrets turned against us as we climbed. Not so on this occasion. We took fire from the moment we appeared, and casualties began almost at once.
The Spectres must be on guard and manning the defenses. This is not going to be easy.
I saw one turian C-Sec officer take a plasma bolt almost in her center of mass, smashing through her shields and incinerating her instantly. Kamala almost shared the poor woman's fate, jinking aside and hurling herself into cover barely in time.
Then C-Sec began to lay down counter-battery fire, and the immediate danger to us decreased. We could begin to advance, moving carefully from cover to cover, while projectiles flew and explosions boomed on all sides.
Shepard fired his weapon, his targeting as inhumanly accurate as always, taking out turrets ahead of us.
Grunt roared, charging across a stretch of open ground, smashing into a suited figure wearing Spectre insignia.
Kalan found a sniper's nest for himself, and began to place shot after shot on the barriers protecting the defense turrets. One by one, they went down and the turrets went silent.
Kamala fought like a whirlwind, laying down fire, flinging overload charges to bring down Spectre shields, and then dashing forward with a few asari commandos or C-Sec officers for close-quarters combat.
We made progress, but it wasn't fast enough. We had a time limit, and whether the Spectres realized it or not, all they had to do was keep us at bay.
"This isn't working," said Shepard after a time, over the comm channel.
"I agree," said Kamala. "Don't see what we can do about it."
"That depends on how big a noise you can make."
"Try me," she said, and I could hear the daredevil smile in her voice.
Thirty seconds later, Kamala set off a big, flashy demonstration against the Spectre positions, making it appear that she hoped to overrun them by main force. With her went Kalan, Grunt, and all our asari and C-Sec allies.
That left Shepard, Vara, and me to dash up the side of the Tower, along a trench out of sight from the main axis of our attack, aiming for a maintenance hatch that led directly to our objective. The same hatch Shepard, Ashley and I had used against Saren, in fact. Hopefully none of the Spectre corps had an interest in ancient history.
Fortune seemed to favor us. We avoided further resistance, the defenders deployed elsewhere. After a few moments, we emerged into the chambers, finding them dark and apparently deserted. If the Spectres had posted a rear guard, it was small and unobtrusive.
The three of us flitted from cover to cover, climbing the long staircases, moving off to one side to avoid being seen. All of us moved in dead silence, not even speaking over our comm net. We relied on our telepathic connection to coordinate, plan, and watch in all directions at once.
Then a terrible roar erupted from just to our left, closer than I could have believed possible. I barely had an instant to turn and look, and then a massive shape hurled itself out of the shadows. I saw a krogan in full battle armor, running at lightning speed, slamming into Shepard with terrible force.
Had he been out of his armor, the impact would likely have shattered every bone in Shepard's body. As it was, I heard the explosive grunt as the impact knocked the wind out of him. Arms flailing, balance lost, he went off the edge of a balcony, Varag Tachar still holding onto him.
I threw myself to the railing. "Shepard!"
Far below, I saw them fall through the crystal roof of the old Council gardens, down into the space where Saren had fallen when he died. Already Shepard had recovered somewhat, grappling with the krogan Spectre, the two of them tearing at each other with horrible brutality.
"Liara."
Vara's voice seemed utterly calm. Even before I looked in her direction, I could tell her attention had focused elsewhere. She drew her sword, holding it in a low-guard position, and began to advance slowly in the direction from which Varag Tachar had come. There, in the shadows, I could see a pair of eyes glittering under a hood, and almost nothing else.
"Get to the controls, Liara. I've got this."
From down in the gardens, I heard another krogan roar. The shape in the shadows moved forward, just enough for me to pick out detail: a female turian in dark combat gear, just a hint of red-purple biotic corona around her head and shoulders.
Vara stepped up her pace, almost to a full run, her biotic corona snapping into existence, her sword rising into the air. "Eulalalia!"
I turned, trying not to think about what might happen to either of them, and sprinted for a ramp that led down to the Petitioner's Stage.
Shepard fell over twenty meters in a cloud of crystal shards, the shock of hitting the ground almost worse than the impact of Tachar's first strike. At least the krogan didn't land on top of him.
Post-Reaper-level battle armor, internal bone and muscle weaves, nanotechnology buffering his tissues – Shepard lived. He didn't even take serious injury from the fall. An instant later, he regained his feet.
Tachar was fast. Terribly fast, even for a krogan. By the time Shepard stood upright, the Spectre had already recovered his own balance. He stared at Shepard, mouth gaping in a krogan snarl.
He didn't charge. He didn't throw his considerable biotic power. Not yet.
Instead, he activated his omni-tool and touched three controls in rapid succession.
Shepard recoiled as a shrill tone sounded, incredibly loud, so loud he wondered how his ears could survive the experience. Then he realized that the sensation wasn't truly a sound at all. It was a symptom of neural feedback, as some foreign signal interfered disastrously with the link between his nervous system and his gear.
The gear which instantly went into catastrophic shutdown.
Shepard's weapon turned into a dead lump of metal and ceramic in his hand. His armor shivered, vibrated, and then slumped into a pile of nanotech goo on the ground. Within moments, he found himself standing in nothing but a navy-blue bodysuit.
"There," rumbled Tachar, grinning widely as he saw Shepard's shocked expression. "Salarian countermeasure, something the little lizards developed while studying Reaper tech. Good to see it actually worked. Should even up the odds a little."
Only then did the krogan advance to the attack.
Alia Nerinn stood poised, every muscle in her body in a state of maximum readiness, and watched as Vara charged her.
Twenty meters away. Ten meters. Five.
At two meters, Nerinn dropped into a flash-charge, all at once and with no obvious preparation. A flash-charge that would carry her through Vara's position, dragging venom-loaded talons through the asari's body. A certain death-blow, if not a quick one.
Vara wasn't there. She had suddenly flash-stepped two steps to her right, apparently teleporting into place in a flare of blue light. Her blade slashed outward, on a line to cleanly take the turian's head off.
Nerinn chained one flash-charge into the next, her corona blazing with crimson light for an instant, making a hairpin turn with a wild slash of her talons.
Vara vanished, reappearing an instant later, two steps behind her previous position.
Nerinn countered, blinking through space, appearing behind the asari.
Vara wasn't there. Again.
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
I stepped up onto the Petitioner's Stage, looking to all sides around me, wondering if any more enemies might be lurking in that vast hollow space. For the moment, I saw nothing and no one. In the back of my mind, I felt aware of Shepard and Vara, both engaged with their own enemies, but far beyond my reach.
"Liara T'Soni," came a loud voice over a hidden speaker system, human, male, sounding like a kindly grandparent. "Somehow I suspected it would come to this, in the end."
Yao Guozhi.
I turned in a slow circle, still not seeing anyone.
"I have to wonder, Doctor, what motivates you. You held the Presidency once. In a sense, you were one of the people who created the Presidency. Then you walked away for centuries. Why fight so hard to oppose me now?"
I reached the end of the Petitioner's Stage. Below, I could see Shepard and his krogan foe, brawling through the gardens, hammering at one another. Somewhere far behind me, Vara and the turian cabalist continued their game of feint and counter-feint, biotic artistry at work, sword against talon.
"So much at stake. You've lost friends in this struggle, asari who loved you and loyally supported you for centuries. You've lost your ship. Your past and present bondmates are risking their lives right now. Both of your children are in the battle out there in space. How much are you willing to spend, just to seize an office that doesn't belong to you anymore?"
"The office isn't important," I said quietly, knowing he could hear me, wherever he waited. "Saving billions of lives is what matters."
A gesture, a code transmitted through my daimon, and suddenly a large holographic console snapped into existence in mid-air before me. The same console Saren had once tried to use. A master control console for the entire Citadel, installed by the Reapers millions of years ago.
"The course you are on is what places those billions of lives at risk," said Yao. "I'm afraid I can't permit that."
I had only an instant's warning, a flash of blue-white light in the corner of my eye, just long enough to slam down a biotic barrier.
Then an enormous detonation of force knocked me off my feet, throwing me back a dozen meters, blind and deaf with the concussion.
Slam.
Tachar rocked back from the blow, his massive head shaking as he tried to clear it. Then he snarled and came in again, arms reaching to grapple and tear at his human prey.
Shepard danced back.
He took stock: bruised ribs, lacerations on one arm, a deep incision along his side, one eye almost swollen shut, several teeth feeling as if they had been knocked loose. He knew he had seen better days. Krogan battlemasters hit hard. The human still stayed light on his feet, ready to block or dodge a blow and land a strike of his own.
Tachar wasn't looking much better. Redundant systems or no, rapid regeneration or no, Shepard had done considerable damage. The krogan looked as if he began to regret his decision to arrange a close-quarters-combat duel.
Shepard decided to try a little psychological warfare.
"There's something I don't get, Tachar."
The krogan narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.
"I remember you from the old days. One of Wrex's best and most loyal men. You were there, on Tuchanka, the day we cured the genophage. You were there again, in London, the day we beat the Reapers once and for all."
Tachar circled to his right, still watching Shepard closely, breathing heavily.
"How many children have you had since then? How much better has your life been, since the day the krogan got back a future worth having? You owe me, Tachar. So why are you so dead-set on tearing me limb from limb?"
"I don't owe you a damned thing," the krogan rumbled. "Shepard is dead. He died saving all of us from the Reapers. I don't know what kind of abomination you are."
"Okay," said Shepard. "Granted. I'm not him, not really. I'm a construct, something the Intelligence put together to serve as its emissary. But I've got his memories, his personality, everything that made him the man who saved the krogan people. Some of the best of you trusted him. Why not trust me?"
"Hah. Wouldn't be the first time the Reapers sent us someone who looked like he could be trusted." Tachar lowered his head, staring at Shepard from under his heavy brows. "I killed a lot of indoctrinated during the war. I won't lose much sleep over killing you."
Then, without telegraphing the move, Tachar charged.
Shepard's injuries slowed him down. Just enough that he didn't quite dodge aside in time.
Forty meters away from where she began, thirty or forty iterations deep in the cycle of feint and counter-feint, Vara flash-stepped away, disengaging from the fight for a moment. As if by silent agreement, Alia Nerinn did the same. The two stared at each other across the gap that had opened between them, red eyes against smoky silver.
That was bizarre, thought Vara. I'm not even sure what happened over the last two minutes. I'm running on sheer instinct and reflex. All I know is, I can't touch her with the blade, and she hasn't managed to touch me with those claws. Not yet. Stalemate.
At this rate, we can keep teleporting around each other until one of us runs out of energy. Which may take a while, and I'm not at all certain I will come out ahead.
As Shepard would say, I need a game-changer.
Vara stared at her foe for a long moment, ignoring the sounds of physical and biotic combat elsewhere.
Nerinn stared back in utter silence.
Not much of a talker, are you?
That's all right. That's Liara's department. Or Shepard's. Not mine.
Struck with a sudden idea, Vara slowly moved her blade into a high-guard position, poised to dodge in any direction, as if ready to resume their duel of placement and ambush.
Nerinn's eyes narrowed, glittering in the darkness under her hood.
Then Vara turned and ran like a thief.
Where biotics are concerned, I have always preferred finesse to brute strength. Applying telekinetic power correctly means one doesn't need as much force, one doesn't tire out as quickly, and one can continue performing for longer.
Which is not to say that I don't have a great deal of force available when I need it.
That day, I needed it. Badly.
During the Reaper War, I could count on one hand the human biotics capable of matching me in raw power. Shepard, of course, after Cerberus had a chance to rebuild him to a new design. Jacqueline Nought, when she performed at her peak. Gillian Grayson, before her tragic death. No one else. In four centuries, I had grown in strength as I approached the matriarchal stage of life . . . but the human art and discipline of biotics had also made great strides toward the asari standard. Yao Guozhi had benefited from all that progress.
The man was a sledgehammer.
He had taken a page from Saren's book, riding a grav sled so he could hover high in the chamber and look down on the battlefield. I could see him up there, blazing like a star, hurling lightning from on high like Zeus on a mountaintop. I threw myself into holding the strongest, hardest barrier I could manage, against what felt like saturation nuclear bombardment. I flung my own warps and throws when I had the chance, but I didn't dare go on a full offensive, and nothing less than that seemed likely to reach the President.
I had to close my eyes to narrow slits, or be blinded by the coronal discharge. The whole chamber echoed to blast after blast, like a ferocious artillery barrage at point-blank range. My barrier flared at every impact, and I began to feel a sharp pain in the back of my skull.
I gritted my teeth, took a wide braced stance, held onto my barrier, and stood my ground. Waiting and watching for something to change the parameters of the fight.
Praying that would come before we ran out of time.
Tachar swayed, barely staying on his feet, his left arm useless, one eye gouged out entirely, the other glaring through a film of blood.
On the other hand, Shepard could barely see his opponent, his own face had become so badly bruised and broken. At least his arms and legs still worked. Mostly. He counted himself fortunate that his internal technology could block pain, otherwise he would probably be lying curled up on the floor.
Instead he staggered forward, raising his arms for one last attack.
The krogan snarled, nothing of the civilized being left, only an elemental creature that wanted to rip and tear its foe to bloody shreds. He put his head down and lurched forward, his own arms reaching to grapple.
Something happened. Shepard couldn't be sure what. Only that he suddenly lay on his back, pain finally pushing through the neural blocks, a battered but very angry krogan looming over him. Blows rained down. He could feel his nose break, then a cheekbone.
Only a moment left before he felt his neck snap or his skull shatter, ultra-tech bone weave or no.
The idea came to him all at once. He didn't take the time to critique it.
Nothing left to lose.
He pried his eyes open for last-moment targeting, then surged off the floor, his right arm lashing out. His fist missed the krogan's massive jaw, sank instead into the gaping, roaring maw.
Tachar clamped down by reflex. His teeth clapped shut.
Shearing Shepard's forearm cleanly off, just behind the wrist.
Arteries severed, a spray of red blood surged into the krogan's mouth, splashed over his face. Tachar recoiled.
The pain slammed past Shepard's neural blocks, and for the first time in a hundred terrible battles, he bellowed in sheer agony.
I felt it, over the link between us, almost as if it had happened to me.
I screamed and fell to my knees. "Shepard!"
My barrier wavered, just for an instant. Long enough for Yao to get through.
Vara felt it too, but it didn't – quite – disturb her diamond focus.
She ran, listening for the soft sound of the cabalist's feet behind her.
Tachar fell back, sitting on the floor of the garden, panting heavily, his mouth working in disgust.
"Krogan reflexes," Shepard rasped, rolling to his side, then to a kneeling position, cradling his ruined arm to his side. Already the blood seemed to be slowing, internal technology clamping down on the flow. "Jam something in your mouth, and you bite and swallow. You never evolved a gag reflex, since you can survive just about anything you eat."
"I am going to kill you slowly," rumbled the krogan.
Shepard shrugged. "Probably. It doesn't matter. I've beaten you."
"Gah. What the hell are you talking about?"
"Blood and meat and bone, Tachar. All of it riddled with the nanotechnology the Intelligence gave me. Part of you now, no matter what else you do. In about six hours, it will be in your brain, your nervous system, your biotics. Cutting you off from the Adversary, so you can make up your own mind for a change."
"You . . ." The krogan lurched to his feet, his remaining eye wide, hands up in a helplessly defensive gesture. "You put Reaper tech in me?"
"No. You did that. Although I didn't give you much chance to think about it."
"Damn you! I saw what happened to people in the war, once the Reapers got hold of them. You've turned me into a monster, into a thing that they can use!"
"Or I've been telling the truth all along. Which would mean I've set you free from a different slave-master that you didn't know about." Slowly, still cradling his arm, Shepard rose to his feet. "It doesn't matter. At this point, there's nothing you can do about it either way. Why not wait a few hours and see?"
The krogan stared at him.
"You're a Spectre, Tachar." Shepard swayed on his feet, shock beginning to set in. "So was I, once. I know what it means. You're sworn to defend the galaxy. Sometimes that means making the tough calls.
"Here's a good one for you. In six hours, you're going to know whether I was telling the truth or not. But the Citadel doesn't have six hours. It doesn't even have six minutes. You're going to have to decide, right now, what action to take. Kill me, then the Citadel and everyone in Sol system dies, and the valdarii win. Or help me get to the master controls before I pass out, then the Citadel lives, Earth lives, and the galaxy goes on.
"Make the call, Tachar. Make it now."
The Spectre stood still for another few seconds. Then he made the call.
Pain. A lot of pain. Red-hot agony, just about everywhere I had nerve endings.
I lay on the cold deck, my biotics blown out like a candle, barely able to think. I didn't try to take inventory of my injuries, didn't try to rise, didn't even try to open my eyes just yet. Breathing in cautious little sips was about all I could manage. Something rattled, deep in my chest, and I had the sensation of slowly drowning in my own blood.
Yao had gotten through my barrier with a savage telekinetic blow. It had felt like slamming into a stone wall at grav-vehicle speeds. I might have survived worse, although at that moment I couldn't recall when.
Footsteps, on the deck nearby.
"Asari," said Yao, his voice no longer gentle or kindly. "You think the whole universe orders itself according to your whims. So arrogant."
I stirred, moaning with the pain, and opened my eyes. I could see him standing a few meters away, watching me where I sprawled on the deck. I considered calling up my biotics again, reaching for my sidearm, anything to put up a little more of a fight. It all seemed like too much trouble.
"Fragile, though. You break as easily as anyone else, in the end."
Blue-white light ripped at my eyes, forcing me to squint. His corona burned bright, preparing a death-blow.
Behind him, something moved.
His eyes flew wide. He made a small sound. His corona guttered out.
I blinked, unsure of what I saw. It looked as if Yao had suddenly grown a sword-blade, red with his own blood, from the center of his chest.
"We're not the only arrogant ones," said Vara. Then she sent a surge of biotic force through her sword, savaging Yao's body from within as she withdrew the blade. "For Nerylla, and Tania, and all the others you've murdered, you nothos."
Yao fell to his knees, and then toppled to the deck next to me.
I found I could move my hand, barely. I reached across the gap, my fingertips just brushing the President's face. His eyes never left mine, staring with mute incomprehension until they went dull.
"Vara," I whispered. "The Citadel . . ."
"Right," came another voice. Shepard climbed painfully onto our level, leaning on Varag Tachar. Or perhaps the krogan leaned on him. It didn't seem to make much difference.
"Hold it, Nerinn," rumbled the krogan. "Stand down."
Vara whirled, reminded suddenly of her pursuer. She found the turian cabalist standing less than three meters away, talons out and eyes wide.
"You can't be serious, Tachar." I heard Nerinn's voice for the first time, surprisingly mellow, a smooth contralto. "These people just killed the President."
"I know," said the krogan. "Right now, we need to survive long enough to sort it all out. Stand down, and let them move the Citadel to safety."
"Thanks, Tachar," said Shepard. "Here, Vara, you're the only one of us who's in good shape. You work the controls, while I look over your shoulder. I can explain to the Spectres as you work, so they know we're not about to open the relay to dark space and let the Reapers come flooding in."
Vara nodded, cleaning her blade of the President's blood with a flick of her wrist and a final surge of biotic force. She sheathed the weapon and stepped up to the master control console.
A few moments later, I could feel a subtle vibration in the deck under me. I heard nothing, didn't expect to hear anything, but the tatters of my biotic sense could feel space twisting around us on a massive scale. The Citadel began to move.
I wondered whether we had been in time. Then I felt something inside me fall over a precipice. The pain receded behind a wall of numb shock, and I lost consciousness.