"But why?"
Miranda Lawson had her hands flush against the table, arms straight and elbows locked, her booted feet far enough away from the table that her slim back was almost parallel to the floor. Her normally proud head hung down past her shoulders, brown hair curtaining past her face. Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet... but in the long silence that had descended heavily over the room after the initial outburst following Shepard's epiphany, it was loud enough.
Alenko had torn his gaze from Shepard as the room around them had exploded with noise and was now pacing slowly off to Lawson's side, steps thoughtful and measured, one hand rubbing his chin. He looked as he had whenever Shepard had given him a particularly impossible task for the SR-1, dark eyes intently focused but focused oddly inward as if he were inspecting the very fibers of something only he could see. He had rolled the already-rumpled sleeves of his uniform jacket up to just below his elbows.
"Justicar Samara," Alenko said quietly without a break in his smooth, deliberate pacing or even looking up. "I don't suppose it's easier to meld with a human biotic than it is a normal human."
"While 'ease', as you put it," said Samara, her rich, dulcet voice calm and unaffected despite the general upheaval in the group at large, calm and unaffected enough, even, that her disapproval of the term 'easy' was quite clear, "varies with the individual, yes, it is typically easier to both initiate and sustain a meld with a human biotic. Humans are..." She considered her words carefully and Shepard, seeing the fleeting inwardness of the justicar's gaze - a gaze which was normally deeply self-aware but still unerringly outward-looking - wondered briefly if the woman were perhaps remembering a very specific human. "Young. They are individualistic. Highly so. A human will feel the touch of another mind and, no matter how gentle the touch or how trusted the relationship with the toucher, instinctively recoil, so inherently powerful, so fundamental, is that precious sense of self that so defines them. It is... young. Impetuous. Reckless. Refreshing in some ways, wearying in others. It is, as many interactions with your species are, as if one has taken a child to a playground... finding oneself inescapably wondrous at the innocence of the child's explorations, so long has it been since one had felt such simple joy... but constantly and almost oppressively aware that the child's fearlessness and naivete could at any moment result in disaster. It makes a deep and lasting connection very difficult."
She paused again. "A human biotic is more receptive. Even those of no discernible skill can be more easily reached, their eezo mutations serving as... beacons, if you will, along the intricate path that is their nervous system. However, sufficiently disciplined biotics such as yourself, Commander, might even be able to recognize your instinctive retreat, perhaps even arrest it in full, allowing for a more complete and sustainable bond."
Alenko nodded, still pacing slowly. "So there's that," he said thoughtfully, clearly more to himself than anyone else. "At the very least, the biotics make it easier for someone to back up Shepard's imprint."
"If we assume that Lazarus indeed was intended to stand on its own," Lawson said without raising her head, voice softened by the curtain of hair between it and her audience, "that Shepard was indeed brought back to fight the Reapers and not just to power some as-yet unknown and potentially even unknowable scientific initiative... then they would not have risked the biotics phase just for a backup. That phase alone took months... planning, testing, finally doing. If they needed her for the Reapers, and I am still working under the assumption that they did, they wouldn't have risked it. Not for just a soft backup." She ran a hand through her already tousled hair before setting it back down on the table. Her gaze remained on the table as well. "No. They want something else. This isn't just saving that imprint for posterity, for future generations. They need something out of it. The risk-reward wouldn't come out right otherwise."
Alenko hmm-ed noncommittally and simply continued with his slow, methodical pacing. Shepard half expected Lawson to take offense at his non-response... but either the operative was too caught up in her own thoughts, of which Shepard was sure she had many given the circumstances, or she was finally starting to recognize Alenko's habits and realized that he was far too caught up in his own thoughts to consider how his brevity might be interpreted, let alone to spend precious time trying to allay said brevity. He was digesting a problem, chewing it thoughtfully, rolling it around on his tongue to get a sense of its texture, its taste, taking a sip of one wine, then another, testing various pairings, challenging them.
His was a fundamentally different approach than Lawson's, one he wore easily and unaffectedly where Lawson, forced into the uncomfortable and unfamiliar position of introspection rather than analysis, wore it more like an ill-fitting coat that she had grudgingly accepted she had to wear but which had a collar too stifling, a lining too abrasive. For all his practice, Shepard seriously doubted that Alenko found communion with himself particularly comfortable. From the terrible silence he'd no doubt endured when they'd finally gotten the guards to stand down, finally silenced the emergency sirens blaring through the facility, separated him from the other children, and escorted him away from Commander Vyrnnus's body... all the way up to that first, terrible moment of aloneness, of oppressive finality, she was sure he'd had after the crew was rescued from Alcherra, where he'd taken command, found everyone shelter, sent out the messages, organized the defense, scrambled for rations, was the last to leave the surface before filing all the reports everyone wanted right that instant... well, she could understand if he didn't find introspection a pleasant experience. (There was, of course, also a distinct possibility that by this point, it had become so ingrained a part of his being that he'd forgotten how to look inside himself without the pain, had perhaps even decided that the clarity it provided was invaluable... like an old Earth monk unable or unwilling to settle for private prayer without the cleansing agony of self-flagellation to sharpen his focus, deepen the meaning, ground the spiritual in the physical or vice versa. That was perhaps not something Shepard would be bringing up in conversation any time soon.) So perhaps introspection was not a particularly pleasant experience for him... but it was at least familiar, practiced.
Lawson, on the other hand, was a creature of extrospection, a force powerful enough to exert her will on the chaos constantly swirling around her and determined enough to keep trying despite the endless stalemates, and she seemed deeply, fundamentally wearied by the idea that her scans, her files, her knowledge, her intelligence, her data had yet to provide an adequate answer. She did not seem lost, nor did she by any means appear beaten - Shepard was uncertain if the genetically perfect Miranda Lawson was even capable of appearing beaten and would bet good money against it - but merely... weary, as if she knew that if the answers had not yet manifested, it would take either an interminable amount of work or an inconvenient amount of luck to get the breakthrough she needed... and she wasn't sure which was more tiresome.
"The Heracles Foundation," said Alenko in that soft, thoughtful tone that indicated he was speaking mostly to himself, "is interested in furthering our understanding of mass effect technology."
"Them and everyone else," said Vakarian pointedly. "We've been at it since before your Pythagorus saw his first triangle. The asari for longer than that. I'm not sure that helps us."
"Some kind of front then," said Massani after a moment. He was leaning against one of the walls, one boot crossed over the other. His arms were crossed as well, giving an impression of either relaxation or boredom, but his arms were crossed just loosely enough so that the hand of the bottom arm rested close to the butt of his sidearm.
"For what?" asked Goto with a hint of dry humor. "We've already got Cerberus hiding behind 'Palantix' and the Alliance hiding behind 'Delphi'."
"Reasonable," countered Solus. He, like Alenko, was pacing but his was fraught with a nervous energy where Alenko's seemed, oddly enough, to be defined by stillness. The salarian had been muttering to himself, holding what had appeared to be a quite rousing and partisan debate with himself, but his comment was obviously intended for Goto rather than himself. "Goal is not to hide participants. Redundant. Goal is to hide purpose. Objective. Perhaps from each other. Logistically complex. Messy. Unlikely to work long-term. Poor foundation for lasting partnership. Will make good holomovie."
"Well, that's fucking great," said Jack with a syrupy sweet edge to her voice which somehow managed to make her sound even more likely to shank her nearest neighbor than she did normally. "Now we have two motives to figure out... and to think, we were busy wanking just trying to figure out the one. Looks like we're in for a whole day of fun."
"Covert exchange of information possible," Solus said. "Combative or cooperative. Both covert. Still messy. Less good holomovie. Will need very attractive female lead."
"If I'm following you," Lawson said, not looking up from the table top, "you're suggesting that Cerberus and the Alliance have known who they've been dealing with this entire time... and are either playing mirror-image spy games against one another or one of us, either Cerberus or the Alliance, has a mole."
"Have plenty of those," Solus said dismissively. "Both sides. Not new. Meant in this specific situation."
Shepard had been watching the proceedings silently as she was wont to do. She had no problems taking command, issuing orders, dominating conversations, or drilling bullets into recalcitrant heads as necessary... but outside of those pesky emergency situations when she and those she was tasked with protecting didn't have the luxury of sitting around and waiting for epiphanies, she was quite fine sitting back and letting things happen. They learned more that way. (Hell, hanging around with this bunch, she learned more that way too.) She'd have hopped in if they needed her. They hadn't.
At this particular juncture, however, she actually did consider making a brief appearance in the conversation. While she was enormously satisfied with the ways in which they were playing off of each other (even this small bit had been a long, long time coming, given the group's strong personalities, varied backgrounds, and general propensity for carrying a large number of very powerful weapons that they were remarkably good at using) and while she very much enjoyed listening to their conspiracy theories (so long as her people were the most paranoid ones in the game, she had a damned fine chance of winning), she was also not getting any younger, the Reapers not getting any nicer, her headache not getting any better, and ol' Occam's razor certainly not getting any duller.
Before she hopped in, though, she found herself glancing at Alenko. There was a good chance he'd either already come to the same conclusion she had or was about to come to it. He had that look on his face - not The Look, of course, and she indulged herself a moment of mourning for the very real possibility that she might never see that one again before quickly, expertly bandaging back up - but rather the one she had seen so many nights on the SR-1 when during her nightly tour she'd found him at his favorite workstation, sleeves pushed up and a sheen of perspiration across his forehead. Pensive. Thoughtful. Deliberate. A smooth finish over what was inevitably a near firestorm of brilliant activity just below as he busily diagrammed out system specs without bothering to find a pencil. He'd walked straight into her once while so deep in thought; he'd been so deep it had taken him at least ten seconds to start blushing.
But it had always been worth it. He'd always come up with an answer. Granted, she'd always gone to him with either tech or tactical problems and this was neither... but he'd had two years to grow into it. Perhaps he'd been pushed out of the nest just a touch too early - or more accurately, perhaps, ordered out of it mere minutes before a Collector beam had ripped it apart - but if he was going to make it, if he was going to survive the upcoming horrors that Shepard knew deep in her gut that she'd never be able to keep away from him, he needed to be more than just a staff commander. More than just a marine. Much more.
So she held her tongue and waited, watching him.
He paced, slow and methodical, seemingly oblivious to the back-and-forth from the group around him. He rubbed his chin. He paced some more.
And he didn't disappoint her.
"I think," he said quietly and Shepard noted that she didn't have to call attention to him, nor did he have to raise his voice; the others quieted of their own volition, responding, perhaps, to the easy confidence in his voice, "that Jack is correct: whenever possible, substitute constructions out of known entities for inferences to unknown entities. We know there is at least one reason for all of this; let's not assume there's another." He kept pacing, continuing, "I think that Mr. Massani is correct: the Heracles Foundation is a front for an initiative with far better-defined goals than merely the understanding of mass relay technology. I think that Dr. Solus is correct: the Alliance and Cerberus are working together. I think Ms. Goto is correct: they each know precisely who they're dealing with. And I think that Operative Lawson was also correct in one of our first conversations: whatever they're doing, whatever it is that they want, whether they both want the same thing for the same reason or not, they're both willing to Machiavelli it, trusting that the ends will in fact justify the means."
He worried his lower lip between a thumb and a forefinger for a moment before fixing his dark eyes on Vakarian. "But most of all..." He lifted the forefinger just far enough from his lip to point slightly at the turian. "But most of all, I think Garrus is right. The asari and the turians have been trying to solve the problem of mass relay technology for three thousand years... and have failed. That's the solution. That's the key."
Atta boy. Shepard kept her face impassive but Alenko glanced at her as if he could sense her approval. Something flashed in his eyes that was gone too quickly for her to identify but she nodded at him, one brisk jerk of the head, the same nod she'd given to him after countless trainings, countless missions. Good work.
He nodded tightly back, the same nod he'd given to her after countless trainings, countless missions. Thank you, ma'am.
Huh.
"Who built the mass relays?" Alenko asked almost conversationally, turning back to the group.
There was a pause from the group. Shepard could tell they were trying to figure out why he was asking. She liked that about them. Nothing at face value. No spoon-feeding. Good group.
"The Reapers," Vakarian said finally, speaking for the group. "We'd always assumed it was the Protheans but between Liara's work and what Sovereign told us... well, they were obviously just the last in a long line of now-extinct people who found and started using the relays."
"And now we're the latest in that line," Alenko said. "Three thousand years and we still don't know how to make a relay. We don't even really know how they work. The Reapers wipe us out and whoever comes after us is going to find a human beacon on a planet like Eden Prime and conclude we're the ones who made the relays. Just like what we did with the Protheans."
"I kind of wish you wouldn't keep bringing the three thousand years thing up," Vakarian said with a twitch of his mandibles. "In our defense, we've been doing a lot of other things too."
"What is your point, Commander?" Lawson asked. She had looked up when Alenko had first started speaking... but she was no longer doing so, back to asking her quiet questions of the table.
"The point," he said quietly, "isn't that the asari and the turians haven't made any progress in three thousand years, Garrus." He looked around the group. "The point is that no one has." He glanced at Shepard. "No one..."
She gazed back at him for a long moment before finishing, "Except the Protheans."
Lawson's head jerked up.
"In that whole long line of now-extinct people who found and started using the relays, who were all ultimately destroyed by the Reapers..." Alenko's voice had gained in intensity and was continuing to do so. "Out of all of them, the Protheans were the only ones who made their own relay. They cracked the code. They did it." He turned to face Shepard. "And you have them in your brain. The only people who did what the Reapers did. The relays. The ability to make relays. That's what they want." His throat worked for a moment and he stared at her. "And they made you a biotic to get it."
She stared back at him.
More than just a staff commander. More than just a marine. Much more.
An unexpected wave of relief flooded over her.
He might live through this, she realized suddenly, and she felt a weight she hadn't really known was on her lighten. He really might live. She didn't mind dying again too much, fully expected that it would come to that, heard the clock chiming under the music and the revelers and knew midnight was just around the corner. But him... He might live through this. He really might. If she could just train him just a little bit more, give him just a little more of an edge... He might make it.
A shadow crossed his face and his head cocked oh-so-slightly to the side as he looked at her. He couldn't possibly know what she was thinking - the man was a biotic, not a psychic - but he somehow knew she was thinking about something other than Cerberus and the Alliance plotting together to introduce the eezo mutation into her DNA. And it clearly worried him.
She quirked a half-smile at him. "I suppose I should have mentioned to someone earlier that I don't think the Protheans left behind any notes from their design meetings," she said with forced lightness.
"Maybe," said Lawson, clearly warming to the idea and clearly unwilling to let Shepard ruin it for her. "But that might not be the point. As nice as that would be, maybe they don't need that. You have the Cipher as well... the context for an entire civilization. Who they were in their own eyes. Where they had come from. Where they saw themselves going." She looked at Alenko. "Technology doesn't just spring out of nothing. Nor does understanding. Nor does innovation."
Alenko tore his gaze from Shepard and returned Lawson's look. "Yeah," he said. "The primordial ooze of technology. Building blocks. All of them."
There was a long silence.
"At the risk of being a complete party pooper," Goto said finally, "I feel the need to point out that while we now know what... we still don't know why."
"To... build new relays?" Tali ventured. "I mean... right?"
"New relays." Goto's head cocked to the side and her lips curved into an enigmatic smile. "... to where?" she asked reasonably.
There was another moment of silence.
"An excellent point, Kasumi," said Shepard. "Unfortunately, it will have to wait for a bit. I need to puke again and I'd prefer to do it without an audience this time. Commander Alenko, you're with Samara."
"I'm what?" Alenko asked.
"He's what?" Lawson asked.
"Dismissed," said Shepard.
