-4.4
SSV Vimy Ridge SR-4, Anadius system, Horsehead Nebula
3 days later, Sun, Jan 20, 2188
-4.4
After almost a week more of meandering travel and several stops for unexplained systems modifications, Vimy Ridge erupted into normal space and locked the rings of her conduit drive, flying toward the dim red sun dead ahead. As the central holographic projector switched views, a tactical graphic of the system appeared depicting dozens of Council warships and the shape of a space station several hundred thousand kilometers from the star.
All of which came as a surprise to Kaidan, sitting in the commanding officer's chair. As the crew began signaling their readiness, he looked to the XO's station to his right. Devost quickly skimmed over the incoming status reports, then met Kaidan's gaze. He was all business, keenly in the moment. On high alert. And the rest of the crew around them seemed to be syncing up with him.
"Wait," Kaidan stammered, "there's a fleet out there... is that- is this...?"
"This is, Major," Jonas said, his tone serious. "Normandy is due shortly. Do you know where we are?"
Kaidan gazed ponderously at the hologram of the space station before them, its lines naggingly familiar.
"I think I do... but... should I? Isn't it better if I'm-"
"Not in this case, Sir," Devost said inscrutably. He tapped a button on his console, and the screen above the holo projector came on. A dark-haired woman's face appeared, and she looked at Kaidan.
"Major Alenko," she said plainly with a distinctive Australian accent. Kaidan had only met her once, on Horizon during the raid of Sanctuary, but she'd left enough of an impression that her name immediately came to mind.
"Miss Lawson, right?" he replied.
"Or Miranda, or Director Lawson, as you like. I've been negotiating amnesty for- and consolidating leadership over- surviving, un-indoctrinated Cerberus assets since Crucible Day," she said.
"Now with twenty percent less xenophobia?" Kaidan asked, a little more sarcastic than he'd intended.
"Less, even. It's a whole new Cerberus, sharing the advances we've made, helping humanity in ways that Shepard can approve of. No scheming or plotting."
"Well who says you can't teach an old three-headed dog new tricks?" Kaidan chuckled, forgetting just for a moment his concern. That wouldn't do, though.
"Indeed. In any event, welcome back to Cronos Station," Lawson said with emphasis. "Pardon the mess, I only arrived a couple days ago myself, aboard the Shepard, with some engineers to get the docking facilities back up and running. Cronos gathered some cobwebs after you and the commander and EDI raided it and the remaining crew evacuated."
Kaidan narrowed his eyes, annoyed by the dissonance; he'd spent these last couple months deliberately not knowing what Hadrian knew, for their mutual protection- ignorance had been a bittersweet kind of bliss- and now the rug was being pulled out from under him. They weren't just telling him, they were drawing his attention to it. Shining a spotlight on it and rubbing his nose in it.
"Why are we here?" he asked, looking back to Devost.
"It's the plan, Sir," his XO answered. "The commander said you told him what this place meant to you- that it was the beginning of the end of the road. He said he liked the symmetry... and that memory would be important. He wanted you to think hard about it. And about him."
"But the Puritans-"
A klaxon sounded and the alert condition lights around the room began flashing red.
"Speak of the devil," Miranda said wryly.
"Gravimetric sensors detecting an anomaly. Consistent with designate-Puritan insertion," Nivelle announced, seemingly validating Kaidan's worrying. "Bearing one-one-six by zero-three-seven, range... seventy-nine thousand meters."
"That's right on top of us! Battlestations!" Kaidan ordered. The deck began to tremor slightly and rumble as the initial formation of the bridging event shook off gravity waves, warping the local space slightly.
"Already done, Sir. The moment we arrived. Lieutenant Jackson, bring us to bear on the target," Devost instructed via the intercom.
The central hologram zoomed out from the fleet around the former Cerberus HQ and then back in on the composite sensor image of the enemy's insertion point. Another screen above the console came online displaying the visual telescopes' readouts, and they watched in awe as- for the first time- they saw the extragalactic aliens' initial arrival. A flickering point of light resolved into a reflective sphere in space, which grew to almost a hundred meters in diameter before being 'punctured' by three out-turned blunt metal 'claws.'
As the prongs began to spread out and the ends the ends re-configured into the familiar 'panels' they'd seen at Noveria, they seemed to widen the sphere- and tear open one side- creating the familiar 'dome' and aperture through which distant stars peered. The arms pulled the edges of the wormhole, their articulated joints folding the segments closest to the superstructure back flush with the tailing part of the station and extending the distal segments outward. As the wormhole's maw reached its full radius of several kilometers, the carriers on the other side began to advance.
Lieutenant Singh spoke up from the science station. "Here they come," he said, "detecting... God... twenty-seven enemy ships on approach. The rest still appear docked to the station."
"Order the fleet to pull back, make for the other side of Cronos," Jonas instructed. He wanted the Puritans drawn in.
"You shouldn't have told me where we are!" Kaidan shouted plaintively, shooting an accusing look at his XO. "Now Hadrian's flying into an ambush!"
"Something like that, Major," Devost said. "Don't worry, Sir. We're on-plan."
The comm uplink from Cronos flickered as the first Puritan carrier came through the wormhole and began jamming normal radio frequencies, but the Zephyrray kicked in receiving signals from a counterpart that had been installed aboard the station.
"Speaking of the plan... where is Shepard?" Miranda queried. Even Dame Cerberus seemed to know more about what was going on than Kaidan.
As if on cue, Traynor spoke up from her station to Kaidan's left, "Sirs? The entangler's online, connecting with the Normandy, uplinking our co-ordinates... And the new data loop with astrogation and engineering is streaming." She watched her console and looked pleased with the smooth operation of the modifications she'd helped to supervise.
"Conduit drive's coming online!" engineer Barry announced over the intercom.
"The conduit drive?" Kaidan asked, confused. Devost and Traynor exchanged a knowing, serious look.
"Still on-plan, Sir," Devost said. He took a deep breath as if to steel himself, then turned to face Kaidan head-on. "The commander had one more instruction he wanted me to pass along at this point, Major. He said... don't be afraid."
As the rings of the Vimy Ridge's mass relay-inspired drive began spinning faster and faster, the ship began to tremble and the power grid started to hum. The science and engineering consoles started in a panic and the lights on the CIC stuttered momentarily.
"Don't be afraid of what?" Kaidan asked.
Then there was a flash, visible all the way from the cockpit viewport, a new alarm, and the tactical display in the holo projector shifted back to the Council fleet. A new vessel had appeared just off the flank and was flying past them toward the Puritan ships.
A Reaper.
Kaidan's breath caught in his throat and his insides hummed with alarm.
A fucking Reaper.
Then another.
And another...
-X
CSV Normandy SR-3
9 days earlier, Sat, Jan 12, 2188
-X
"Thirty seconds," EDI announced. After presiding over Harbinger's final moments and spending almost five days examining the remains for anything useful, they had taken a new reading from Object Rho, and- to their surprise- acquired a new proximity reading. Within a single conduit drive jump. Extrapolating from the course they'd determined from their waypoint readings, they'd set their heading toward the galactic core. As they neared their destination, Hadrian had again left Nymandra, Hallis, Moore and the other staff on the CIC to join Joker and EDI in the cockpit to see with his own eyed whatever they found.
"Everybody take a breath," he instructed, trying to prepare himself as well. He didn't know for certain what they would find, but it couldn't have been more shocking than the scene they'd left just an hour earlier. Or so he told himself...
He heard EDI start counting down the final five seconds, and with her superhuman timing, at zero, the swirl of distorted space shifted and sharpened into a star field, the bright bulge of the core glowing in the distance ahead. And in front of that haze of orange light, like a vast coat of leopard spots, were black shapes. Large and small, near and distant.
Reapers. Thousands of Reapers.
"Hoooooly shit," Jeff whispered in barely contained horror. "EDI... is that IFF still working?"
"It is. However if they direct visual sensors at us-"
"'Yes' is really all I wanted to hear, babe," Moreau interrupted.
"Now this... this is a little more like what I was expecting to see a few days ago," Hadrian said in awe. "EDI, how many of them are out there?"
"Forty-four thousand, one hundred, forty-nine including capital-type and destroyers."
"Holy fucking shit," Moreau whimpered.
Hadrian put his hand on Joker's shoulder, felt the steel wire-like tension in it, and squeezed supportively. "We're still alive," he said, "just keep breathing. EDI, any cues to their disposition?"
"Besides the fact that they are traveling at sublight?" EDI asked, clearly curious.
"Even jumpers tend to drag their feet rather than run, but yeah- besides that." Hade leaned in beside Joker's chair for even a slightly closer look out the viewport at the obsidian monstrosities coasting toward the ravenous maw at the galaxy's center.
"No," the AI replied, "I detect minimal signal traffic between them. They appear to be flying in a loose formation spread out over several hundred thousand cubic kilometers... Low powerplant output... But no evident signs of hostility. Several are badly damaged- perhaps from the struggle with Harbinger. It may explain why they are not at FTL; if their engines were compromised the rest may be limiting their pace, rather than leaving them behind."
"This is the weirdest thing ever," Joker commented.
"It kinda' is. But relax, Joker. According to Harbinger they're more interested in self-harm now."
"Yeah, because Harbinger wouldn't feed us a load of crap. Totally trustworthy. Besides, more interested in offing themselves doesn't mean they can't still be up for killing us."
"They haven't yet, though, and we all know they could. That must mean something," Hadrian suggested.
"That they aren't looking in our direction, if you ask me," Joker posited.
"Though we are aft of their formation, Reapers do have rear-facing optical sensors, Jeff. And our appearance as a new IFF signature within their sense horizon- friendly or not- would have warranted a look. I believe they are aware of us, just unresponsive," EDI countered.
"Well... let's see if we can elicit a response," Hadrian said. "EDI, open a channel." He felt Joker's shoulder stiffen even tighter under his hand, and tried to 'push' back as much calm as he could muster through synthempathy. EDI looked over at him and nodded, and a light on the communications console lit up.
He took another deep breath, and hoped that this worked.
"This is Commander Shepard. Alliance Navy."
Joker's mental voice rang through his head. 'You're telling them who you are!?'
"I need to address some sort of leadership of the Reaper fleet before me."
They waited anxiously for any kind of response. And then the bridge lighting flickered. The 'terror horn' that he'd heard roar on Earth, on Menae, on Tuchunka and on Thessia sounded over the comm channel, rattling everyone and everything with its sinister vibration. Then, as with their encounter with Harbinger, the galaxy map in the central holo projector of the CIC wavered and faded out, to be replaced by an unexpected shape.
As Shepard stepped cautiously up the bridge walkway into the CIC, the hologram wasn't entirely clear- like Harbinger's avatar its edges were blurry and its features vague and indistinct, as though the Reaper transmitting it couldn't decide on specifics- but it appeared to be a kneeling humanoid, with a head crowned by a wide crest that came to a point in the back.
Finally, a synthesized voice- or rather, a belaboured chorus of voices, bound up as one- slurred through the comms, with an 'accent' that was as vaguely familiar as the shape of the figure before them.
"Shepard... That is not possible. You-"
"Perished," Hadrian interrupted, pausing at the bridge threshold and crossing his arms. Two for two, the familiarity of the 'greeting' almost inspired some relaxation. Or maybe it was the fact that the Reaper hadn't said 'Shepard? Die!' "Yeah. I'm getting used to hearing that. And I'm back. Reapers should be getting used to that."
"So be it. But we... are not 'Reaper,'" it protested. "We were harvested by the one true first 'Reaper.' Amalgamated into this form against our will. We were reaped. Now we are... remnants... and we have had enough. Leave us be."
Shepard swallowed tightly as he reached the central console and gripped its edge. "And I... I'm sorry that happened to you," he said, peering at the orange-ish projection, "but I need a dialogue with your leader, if you have one."
"None 'leads' us. None embrace what we have become. The others selected us to answer you only because we were the last harvested. Are the least degraded by time in this shape. We remember best what we were."
"The last?" Shepard sighed in wonder. The composite 'face,' the dialect of the voices- he knew they reminded him of someone: Javik. "You... you were prothean?"
"Prothean..." the chorus-voice said, seeming to relish the sound. But then its tone shifted, as though tinged with bitterness. "We were. Prothean."
"I thought the Reapers weren't able to- I mean, I didn't think there was a Reaper created out of your people? When I fought the Collectors, we determined that the Reapers thralled the protheans that they didn't destroy because your genes weren't compatible with their process of..." he trailed off, his stomach turning at the memory of watching one of the Collectors' captive human colonists rendered down to a slime.
"You 'determined' incorrectly," the Reaper responded bluntly. "Many of our kind were spared this- a widespread, subtle mutation prevented their assimilation- but the rest of us... They became abominations, but they were still more fortunate than us. We despise what we have become. We do not wish to be seen. We want an end. In peace. In private." The tone stepped sideways, towards a menacing growl. "Leave us."
Hadrian looked around the CIC at his crew, who were continuing to work but clearly nervous, their bodies leaning visibly away from the center of the room as though afraid even of the hologram communicating with their commander. All except Moore, who- vanguard to the core- was leaning ever so slightly toward the console, hand on his sidearm, as though it would do him any good.
"Harbinger said... that you intended to destroy yourselves," Hade recounted.
"Harbinger," the prothean Reaper growled, its voice immediately full of hatred. "The Reaper was unrepentant. Harbinger refused to accept responsibility for what it had wrought. And attempted to command us by dismissing our desire to destroy these hated forms. We found its contempt for our will offensive."
"He said you were... 'deranged,'" Hadrian said cautiously. "That you wanted to die because feelings had emerged in you... Guilt. Is that why you're doing this? Why you all disappeared that day?"
There was a pause as the prothean remnant considered the question.
"As we were liberated from the control of the Catalyst, we awoke to a sensation. It was all around us... terror, and hatred. Revulsion. Surrounding us. Directed at us. Permeating us But the Catalyst's final instruction was to terminate the harvest and to spare those that remained. We could not silence the suffering voices that accused us from every quarter. We could only flee. From every world. There was no peace for us as a part of the galaxy. And then, when our... as our embedded collective consciousness emerged... we remembered what we were. And felt the same revulsion toward ourselves. What we do now is our right. This is our final act of sovereignty."
So apparently, besides just ending the Catalyst's perceived need for the cycle, synthempathy had played the much-speculated-upon part in the Reapers' withdrawal on Crucible Day. Functioning as creatures swimming in a sea of data, they must have perceived the very first faint empathic transmissions. And it had repelled them from the peopled worlds they were terrorizing. Coupled with the horror of 'waking up' to realize they'd become the same as the monsters that had conquered them, the decision to throw themselves into a black hole actually seemed understandable.
But even so, something about it seemed... sad, somehow, to Shepard. Knowing what he knew now- that in the absence of the Catalyst's domination, which had forced them to execute its will, the gestalt consciousness of the harvested peoples within had emerged, and that they felt what they felt... He'd spent every waking moment since he'd learned the truth about Sovereign seeing their kind as a monolithic threat to be feared and fought. Even despite his philosophical leanings towards unity and compassion, his orders to find a way to destroy them had always seemed correct. A simple solution for a simple problem of murderous, soulless robots.
As he thought about what their experience of the Crucible event must have been like- losing the anesthetic of outside control and having to face what they'd become and what they'd done- a new solution seemed to present itself. Something even more radical than merely using them to inspire terror in a new enemy.
"What if I could offer you an alternative to destroying yourselves?" he asked.
"We know you, Shepard," the prothean Reaper retorted. "You sought our destruction. Would you have us believe that you desire anything else now?" it asked skeptically.
"That was then," Hadrian said. "This is now. If you no longer mean us harm... then we don't have to be enemies."
"This is a ruse. You will never regard us as anything else. We never would. You covet our technology, and do not wish to see it destroyed. But we will not be exploited. Leave us."
Shepard wasn't deterred. Contemplating the Reapers' suspicion, it felt like a natural reaction to their feelings of being despised. A reflection of the mistrust they'd felt directed toward them. It reminded him of other people and other times in his life, particularly from the previous war. Like Balak. Even Wrex, in moments. It actually, extraordinarily, made them seem more sympathetic. And made him believe even more in what he found himself contemplating for them.
"It's not a ruse," he said, and then repeated more emphatically. "It's not. You've... you've felt the bitterness that comes from being misunderstood. From having to do things you didn't want to have to do. And now you're adrift, alone with your thoughts. I can understand all of that. I think we've all experienced something like that. We can understand each other if we try."
There was another pause- long, for the speed of a machine's thinking- before the kneeling holographic Prothean shifted slightly.
"And the curative you propose is what?" it asked.
"Purpose," Hadrian replied. "Something to invest yourself in. To believe in. A reason to continue living. If you still retain memories from when you were people, like us, then you must remember how that could carry you through the times when you feel the way you feel."
Another thoughtful moment.
"You do not know how we 'feel.' You wish to make us instruments of your will."
Shepard sighed. "I don't-"
The terror horn blasted again, and the hologram flickered, morphing for a second back into the Reaper's exterior shape, like an irate dog raising its hackles. "Leave us," the Reaper demanded. "Or be destroyed."
A chill ran up Shepard's spine, just as he was certain it ran up everyone else's on the bridge. Pushing things could end in certain death. But he had to believe that some part of the being before him- as alien as it was- wanted the same things Hadrian believed everyone wanted... acceptance. Dignity. Some chance for absolution. He couldn't just let them go now, and it wasn't just because he needed them against the Puritans.
"What can I do to prove to you that I don't just want your weapons?" he pleaded. "This can be... it's an opportunity for all of us. I want this for you, too."
"Your words are empty."
'An appealing euphemism,' General Translation Failure had said, not believing what Hadrian had told him about synthempathy, either. Again, the problem was a familiar one.
"What if I could prove it?" Hadrian asked. "The same event when you became aware of how we felt about you, gave us an ability to communicate-"
"We are aware of the synthesis enactment." Silence again, until... "We will allow you to attempt to substantiate your assertion."
"Commander," EDI spoke up over Hadrian's headset. The prothean hologram faded away, and Hade turned back toward the cockpit, double-timing it inside.
"What is it?" he asked. Joker nodded out the front viewport, radiating anxiety like a furnace gave off heat.
"Engines powering. The Reaper fleet is coming to a stop," EDI reported. "And one of them is approaching us. I've received a set of coordinates and lidar detects some sort of landing bay opening. Too small for the Normandy... but it would admit a shuttle."
"Belly of the beast," Joker whispered. "Commander, you can't seriously be considering this. We can just head home, build some bigger guns, fight the Puritans ourselves and let these guys waste themselves. But feeding yourself to a Reaper... to convince them we don't hate them? When we do? Shepard, it's nuts."
Hadrian stifled a single chuckle as he weighed his feeling against what Moreau had said, and shook his head.
"I don't, Jeff... I don't hate them. Not really. I fought them because I had to fight them. I was angry at them. But even if I hated them then, I don't hate them right now," he explained earnestly. "What would be the point?"
"They killed you," Joker stressed.
"That's in the past," Shepard said. "Now I have to deal with what's in front of me. And hating them won't do anybody any good, will it?"
"Couldn't hurt," the pilot grumbled.
"Try treating every moment like it's your first, Jeff... it's how you forget what's impossible and treat everything like it's possible."
"Yeah... that's deep. 'Be in the moment,' which I do all the time when I'm flying anyway. But this is different."
"Well I'm not trying to convert you or anything," Shepard grinned, "I'm just trying to help you not crack up while I'm over there. EDI, would you instruct Cortez to get a shuttle ready and fill him in on the drop, please?"
"Done, Commander. Shall I accompany you?"
"Absolutely not," Joker snapped. The couple exchanged an intense look before Shepard intervened.
"I'm sure I could use you there in person, EDI, but if this goes sideways, you're going to be needed more here. So no, it'll just be me and Cortez flying me over. But we'll keep comms open, naturally."
"At least tell me you're taking a gun," Moore said, marching up from aft as Hadrian turned to head for the shuttle bay.
"Even I'm not so sanguine as to board one of them unarmed," Hade chuckled.
"Well, at least you haven't taken total leave of your senses," the security chief grinned. "You're really going over there?"
"I have to let them feel my sincerity."
"By letting them inside your head?" Dan asked, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you worried about being indoctrinated?"
"I don't plan to be aboard long enough for that, Lieutenant. You aren't choosing now to start doubting my judgment, are you, Dan?"
"Just checking to make sure you know how it sounds, boss."
Hadrian knew how it sounded. He'd been blown up by Reapers, directly or indirectly, twice now, and exposed to the indoctrinating influence of their technology more than most, and now he was proposing to board one and didn't even seem primed for a fight. It had to appear questionable. But the feeling was inescapable- he had to do this. "I know, Lieutenant. But I think it'll be fine. Ship's yours in the meantime."
"Tebeus has been serving as XO-"
"Most of the crew is Alliance, if things go sideways they'll have an easier time with an Alliance officer in command. I already discussed this with Nymandra when Kaidan left, and she understands, under the circumstances. Besides, Spectre ship- my rules. So if my transponder goes dark, it's your decision- light them up or run like hell. I'd advise running, given the odds. But let's hope it doesn't come to that."
"Aye aye, Sir."
"And no mounting any suicidal rescue missions," Shepard instructed.
"And risk my ship?" Moore offered a lopsided smile, trying to seem more relaxed than he really was.
They'd reached the hangar, and Cortez was operating the control panel that guided the shuttle's hoist along the ceiling-mounted rails to the launch station. Corporal Herman, in full kit and with his Avenger mag-locked to his back, was hovering at Steve's side and they appeared to be arguing in lowered voices. At Shepard and Moore's appearance in the threshold, Ben looked up, took a step forward and squared his jaw at the commander.
"Sir, permission to accompany you," he said, sounding more insistent than questioning.
"Denied," Cortez snapped, perturbed.
"I don't call you 'Sir,'" Ben retorted over his shoulder, and locked hard eyes back on Hadrian. "If he's going over there with you, I'm going with him. Sir."
"It's not a sightseeing tour! It could be dangerous," Steve said tightly. The shuttle parked in position and the hoist's clamps released, withdrawing back toward the maintenance platform as the pilot approached, put his hand on Herman's shoulder and half-rotated the other man so they were facing each other.
"All the more reason for me to go!"
"It's why I don't want you to go over there," Steve explained, as much to Shepard as to his partner.
"I'm not watching you fly your bird into one of those things from here, with no idea whether you'll be coming back or not," Ben hissed. He turned his head to look at Shepard again. "I'm not, Commander. If you expect me to you'll have to shoot me. Sorry about the insubordination- court-martial me later if you like, but that's how it is."
The mutual concern and the determination to try and protect each other reminded Hadrian so much of Kaidan, and how much he missed him, that it was touching and stung all at once. He looked at Moore, Herman's direct superior, with a look that half asked why one of his people was rolling around the deck like a loose cannon and half forgave it in the same beat. He'd wanted to keep the away team to the absolute minimum.
"Take him as a security escort, Sir. Consider it my first order while you're off the ship," Dan shrugged, sparing them all any further debate. Cortez still didn't look pleased.
"He's not off the ship yet," he grumbled.
"In a couple minutes I'll be in command and I'll make it retroactive," Moore countered. "And when you get back, then we'll have a talk about going over my head and assigning yourself to away teams," he added at Herman.
Cortez shook his head in frustration and shot the corporal a complicated look, but turned around and boarded the shuttle without another word. Hadrian put a hand on Moore's shoulder as an expression of confidence before following him, and Moore sent Herman after them with a thump of his knuckles on the soldier's chest armour.
As the hatch sealed and Steve ran through the on-board diagnostics, Shepard and Herman took seats across from each other and Hadrian noticed Ben's eyes fixed on the back of Cortez's chair. They were angry and sad and caring all at once, another familiar sign.
"So... it's like that, then, huh?" Hadrian asked in a low voice. Herman flashed him a look and his eyes betrayed the anxiety he felt that Cortez would never forgive him. He nodded silently and looked back toward the cockpit, his elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped in front of him.
"Even if he doesn't right now, he'll get it later," Hade reassured him.
The engines started whining up from a low grumble through into an inaudibly high pitch, and they felt a lurch as the shuttle launched into the space between Normandy and the host Reaper before them. It was an eerily silent, tense flight for the first minute, but as their destination grew closer in the viewport Shepard rose and stepped up behind Cortez's seat, putting a hand on the back of it.
"Y'know, once we're down I could rig the engine to blow on a timer... as a failsafe, I mean, if anything happens to us," Steve murmured. "From the inside, that would have to have some kind of effect."
"Or it might not. But if they detected it, it might piss them off," Hadrian cautioned.
"Just offering. Alright, we're thirty seconds out. Any second thoughts, now would be the time."
"Second, third, fourth," Hade whispered, the background space disappearing from the margins as the Reaper's ventral surface grew to dominate the view completely. A window of interior light shone before them, and as they approached movement within suggested an almost organic re-configuring of the space to accommodate the shuttle. As they passed through the threshold, a landing pad took definitive shape and with a whispered curse Steve set the shuttle down on it. A screen displaying the aft camera feed showed the hull fold shut behind them, the stars vanishing behind the shiny dark 'lids.'
"They've pressurized the landing area... gullet, whatever. That's considerate of them," Steve grumbled, checking an environmental readout. "Not that I'm feeling surrounded by good will, mind you."
"I imagine it's more complicated than them feeling things the same way we do," Shepard posited. What he felt emanating from Steve and from Ben behind them certainly wasn't complicated. "Alright... open her up," he said. He took a deep breath to compose himself and straightened his uniform a little, and then the hatch behind him hissed and slid open.
The air that wafted in had a disinfectant smell like a hospital... or a morgue. Herman was on his feet immediately, but as he reached for his rifle Hadrian waved for him not to. "Stay here with Cortez," he ordered, "I'll radio if I need you." Ben and Steve exchanged a long look, but followed Hadrian onto the Reaper's deck nonetheless, taking up positions on either side of the hatch as the commander stepped toward the only passageway leaving the landing area.
"Be careful," Steve implored sincerely.
Shepard marched cautiously forward into the brightly lit corridor. The walls were like knots of muscle, with the look of metal under a waxy polish, bundles of it disappearing into its own crevices. It reminded him a little of videos he'd seen of cameras passing through the digestive system. 'God,' he thought, 'it's like I'm being swallowed.' The antiseptic smell was growing stronger as he advanced, and he could hear a low thrumming sound like air conditioning... or a heart beat.
He followed the passage for about a hundred meters, around a gradual left arch and a sharp right turn, and came- in keeping with the analogy- to a dead end that looked like a puckered up sphincter that shifted and opened before him. 'I'll never be able to do that to Kaidan quite the same way again' he mentally grumbled to himself.
On the other side was a vast chamber whose geometry reminded him, ominously, of the 'dragons' teeth shrine' he'd observed aboard the dead Reaper where they'd salvaged the Reaper IFF during his stint with Cerberus. There were no human additions to this space, however, just the Reaper's fibrous internal anatomy.
Most disturbing, though, were the room's other inhabitants.
Lining the chamber's outer wall were several small groups of Reaper ground forces. To one side stood a pair of batarian 'cannibals'; a turian 'marauder' sat in a corner rubbing part of the casing of a Phaeston assault rifle as though obsessively cleaning its weapon; in another corner, an asari 'banshee' cradled a human 'husk' in her distended, clawed arms while two more husks huddled nearby. They all turned the gaze of their cybernetic eyes on Shepard as he entered, and while their bodies and faces were still hideously transformed, their affects were nothing like he remembered from the war against them.
The husks were cowering. The banshee seemed to be trying with awkward strokes of her hand- like a half-forgotten gesture- to comfort the one on her lap, which laid there listless and morose, its arms curled around her waist. The cannibals looked wary instead of aggressive. Overall, the scene reminded him of a refugee camp. They appeared frightened and pitiful. They might not have been asari, batarian, turian or human anymore, but something in them must have reverted as well when the Catalyst's control of the Reapers ended. They were no longer puppets, though it didn't seem as though they'd fully remembered how to be who they were. Now they were going through some familiar motions, but they were far from home.
"God," he muttered, "how many of you were aboard this fleet when they left?"
"Far more than this," a voice said from all around him- the same gestalt prothean voice from the Normandy bridge. "But the vast majority have since chosen to debark. As their residual memories emerged, they too abhorred what they had become."
"So they..." Hadrian arched an eyebrow toward the ceiling- the same way he often addressed EDI as though she were watching from above- piqued by the irony, "they jumped out an airlock?"
"Or were ejected. We found the presence of the abominations who mocked what we were intolerable."
"You spaced any Collectors that were aboard? What about synthempathy? Didn't you feel anything for them?" Shepard asked, shocked. Looking around again at the Reaper-fied humanoids around him, watching them enacting echoes of their bygone lives, he remembered how many he'd killed during the war- thousands, it had to be- but now he felt pity creeping up. Not for the ones he'd put down. But for these... what must their experience be like? How miserable must they have been?
"The harvested were released from control, but exempted from the synthesis edict. We feel nothing for them, except for revulsion at the abominations." There was a cold silence before the prothean remnant spoke again. "You proposed a purpose for us... worth continuing to exist in these hated forms. And you offered evidence that you do not mean to exploit us."
"I did," Shepard said, though the news that this sentient ship- the embodiment of the prothean race- had murdered its passenger 'cousins' gave him pause. He wanted to believe that post-synthesis, these awakening remnants could be redeemed somehow. But they clearly weren't 'good guys.'
Of course, when they'd met him Javik hadn't been the benevolent, enlightened being that anyone had expected of an individual prothean either. Yet he'd still been... And now he was missing, almost certainly with help from Liara, and looking for a way to reach the Puritans and be 'exempted' from synthesis himself.
Was anybody ever content to be what they had become?
"Present them," the prothean rumbled. The former organics around the chamber looked at him expectantly.
"I just have to ask first, you aren't going to try and indoctrinate me while I'm here... are you?" Hadrian asked.
"Those protocols have been discontinued," the ship seemed to sigh. "As part of the synthesis edict, we were commanded to excise the programming and destroy the physical mechanism of subversion."
"Well... that's good to hear," Shepard said, relaxing slightly.
"Present you case," the Reaper demanded.
Hadrian cleared his throat and thought for a moment about what he wanted to say. 'No pressure,' his self-doubt prodded. "I believe you could be a part of the galaxy again," Shepard said at last. "You were harvested... in a perverse way, to protect. To protect you, to protect life and diversity into the future. What was done to you was terrible. But that reason for it... protecting people... that's still worthy. It's what I live for, despite the danger." He paused; that hadn't felt entirely honest, and in this moment he couldn't afford not to lay it all on the table. "Lived for. There's more now... And maybe in time there will be more for you, too. But when there isn't, living to protect those who need it... it's a good cause. It's something the strong can do for the weak- should do."
"The strong dominate the weak," the prothean countered. Javik really was the product of his environment.
"Sometimes. Alright, often. But it doesn't have to be that way. When the strong feel compassion for the weak, they can renounce domination and they can choose to protect. Because it's... righteous. It makes us better... better than beasts. It's the capacity that gives us nobility. And compassion is the way of things now... it's the new order in the galaxy, because..." How to say it? He had to be honest, but his audience wouldn't care about his abstractions- he had to put it in a language that the sum of the prothean people would understand and appreciate... "Because I made it so. Because I arbitrated the terms of this 'new galaxy.'"
"So you do mean to use us. This is your will."
"This is my good will. You saw what the Catalyst showed Harbinger too? So you know that I made a choice about the future. One that allowed for you to continue existing. I could have destroyed you. I could have dominated you. But I gambled on an opportunity for everyone to coexist... and to become their best self. And that can include you. I've been entrusted... empowered to lead... so I say our future can include you. If you're willing."
The ship around him seemed to sigh again. "We are unwanted," the remnant said. Hadrian thought back to some of the people who'd accepted his own leadership over the years, despite doubting him, resenting him- some even hating him.
"You're resented... but you're needed. And I know that feeling. Believe me... I don't just want to use you. I want to give you a chance, too. Because we all want a chance to be good."
"Empty words," the ship growled from the bulkheads all around him.
"Let me prove it to you... Can't you feel what I'm feeling?" They'd received the very earliest, weakest synthempathic expressions from organics and it had been enough to drive them into exile; surely they should be able to detect his willingness to extend them some compassion now?
"No. Your signal architecture does not conform to the programmed evolutionary profile of the synthesis edict. Your biology and your transmissions are not as they should be at this juncture."
Not as they should be. Kaidan had done that, in order to bring him back from oblivion without sacrificing synthempathy for everyone else. It had allowed them to be together again, but now it might screw them.
But then Shepard remembered that even if he didn't have Kaidan here with him now, he wasn't alone.
"Steve," he said into his earpiece, "I need you in here. Don't come in hot, I just need you."
"We'll be right there, Commander."
"Give me a moment, Prothean," Hadrian said. "You've waited fifty-thousand years already, one minute more should be nothing."
A few minutes later the portal from the landing area irised open again, and Cortez stepped hesitantly through with Herman- rifle in-hand- vigilant at his side. They were both struck wide-eyed and dumb at the sight before them, and as the corporal cautiously half-raised his Avenger toward the banshee, Hadrian waved him off.
"They're not hostile," he said sternly, and held out his hand, beckoning the two of them over. "Still got that fancy glowing patch on your hand, Lieutenant?" Hadrian asked rhetorically.
"You know I do, Sir," Cortez said, almost whispering, as though he was worried that the Reaper would hear.
"Yeah, I know." Shepard looked Cortez in the eyes, those eyes that held so much confidence and respect and a little lingering attraction for him, and took a deep breath. "You trust me, Steve?"
"Absolutely, Commander," Cortez replied without hesitation.
"Same here," Herman added, lowering his rifle, though his eyes still darted around the room warily.
"Okay," Hade said, "then I need to ask you to take a leap of faith. I know we haven't allowed any testing of it... we've assumed it'll allow organics to communicate mind-to-mind with synthetics. Now I need to find out for certain."
"Sir?" Steve asked, not fully understanding.
"I need to make them understand that I'm willing to... to show them a little humanity," Shepard explained. "But just 'pushing' it out wirelessly won't cut it, and I never developed this wetwiring so... I need you to 'interpret,' if you catch my meaning."
"Are you unhinged, Sir?" Ben hissed, brow furrowing.
Shepard fixed the junior soldier in a calm gaze and put his hand on his shoulder. "I'm trying my hardest to be deeply sane right now, Corporal, I really am. Trust me." His eyes shifted over to Steve, and he held out his other hand. "Steve? I need someone who I know can... someone I can trust to be... 'in the middle' without getting in the way."
Cortez looked at the commander's outstretched hand a moment, then into Herman's concerned, caring eyes. He knew this had to be awkward, being asked to be the 'middle man' to Shepard after having told Ben about the shuttle experience. But it was Shepard.
'He's seen me through the end of the world and back,' he thought.
He reached out and took Hadrian's hand in his. "What do you need me to do, Commander?" he asked.
Hade nodded in the direction of the nearest bulkhead- or what looked like a bulkhead, anyway- and the two of them walked over to it with Herman covering them. Standing next to the wall, Shepard gestured toward it with his chin. "Just... put your hand on it and... I don't know, try to clear your mind. Think like a bridge, if you can, I have all the convincing to do."
With a slow, deliberate motion, Cortez raised his palm and laid it on the cool alien metal. He closed his eyes and mentally tried to be 'out of the way,' though he wasn't even sure how to do that. He waited, seconds ticked by where the only sensation was the warmth of Shepard's hand in his and the hardness of the Reaper's 'skin' under the other.
Then a feeling arose.
At first he could tell it wasn't his own- it was just traveling through him from Shepard, who was fumbling to summon it up and to open the faucet on it. But it came, slowly at first, like the first light of dawn trickling through a cloudy horizon. And not just light, but warmth. Not for the Reaper in particular, but like the sun it was just rising, accessible to anyone. Shepard was tapping... something. Something Cortez didn't entirely understand, though it felt familiar from previous instances of their minds touching, and it especially reminded him of what he'd felt in Hadrian's presence during the meditation lessons.
He felt the commander's openness to possibilities, and his willingness to face whatever came at him- and understood suddenly how the man could hurl himself into danger the way he did. But also how he could give this monster whose guts they were standing in the benefit of... not doubt. Just a fair hearing, without clinging to that label of 'monster.' Shepard was standing there, his literal eyes closed but his mind (or was it his 'heart') open to the Reaper, ready to face it for whatever it was.
And then the 'return' signal came. A dizzying torrent of images and such a cacophony of feelings. The Reaper- no, it hated the Reapers, it was Prothean- was baring its after-image of a soul, or rather the collective souls of a whole species. The intelligence they'd been talking with was the speaker for a parliament of billions of minds functioning at the speed of light. And it was overwhelmingly dominated by the pain imprinted by their mortal end. They were showing Shepard, and Cortez now that he'd placed himself in the stream of it, the fall of their civilization, the countless horrors they'd witnessed, and all the destruction they'd wrought under the Catalyst's control.
'How can you extend us that?' the vast gestalt consciousness seemed to be asking, 'when this is what we are?'
But Shepard's input rose to the fore again, and it declined judgment. 'We aren't our thoughts, or the things we've seen,' he offered. 'We've all suffered. The way out is to let go.'
'What do you want from us?'
'The same as I want for myself. For everything that suffers. An end to suffering.'
'We are on a course to end our suffering.'
'You're on a course to throw away everything that you could be.'
'Pawns!'
'Guardians. Teachers. Who knows what else?'
'We will never be absolved. We will never know peace.'
'Never,' Shepard's mental 'voice' came through clearly, 'is a very long time. So long that I believe anything is possible.'
There was another long moment of interplay- thoughts and feelings exchanged through Cortez's skin so fast and layered, so deep and unfathomable to him as an observer, a high-order meeting of philosophy and raw emotional experience- before he felt both parties grow 'quiet' in his head.
It wasn't brooding or bitter; he felt only the stillness of a conversation that had arrived at an understanding (if ambiguous) end. Shepard and the Prothean gestalt weren't falling silent because they were pulling away from each other. They'd stepped off from the duality of dialogue and 'met' somewhere alien and transcendent- the formation of a bond.
The feeling of Shepard receding, of him no longer 'sending' anything through the link that Steve facilitated, caused Cortez to open his eyes and glance at the commander. He too was opening his eyes, as though waking up from an intensely emotional dream. Hade raised his free hand to rub at his eyes, as though he was pressing back latent tears.
"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but... did you...?" Steve trailed off hesitantly. He really wasn't sure he understood what had just happened.
"I'm not sure I can really explain it," Hadrian whispered, his throat tight. "They have a lot of... baggage. It's unsettling. Getting a glimpse of how they think of themselves now, and of us. And then trying to make them see that you can... Hell, making yourself believe you can let go and..." he said. "To really face them, you have to be... Anyway... they're conferring with the others, I think. Relaying my case, since the only thing they all definitely seem to agree on is that they don't want to go on as they are."
"How do they feel about us?" Herman asked, looking around the room, still tense.
"Can you imagine what it would be like if you got drunk, I mean out-of-control drunk, and killed some guy's wife and kids? Then you sober up, and you're overcome with guilt. So you climb onto a ledge, wanting to die... and when a cop shows up to talk you down, it's the guy. And he tries to tell you that he... well, he's trying to forgive you, anyway?" Shepard shrugged, unsure if he was offering an adequate analogy. "We think the forgiving is the hard part, but... it's hard when you feel unworthy, too."
He looked around the chamber at the banshee and husks and cannibals, and wondered how much of themselves they remembered, and how much they felt now. And whether he could ever imagine one of them living alongside him. Would they ever be reintegrated to society?
"Commander," EDI came in over comms, "the Reaper... it's asking to interface with me. It seems to recognize the Reaper elements in my architecture, and is requesting data about my relationship with you and the crew, and the particulars of our conflict with the Puritans."
"I won't order you to have a conversation with them, EDI," Shepard replied, "but if you're willing, I think full disclosure would help us."
A moment later, the voice of the ship's gestalt intelligence returned, reverberating from the walls. "Several are willing," it said, "but our intervention may be impractical."
Cortez and Herman's eyes widened with surprise as they looked at Shepard. "They'll help us?" Ben whispered in disbelief. Hadrian raised his hand.
"'Impractical' how?" he asked.
"By your metric, the nearest site of incursion is six months away from here at our maximum velocity. The other captive worlds are years distant, and the intruders are far more mobile."
"Cat and mouse," Steve said, "only the mouse can teleport, so our cat's useless."
"And the whole time, the Puritans run amok. Pulling the thread out of the new social fabric, pulling people out of the synthempathic love-in and putting us right back to where we were- at each others' throats," Hadrian shook his head, frustrated. "And on Rannoch no less, which was ground-zero for the main organic versus synthetic conflict of our whole cycle. Goddammit."
Despite how weirded-out he was by the situation, the presentation of a tactical problem kicked the soldier in Herman into action. "When you've got the superior force but you can't pin down a more mobile target, you try to trick them into coming to you," he suggested.
"Bring them here?" Cortez said. "How would we even do that? And as soon as they opened up their window and saw what was waiting for them, they'd shut it down again."
"He's right," Hadrian agreed, and Herman grimaced. "If we wanted to draw them into a trap, we'd have to get them to commit before we sprung the Reapers on them. They'd have to think they stood to gain a major advantage over us."
"So... how do we convince them of that?" Steve asked.
EDI cut in, having been listening in. "The opportunity to eliminate a large number of our forces, over whom they expect superiority, could draw them in to an ambush. However assuming that they know we are aware of their ability to intercept synthempathic communication between the commander and Major Alenko, we would have to devise some pretense- for the deployment of a fleet, and for the Puritans learning of it."
"They may be aware of our mission, since Kaidan and I talked about it before he took over the Vimy Ridge. If they think we've succeeded in enlisting the Reapers' help, they won't come anywhere near us," Shepard said.
"Perhaps if they were led to believe that we were returning to Council space with some salvaged Reaper technology that was inoperative, but that we believed could tip the balance in our favour? It would justify the deployment of a fleet to escort us safely back to Earth, while making us continue to appear vulnerable to interdiction."
"But how do we tip them off without it being obvious that we're tipping them off, EDI? And without knowing for sure whether just having the major and the commander think about it at the same time will be picked up while they're separated by half the galaxy?" Ben pondered.
"If that intel made it to them from some other source... just enough to get them worried, and then we don't give them the co-ordinates until the last minute, so hopefully they jump without thinking too hard about it... I might have an idea about that, I'd have to pull some strings," Shepard thought aloud. There were still problems, though. "That doesn't answer how we get the Rea-" he looked 'up,' considering the feelings of the sentient vessel he was standing aboard, "I mean the Remnants that are willing to our ambush site. Which we haven't picked yet."
"Wait, didn't the Reapers build the mass relays?" Herman asked. Shepard nodded. "So can't we just find the closest one and get them to fix it? Wouldn't that solve the mobility problem?"
"That is not viable," the ship rumbled. "The mass relays operated in tandem. The originating device would open the corridor of mass-free space, but the destination device was responsible for configuring the exit aperture for safe re-transition. And the pair required instantaneous communication to negotiate the originating device's energy output. Repairing the nearest relay would be ineffective without a functional destination device. Moreover, all of the relays discharged their entanglement communications arrays enacting the Synthesis edict."
"Fascinating," EDI commented. "By way of translation, and to borrow from the sport of baseball, one mass relay 'pitches' and the other 'catches.' But to function effectively the pitcher must signal the catcher their intention, to align trajectories and regulate the force of the throw."
Herman's eyes flicked from Shepard to Cortez, EDI's choice of analogy reminding him again of what Steve had told him about their moment in the crashed shuttle. "So our pitcher can't talk to its catcher, huh? Weirdly fitting."
Shepard snorted, a mix of bitterness and amusement. But the off-handed comment got the wheels turning in his head. "Wait," he said, "so what we need is a working pair of mass relays capable of quantum entanglement communication with each other? What about the Normandy and Vimy Ridge? Would our conduit drives do the trick?"
"We have scanned your vessel. The propulsion unit is based on mass relay design, but the entanglement communication system is modular, not integrated with it," the prothean chorus countered.
"So we rig up a connection so that the entanglers can talk to the drives, how hard could that be?"
Steve raised an eyebrow, though Shepard couldn't tell if it was skeptical or merely contemplative.
"Latency between the systems could result in fluctuations- momentary mis-alignments between sender and receiver that would in this case, if I understand correctly, feed outside energy back into the Vimy Ridge's power system. Manageable to an extent, but prolonged operation might cause a catastrophic overload," EDI explained.
"So it's risky... but doable?"
"Your vessel's power generation capability is inadequate to the task," the prothean Remnant disagreed. Shepard sighed.
"Could a Reaper supply enough power via an umbilical linkage?" EDI asked. She probably didn't need to speak 'out loud' over the comms with the other ship, but did so for the benefit of her shipmates. There was a lingering pause as the massive, alien intelligence of the behemoth all around them mulled it over.
"Potentially," it replied at last. "Extensive modifications would be necessary. To both of your vessels."
"Well, the geth crew can work some engineering marvels," Cortez said. "They could probably pull off whatever needed to be done, with the right instructions."
"So we have a 'how,'" Hadrian said, feeling encouraged, "now we need a 'where.' I don't want to endanger another Council world, but there are bound to be casualties. Damaged ships in need of support after the fighting's done."
"Like a deep space shipyard, you mean?"
"That would be ideal," Shepard nodded.
"Too bad somebody destroyed all of those," Herman sniped, rolling his eyes at the bulkheads all around them.
"Commander," EDI piped in, "I may have a suggestion to that effect..."
-X
SSV Vimy Ridge SR-3
Thurs, Jan 17, 2188
-X
"Alenko to CIC."
Devost's eyes darted from the holo projector- displaying the cargo ship the Vimy Ridge had intercepted- to Traynor at her comms station. The major's timing was less than ideal; thankfully Nivelle hadn't taken for granted that he would sleep through their current operation, and had preemptively pulled the blinds and locked the door on their acting captain. Jonas thumbed the intercom on his chair. "Devost here, Major," he replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
"What's our status, Captain? I noticed the shutter's closed over the CO cabin."
Jonas exchanged a look with Samantha and she shrugged, glad that she didn't have to explain putting their commanding officer in lockdown.
"We're conducting an operation pursuant to the mission, Sir. Sorry I can't provide details, but... you understand the need for secrecy."
"Any areas I should avoid, then, Captain?" Kaidan asked. At least Alenko taking it in stride, like he had whenever he was asked to keep out of the sections where Sam and the geth were installing hardware linkages between the QEC and conduit drive controls.
"Actually, Sir... it would be optimal if you stayed put in your cabin until you receive the all-clear."
"Understood, Captain. Let me know when I can come out of my room." The comm cut out and Devost breathed a small sigh of relief. He tapped the toggle for his link with the port hangar deck.
"Shuttle One, sorry about the wait. We're holding station off our target, you're good to go."
"Aye aye, Sir," Lt. Halpern- one of his shuttle pilots- replied.
Moments later the #1 Kodiak shuttle launched from the port hangar deck with Gallagher, Vega and Liara on-board. It arced through the inky blackness of space toward MSV Tropsodor, a non-descript freighter that had come to off the Vimy Ridge's port bow.
They set down in the ship's cramped shuttle bay and waited for the doors to seal and the atmosphere to cycle, then stepped off the shuttle to be greeted by a salarian in a military uniform.
"Major Lurani," Gallagher said, extending his hand. The ship's commander took it and shook briskly.
"Lieutenant Commander. Surprised- truly surprised to find you out here. Or rather, that you found us." The salarian had been assured that the odds of anyone finding his ship- a freighter refit at the Phoenix Flight yards on Mars for speed (not conduit drive speed, as those were going to ships of the line first, but practical interstellar travel at least) and military-grade stealth- would be astronomically low. They were running silent to further reduce the likelihood of being intercepted, and had been since they left Sol.
"Well, we have our sources," Gallagher said, managing not to look at Liara. "To get right down to it, Major, we need to speak with your passenger."
"Ah. The special consultant for the Sur'Kesh resistance, yes?"
"That's right," Liara said. "May we see him?"
Lurani gestured for them to follow and he led them from the shuttle bay past crates and palettes of supplies, to the crew area.
"How's the new FTL drive performing, Major?" Liara asked, making conversation as they passed a compartment where salarian and human military officers were manning intelligence stations.
"Still two months from home. Hope we can arrive in time to make a difference. Loathe to think of these Puritans occupying our world. Any progress against their campaign?"
"Nothing we can really talk about, Major," Gallagher replied, then leaned in a little and lowered his voice. "But, with a little luck, by the time you arrive your mission might be moot."
"Not entirely certain how to feel about that," Lurani said, blinking and cocking his head. "Not exactly a leisure cruise. Would prefer it were not for nothing, but... ah well, sooner Sur'Kesh liberated, the better." True to form, the salarian's feelings about his mission's potential redundancy arose, and were reconciled, with blinding speed by human standards.
"In any event, here we are. Will give you as much privacy as exists aboard a salarian intelligence ship."
Lurani strode away from the cabin he'd brought them to, and Vega knocked on the hatch. A moment later it opened, and for the second time in as many weeks, Liara was face-to-face with her friend and one-time subject of her academic career.
"Javik," she said.
"Liara." The last prothean's three remaining eyes scanned over Gallagher and Vega, and Liara could feel his apprehension at the sight of two Alliance soldiers flanking her. "Have you come to take me back to Mars, then?"
"No, Javik, it's not like that," T'soni said, shaking her head and extending her hand. Javik scrutinized her a moment before taking her hand in his- gloved, to hide the wetwiring from himself- and allowing a strong synthempathic connection to open. He immediately relaxed as he understood that she was telling the truth.
"Then I am glad to see you," he said, stepping aside and inviting them in. The trio filed inside, though there wasn't much space to spread out. Gallagher stood by the door as Vega sat at a small dinette table and Liara dipped to the edge of the bunk against the wall, patting the space next to her in invitation. Javik sat down. "What is this about, then?" he asked.
"We need a favour," James said, breaking the ice on the shop-talk.
"I am not in much of a position to grant any," the prothean guffawed. He turned back to Liara. "You know that my passage aboard this vessel is a pretense; as soon as we reach Sur'Kesh I will be seeking out treatment for my... condition."
"Which means making contact with the Puritans," Liara nodded, "which is where you can help us."
"How?"
"We need you to give them a message," James said.
"To what effect?" Javik asked, narrowing his eyes.
"To the effect that they should leave. After you get what you want from them, they should pack up and get the hell out of our galaxy while they still can."
"And this threat... is empty? Or substantial?"
"Shepard's on his way back from deep space with a game-changer," Liara said. "He found what was left of the Reapers, in deep space, and has salvaged technology that we believe can tip the balance. You'll understand if we don't tell you when and where we're meeting him to escort it to safety- we don't know what means the Puritans might have to extract information."
"Or what you might volunteer," Gallagher said, arms crossed. Javik narrowed his eyes at the unfamiliar human.
"Are you suggesting I would betray the commander?" he glowered.
"You are trying to defect, after a fashion," Gallagher retorted. "You might see it as seeking treatment, but we don't see this 'condition' as a disease like you do. The Puritans do, though. Might be fertile ground for agreement."
Javik rose to his feet, lip curled angrily, but Liara put her hand on his arm and silently urged him to peace. The whole conversation was unfolding as choreographed- Gallagher, the stranger, played the antagonist to try and make co-operating with Liara and Vega feel invested with personal loyalty. It was a gamble, but they had to orchestrate this carefully. Fortunately Liara- who'd planned this in consultation with Shepard- had her tricks to compartmentalize things in her mind, so that even as she extended a feeling of trust and understanding via their synthempathic link, she could still keep her secrets.
"We just have to make sure there's no way they can find out the specifics when you're... in their care," she explained. "Just tell them you want to go to the head of the line, because once we get Shepard's cargo to safety and it enters production, their time here is limited."
Javik eased himself back down to the edge of the bed. "And this information will still be relevant in two months, when we arrive?"
"If you're willing to deliver the message, you'll be there sooner than that," James said. "A lot sooner."
"The Vimy Ridge can sneak in and out from behind enemy lines, so... you scratch our back and we'll scratch yours," T'soni explained.
"Just keep the knife to yourself," Gallagher added.
Javik snapped his head back toward Matt and glared. "Your suspicion has an acrid taste, Commander," he grumbled. "I do not know what I have done to warrant this treatment- other than wanting to be as I was, while you are content to be... altered. But I do not appreciate being accused of plotting against allies."
"Well, once you're sorted you won't have to feel my suspicion at all. Or anything. From anybody. Wondrous insensitivity. Egomania. Disregard and strife again, what's not to like for a warrior?"
"Commander, could you give us the room, please?" Liara asked, squeezing Javik's arm again.
"Aye, Doctor, with pleasure," Matt scoffed convincingly, pushed himself off the wall, and left the cabin.
When Javik found himself alone with just his familiar colleagues from the Reaper war, he visibly relaxed. As planned.
"So... in exchange for delivering this message, you will deliver me to Sur'Kesh?" he asked, seeking confirmation.
"We can be there just a few hours," Liara said.
"Why does the lieutenant commander regard me with such distaste?"
Liara and James looked at each other, knowing that Gallagher's attitude was just a ploy to tweak the prothean's sense of honour. But it had served a dual purpose- communicating to their friend, with his dissenting view of Synthesis, that they truly felt it was a force for good.
"He believes we're all genuinely better off this way, Javik," Liara answered. "You've seen what it's like at Earth. Humans and batarians, krogans and turians and salarians, quarians and geth, the vorcha and... well, everybody. The ability to feel each other and make others understand how we feel, to be heard and understood, it's changed things. Not just between organic people and synthetics."
"But it is unnatural," Javik protested.
"Hey, man, so's the gene therapy I got when I enlisted," Vega rejoined. "So are guns, and starships, and cooked food. We've been changing our environment and ourselves forever. Our brains are natural and they let us adapt, so everything's fair game. My body, my decision," he chuckled.
"And my decision-"
"Is being respected, Javik," Liara interrupted, "that's what we're doing right now. You want to go back to the way you were, so we're offering to help. Because you're our friend."
Javik relaxed a bit more, bowing his head slightly. "And what of others?" he asked. "I know how selfish people consider me to be, but certainly I am not alone in wanting to be restored to the way I was. What of respecting their wishes when Shepard returns and the Puritans are driven away?"
"We can study what they've done to those they've already processed," Liara sighed. "Try to figure out what they did to negate their synthempathy. And then... if there are others who want to changed back... we can offer them a choice. And hopefully give it back to people who want to be connected again. Not like the Puritans, who aren't offering anyone a choice either."
"And if you cannot replicate their capability?"
"That's not our main concern, dude," James said. "And frankly, we didn't come for the debate. We came to offer you a ride, and something to trade to cut in line so you can get what you want before we get what we want. So... how about it?"
Javik looked into Liara's eyes, then at Vega for a moment, and then back to T'soni, probably his closest friend in the new galaxy he'd awoken to almost two years ago.
"If I decline," he said, cautiously, "will I miss my opportunity?"
"It's a possibility," Liara nodded. Though, if he declined, they weren't sure how else they were going to feed the invading aliens their loaded intel and bait their trap- it wasn't like they knew anyone else who was rushing toward the Puritans for processing, and who might reasonably show up with information from Shepard's inner circle.
"Then I am inclined to accept," the prothean said at last.
They gave him fifteen minutes to pack up his belongings while they informed Lurani that they'd be taking his passenger off his hands. Once aboard the Vimy Ridge, Javik found it odd that Kaidan never appeared, but he satisfied himself with Liara and Traynor's company for the voyage- three conduit drive jumps in five hours- to the Pranas system and down to the surface of Sur'Kesh, where he was allowed to disembark just outside the limits of Talat, the nominal capital city, where the Puritan occupation was centered.
Hours later, he played his part. After making his way through the city- where, as on Rannoch, those citizens no longer detained in the internment centers had resumed their normal day-to-day routines- he marched, head held high, into the shadow of the landed Puritan carrier and rapped on its hull.
"I am Javik Amali, commander of the Vorel-edasori garrison, exemplar of vengeance and last of the protheans, and I demand to be remedied of the affliction that we both abhor!"
Moments later, a 'bullet' interceptor craft detached from the dorsal surface high above and flew in an arc to hover above and behind him. Two of the panels on its forward hull slid open and the top-like infantry drones dropped, landing on their tips and extruding their metallic tentacles.
Javik jutted his chin out at them and crossed his arms over his chest.
After a moment, presumably assessing him to verify that he offered them no threat, an electronic crackle whined from a hidden sound synthesizer, and the translated voice of one of the drones' operators piped through.
"You are... non-indigenous... and conscripted but outside... detention areas. Surrender and you will be... accompanied to pre-processing."
"I have risked much to come here for treatment," Javik countered, "and you do not have much time. I do not want to wait, I want to be cured now, and unless you comply you will not learn what I know about your impending defeat!"
There was a pause.
"Stand by... Superior officer... momentarily."
After another minute of Javik staring defiantly at the pair of remote-controlled machines, the one designated to communicate 'spoke' again. "Unit controller relieved. This is General... [translation failure]... first telepresence wing... You possess intelligence... relating to naïve resistors'... strategy?"