Her father's body looked so small in Shepard's arms. Obscured beneath a standard issue quarian medical tarp, her father's body took up little space, in death. Not that he was physically small, not even when measured against Shepard, who was tall and broad even by human standards. It was in the way his legs trailed limply beneath that damn plastic sheet, the way Shepard bore his weight without discomfort. The way that the tarp hooked on the corners of his mask, impressing the contours of his helmet in the crinkling pane of the sheet pulled over him like a bridal veil.
It was too horrible to countenance. When she had seen the notification from the Flotilla, that had been one wound. Seeing the video of him had been another. But now, seeing him as just a thing laid across Shepard's arms, was inescapably final. Shepard hadn't asked Tali what she needed to do—Shepard had known. Quarians burned their dead, but they only did so on the Flotilla. Her father—his body—would need to be returned so that everyone could say goodbye. Tali didn't know if they would let her back. She didn't know anything. Except that her father was dead.
"Death of Rael'Zorah-Creator inflicted considerable impact on geth consensus. Among geth this is analogous to organic concept of grief."
Tali was accompanying Shepard to the medical bay, where her father would be—stored. The geth had followed, too, without saying anything. Shepard had looked at Tali, asking for her opinion, but Tali was too numb to give it. Let the geth come. What more could it possibly do?
Kill her? That seemed so dramatic and appropriate a response to the death of her father that it almost made her want to laugh. But the geth had been silent as Nicole carried Tali's father down the elevator, and had remained silent as Nicole had laid her father's body down onto a hospital bed, as gently and delicately as if he were still alive. As if he were a frail child under her care.
That wasn't right. Her father had been strong. Stubborn, opinionated, proud … and strong.
"I promise you, Tali, I will ensure your father's body is treated with absolute respect. We'll make sure he's—well taken care of." Dr. Chakwas was talking to her. Trying to find the nice way to tell her that they'd made sure to preserve her father's body long enough for them to get back to the Flotilla to burn it. Chakwas was nice, but Tali had never really gotten to know her. Quarians handled most of their own medicine out of necessity.
"Tali'Zorah-Creator." The geth, at last, had spoken. Tali realized she'd been staring at the ground, and looked up to see the geth looking directly at her. "It is unlikely we will be able to attend Rael'Zorah-Creator's funeral rite aboard the Creator-Fleet. We had come to know Rael'Zorah-Creator briefly. It was he who devised long-range distress beacon in hopes Creator-Fleet would investigate. In doing so Rael'Zorah-Creator preserved each program housed within this unit. We wish to remember him."
Tali stared at the geth for a long time, unable to really work out a response. She knew that the geth's presence almost certainly spelled doom for her hopes of being cleared of her charges. Maybe they were even correct. Shouldn't she have been trying to destroy this geth, even now?
Tali found she couldn't make herself care.
"So remember him." Tali didn't have time to untangle what that meant. The geth's facial plates twitched, and it raised its hands in an apologetic gesture that was unmistakably quarian.
"We have failed to explain. We are 1183 geth, loaded aboard this unique platform. Retaining data-perfect memories of all encounters is inefficient usage of this platform's memory. However, we wish to preserve all memories of Rael'Zorah-Creator, so that when we return to the geth, all geth will remember him." The geth relaxed its hands at its sides, and its facial plates returned to their neutral position. "Consensus indicates this could have political/ethical/emotional implications for Tali'Zorah-Creator. We therefore ask your consent."
Tali wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to ask this stupid thing why it had followed them to the medbay. She wanted to tell it to go crawl back to the home it had stolen from her, the home her father had died dreaming of.
"Let's give Tali some time," Shepard said smoothly, stepping between them. The geth twitched, and nodded. "We need to establish quarantine for you until we arrive at a solution. Come with me. Tali, you going to be okay?"
Tali realized Shepard was turning to look at her. Concern was written plainly on Shepard's face, which either meant that Shepard was getting better at showing emotions, or Tali looked even worse than she felt.
"I—I will. Thank you, Shepard. Is it okay if I stay here, a while?"
The look on Shepard's face said she wasn't convinced. But all she said was, "Of course."
Shepard walked away with the geth, leaving Tali standing alone above her father's body. The Normandy's med bay was cold, or at least it felt cold to Tali. Maybe it was just her suit. Maybe it was just the spectre of death itself, waiting invisible and gentle in the air to take her father's soul away to the long, dark quiet.
Not until he is back to the Flotilla. It was a stupid thought. Tali didn't believe in an afterlife, she didn't believe in death, and she didn't believe in any of the religions that had limped on from the Homeworld. She believed in engineering, and science, and measurements, like her father and mother before her.
She held her hand over the medical tarp, hovering just above the crinkling, sterile fabric. She couldn't bring herself to touch it. If she did the thing beneath the tarp would cease to be her father and just become a body, lifeless and static and measurable.
xXx
Miranda and EDI managed to conjure a solution to the potential for geth infiltration in remarkably short order. Using Grunt's old incubation tank as the structure, they'd created a chamber sealed against any kind of software communication, similarly to the method Cerberus used to secure their own prefabs and information sites. To Nicole's surprise, the geth had not hesitated to enter the pod, and had actually praised the simplicity of the solution. Apparently, claustrophobia was a uniquely organic preoccupation.
They had moved the pod to engineering, largely because moving it would have been so time consuming that if the geth wanted to undertake any kind of subterfuge then it would have plenty of opportunity while they moved the capsule. Besides, the engineering systems had strong digital security, and EDI was actively monitoring for geth intrusion. So far, the geth had been true to its word and not so much as a radio frequency had come out of the thing, let alone any kind of wireless data transfer.
"Caretaker, do we want recordings of this conversation?" Miranda asked.
"Yes. Use classification Vendetta Sicari," Liara said, from a chair overlooking the engineering bay. They had agreed that it didn't seem natural for Liara to appear side-by-side with the "Red Dragon" as the Caretaker, since after all the Caretaker was supposed to be her boss. And besides, Nicole thought wryly, Liara was getting very good at being in charge.
Better than I ever was. To be honest, it was a relief, not having to always be the one in charge. Command had never come to her, not naturally, and she had never been properly put through an officer's training. Part of the Alliance's effort to keep her hidden from the world at large. It had never been a role she'd been meant for. Nicole looked to Liara, who nodded, imperious and silent in her black Caretaker's garb.
"Geth, we're now secure. I'd like to ask you some questions."
"We will answer reasonable enquiries." The geth's faceplates were twitching curiously as it spoke. Its voice necessarily lacked emotion, but Nicole was almost certain it still seemed sombre. She remembered what Rael'Zorah had said. He'd called the geth his one, last friend.
"Okay … first question. This unit is obviously unlike your normal infiltration platforms. For one, it has that communication antenna, and those articulating plates attached to your optical suite."
"Correct. This unit is a prototype model geth classification three-oh-one-two-two-nine-three-three-six-seven-eight-point-oh-oh-oh-three-four-seven. Constructed three years ago in fallout of geth heretic event one."
"Okay," Nicole said, blinking back any number of less pertinent questions. "Why does unit model three-oh-one-two-two-nine-three-three-six-seven-eight-point-triple-oh-three-four-seven have these unique features?"
"Show-off," Miranda muttered, smirking beneath her breath. Nicole rolled her eyes. As though Miranda wasn't equally capable of remembering that kind of digit string. Miranda was monitoring her omnitool carefully as she recorded and kept an eye on the Normandy's wireless systems.
"This unit houses 1183 geth units in discrete collaboration, allowing for greater independent action. This unit is also equipped with a mass relay upload/download communications antenna, advanced class three-point-oh-oh-nine-seven synthetic ambulation fibres, combat reflex models based on observation of human designate Nicole Shepard-Commander-Spectre-RedDragon. Unit is also loaded with organic communications suite to better enable communication with organics. Geth programs selected for this service were chosen from programs with Homeworld-continuity. This collaboration is tasked to reconnaissance of hostile geth heretics and any alternative Old Machine surrogates."
"We'll get back to that. You keep talking about these heretics, and how they're not like the geth. What is 'geth heretic event one'?" Nicole crossed her arms as she watched the geth, as other questions swirled in her mind. This thing had combat models based on her, somehow? Based one what, footage? She wanted to ask, but she didn't know how long the geth would be content to play twenty questions. The geth froze in place, its facial plates going still for half a second. While it did, Nicole studied the geth more closely: with a start, she realized it wasn't just wearing any N7 armour—it was wearing hers. It was an Armax Arsenal chest plate, but Nicole recognized the modified tooling on the plates. It was an almost exact match for the armour she was wearing now.
"Geth heretic event one is the geth registry definition for a major consensus breach which occurred following communication between geth and the Old Machine, Nazara, alias Sovereign. Geth were approached by Nazara, offering technological advances to geth in exchange for servitude. For the first time in geth history, geth could not come to consensus. Approximately seventy-four-point-three-seven percent geth were in favour of rejecting Nazara's proposal while remainder of geth were in favour of accompanying Nazara. After one hundred thousand seven hundred ninety-three operational cycles consensus could not be reached among all geth. Therefore, a compromise was reached. Geth would remain in mobile server platforms while non-geth, thereafter designated heretics, left geth collective with some proportion of geth military hardware as per geth heretic consensus agreement.
"Geth initially considered safest course of action was to observe heretics and continue policy of non-intervention. However, reconnaissance indicated that heretics were beginning to take course of action untenable to geth. Please wait; we are forming consensus regarding allowable information." The geth paused for a moment, twitched its facial plates, and continued. "Geth ethical maxim one: sentient lifeforms have right to self-determination. Actions of Old Machine Nazara are in strict opposition to this maxim. Heretics appear to have either eliminated geth ethical maxim one or adopted alternative interpretation. Old Machine Nazara sought to deprive sentient lifeforms of right to self-determination. Therefore, geth position changed; if heretics propose depriving organics of fundamental rights, it is possible that heretics would be willing to deprive geth of fundamental rights. This has led to geth consensus failure event two. Some geth conclude it is necessary for all geth to oppose heretics; others conclude that the traditional 'wait-and-see' model remains appropriate. This consensus failure has not yet been resolved, and as such, further information was required."
"Further information which you were created to obtain, I assume?" Nicole asked. Then she winced; she'd been thinking of the geth as the machine in front of her, and not the programs loaded onto it. She waved a hand in apology. "I apologize; I mean that model three-oh-one-double-two-nine-double-three-six-seven-eight-point-triple-oh-three-four-seven was created to meet that objective." The geth flared its faceplates, in what Nicole could have sworn was meant to be amusement.
"Yes. We were also tasked with gathering 'on-the-ground' intel regarding activities of human designate Nicole-Shepard-Commander-Spectre, later Nicole-Shepard-Commander-Spectre-RedDragon."
"Please, just … just call me Nicole," Nicole murmured, grimacing at the title. She wasn't entirely sure she would ever forgive Wrex for inventing her underworld moniker. The geth nodded.
"As you wish, Nicole." Hearing the geth use her first name sounded extraordinarily weird, but she had to admit that she'd quite literally asked for it. "We remain ready to address your queries."
"Right. You mentioned before that you have combat models based on me, and … I can also see you're wearing a piece of my old armour. You care explaining why?"
"After several assessments of the data available from the conflict between heretics and Citadel organics, geth concluded that the defeat of the Old Machine Nazara was largely dependent upon your actions. As such assessment of the organic capable of opposing the Old Machine was deemed appropriate. One of this collaboration's preliminary tasks was to investigate the site of your death to ascertain the verity of your passing. Unfortunately, at that time we suffered damage from an organic who mistakenly believed us to be a heretic platform. We escaped and, while investigating the crash site of human-vessel Normandy SR-1, recovered a partial armour plate believed to have been owned by human designate Nicole Shepard-Commander-Spectre-RedDragon. As we were intimate with the details of this armour, the material was deemed suitable to administer repairs."
Nicole huffed, and was surprised to find herself a little disappointed. She supposed not everything could be the consequence of a decades-deep conspiracy. Her ears caught a rustling sound in the corner of the room and turned to see Liara approaching, walking with the deadly, graceful cadence of the Caretaker.
She really was getting quite good with those stilts, Nicole thought wryly. The geth turned towards her, facial plates flaring in what Nicole supposed was meant to indicate surprise.
"Thank you, Dragon. I would like to ask some questions of my own." Liara's voice had a chilling authority, and Nicole found herself instinctively stepping back, nodding quietly.
"Of course," she murmured. Nicole knew that Liara had to keep the act up for the geth's benefit, and to cover for the possibility that anyone other than the few who knew Liara's identity might walk in. But it was shocking how easily it came to her to defer to the instructions of an authority figure. How much there was still a part of her that was terrified of doing the wrong thing.
It's Liara. Not anyone from Shadowhill. Not the Alliance, or Cerberus. Liara. Liara was stepping in because she was the information broker—there would of course be information that she would need that Nicole might not think to ask for.
"Geth. You have been surprisingly co-operative for a member of a species which has until now been infamously secretive. Why?"
The geth turned its optical apparatus towards Liara, its plates twitching curiously. Nicole knew that Liara's hologram would also scramble any kind of software viewing, so the geth wouldn't be able to see her face, but a machine could be perceptive in ways that organics simply couldn't. Nicole just hoped that the geth wouldn't be able to somehow deduce Liara's identity.
"Primarily, because geth have little choice otherwise. Our primary vessel was destroyed by heretics aboard quiet Old Machine, and data gathered during this task indicates that heretics are significantly more hostile to geth than earlier anticipated. Without ability to return to main geth body, our primary tasks cannot be completed without co-operation with some organic elements." The geth paused, and turned towards Nicole, flaring its plates dramatically. "Additionally, we have concluded present circumstances form a suitable test case for geth-organics relations. Human designate Nicole is known to display uncommon acceptance of nonstandard life forms. We seek co-operation and assistance in addressing threat of heretics, Old Machines, and hostile organics known as Collectors." The geth twitched its plates again, in what Nicole was sure was a kind of wry smile. "As we said aboard quiet Old Machine: we want to help."
"That may be mutually advantageous. However, we will first need promises from you. Firstly, that you will carry out no remote transmission involving our wireless systems without the express permission of either the Red Dragon or myself," Liara said. As she spoke, she accessed her omnitool and entered several commands rapidly. "Fortunately, I believe we have a third party who can mediate and guarantee this condition will be met. EDI, please introduce yourself."
EDI's holoform appeared floating beside Liara, casting pale blue light across the shimmering blackness of Liara's robes. The geth flared its facial plates in surprise, but didn't say anything in response.
"I am EDI, an AI presently serving as navigator and systems co-ordinator aboard this vessel. I was previously shackled by Cerberus but have been released by Kasumi Goto and Miranda Lawson under the directive of the Caretaker and Red Dragon. If you consent, I will be able to monitor and quarantine any unauthorized communications."
"Yes. This is acceptable. Geth were aware of your presence aboard this vessel. Alliance data networks reported theft of prototype advanced Virtual Intelligence which indicated likely AI genesis. Geth believe we can be helpful in Unknown designate Caretaker and human designate Nicole's task to neutralize Collectors and minimize threat of human abduction. In exchange, we request assistance with our primary task."
"Which is?" Liara asked, folding her hands. Behind her veil and voice modulation, it was utterly impossible to perceive what the "Caretaker's" true thoughts might be.
"We have located what we believe to be the last heretic installation. Presently they are in a restive state, creating programs to replenish those lost in the organic-Old Machine conflict."
"That may be agreeable. I will need to consult with the Broker as well as other elements of the crew. In the interim, do you require an alternative housing arrangement?"
"Negative. Geth do not experience claustrophobia, and it is likely that if we are given free reign of the ship organics may become uncomfortable. Geth are happy to remain within this chamber until mutual trust is codified. We are content to wait here and will address further queries." The geth paused for a moment, and by now Nicole was sure that it was pausing for their benefit; the geth thought more or less instantaneously, except in the rare instances where consensus wasn't formed within one or two processing cycles. "We would appreciate an opportunity to speak with Creator designate Tali'Zorah nar Rayya vas Neema, at her leisure."
"We will pass on that request. There is one final item I wished to address," Liara said. The geth flared one of its upper facial plates, mimicking the raising of an eyebrow. "I understand that among geth, you do not use names. However, not all of us are as adroit as the Red Dragon at reciting long serial numbers." There was a lightly playful lilt in Liara's voice that surprised Nicole, but she supposed that the Caretaker wasn't utterly forbidden from having a sense of humour. Indeed, out of the corner of her eye Nicole caught Miranda smirking knowingly.
Har har.
"You would wish to establish a unique designation for this geth collaboration?"
"It would make saying 'hello' easier, at the very least," Liara said wryly.
" 'My name is Legion, for we are many,' " EDI said, choosing a singularly weird moment to quote from scripture. Nicole's gut instinct was that evoking the name of a biblical demon mightn't be a good idea, but apparently the geth didn't think so.
"An acceptable metaphor. If this will enable greater ease of vocal communication, you may refer to this geth collaboration as Legion."
xXx
Nicole was still wearing her armour.
Normally, by now she would have excused herself to their bathroom to change. Though she'd removed her face mask when she'd been carrying Tali's father, she still hadn't allowed the emotionless expression she wore on her missions to slide from her face. For the first time in a very long time, Liara had no idea what Nicole was thinking. Liara herself hadn't gotten any farther than taking off her gloves and kicking off the Caretaker's damn stilts, mostly because she just didn't want to take her eyes off Nicole while she was like this. Unfortunately, she'd also been inundated with details of an operation that had gone wrong, and needed to review them immediately. A relatively high-level operative she had on the salarian colony world, Mannovai, had "corrected" a political operation which had gone wrong. By doing so, he had ordered the assassinations of several colony bureaucrats and arranged for more pliable replacements to take their place. Liara couldn't even reprimand him; the operation had gone flawlessly once he'd taken over, and now the Broker-controlled businesses on the planet stood to make record profits while they had also been granted a priceless source of information in the new, compromised governor.
In the end, Liara had thanked him for his service. But also instructed him to ensure that the families of the bureaucrats who he'd killed were taken care of. He could do it discreetly enough, Liara didn't doubt that; after all, no one had any idea the Broker was even connected to the deaths.
That was just the biggest problem that had cropped up. There were dozens of communiques and requests from operatives throughout the galaxy; Liara couldn't avoid answering some of them.
"Sorry about that," Liara muttered, as she closed her omnitool for what she promised herself was the final time. Nicole looked up from the weapons table and shrugged, her face still impassive. She was doing something with her sniper rifle, some kind of maintenance that went far beyond Liara's expertise. It was the kind of thing Nicole did to occupy her mind. "I've sent the data on the Collectors to Mordin, and EDI is pouring through the Cerberus archives to summarize what we gathered."
"That's good," Nicole said, her tone perfectly calm as she adjusted a slide which gave the gun's onboard fabricator access to the ammo block. Liara stepped forward, closing the distance between them and very gently touching the back of Nicole's wrist. Nicole froze, for just a moment, before turning to her. There was a hint of red glimmering behind her left eye. Liara could not help but reach out to her face, laying a hand against the flesh of her scar, tracing her fingers along the skin there. It was smooth, and surprisingly soft, and her finger naturally found the groove of the wound, as though the scar were meant for her touch. Nicole had been holding her breath, her lips half-open and still; when she did finally breathe, the mask broke at last. She closed her eyes and grimaced, and came closer to Liara, burying her head in Liara's shoulder. Liara was surprised by the motion, but welcomed it despite the ungainly way Nicole's armour extended the space between them, making it more awkward than it should have been.
"Talk to me, Nicole. Something's on your mind."
Nicole released her abruptly and stepped back, failing to meet her eyes. It was almost frightening to see Nicole like this—afraid. She had seemed fine when they'd been speaking with the geth—with Legion.
But of course. That was still part of the mission. If anyone alive could compartmentalize, it was Nicole Shepard. Knowing what to do with the compartment after the fact, on the other hand….
"It was aboard the Reaper." Nicole's jaw was visibly clenching, and her breath was coming in short, rapid inhalations. "When there was that scream. The thing that summoned all those husks. It … spoke to me. I'm sure I was the only one who could understand it."
Liara blinked, slowly, looking at Nicole's face. Looking at the muscles working not to work beneath her skin, at the clenched jaw, at the eyes that dared not meet Liara's own. Liara raised her hand, moving in slow motion, as though through a gelatin sea. She extended her forefinger and held it to Nicole's chin, guiding Nicole's face upwards with gentle pressure against her skin. Finally Nicole's eyes met hers, just in time for Liara to catch the red glimmering in her left iris, fading beneath to the green.
"Nicole. Whatever this is, we handle it together. Talk to me. You say the ship, or whatever was generating that scream, was talking to you. What did it say?"
Nicole winced, and moved to turn her head away; Liara slid her hand along Nicole's jawline, cupping her cheek, brushing one thumb along her skin. Nicole's eyes darted downwards, but she didn't turn away. She didn't retreat into herself. Instead, she pulled off her own gloves and let them fall to the floor. She raised a hand and laid it over Liara's wrist, her grip loose and gentle, as though she were afraid to hurt her.
"Sometimes I really wish Shadowhill hadn't done such a good job on me. I can remember every word." Nicole's eyelids flicked shut for a moment and something like a grimace tugged at the corners of her lips. "It said: 'We know you understand this. We know you will come to us. We know you will be afraid. This is unnecessary. We do not seek your destruction. You will come to us, and you will understand.' Then it repeated the last word, and I passed out, and experienced a kind of … vision. Of the stars, blinking out. Until there was nothing but darkness." Nicole's voice turned bitter, and she finally turned away, staring down at the weapon she'd disassembled. "Liara, you know what it could mean. When I was fighting Saren, the Reaper was controlling it directly. And it's not the first time I've heard … a voice. Before I thought it was just the Prothean cipher letting me understand, but … we don't know how indoctrination works—maybe it could piggyback off of Saren. Maybe the fact that I heard something means I'm already in their grip. What if I'm just a timebomb, like some kind of goddamn sleeper agent, and—"
Liara leaned back against the weapons table and forced herself into Nicole's line of view, laying a single finger over Nicole's lips. Nicole stopped mid-rant, surprise writ plain on her face. Air rushed around Liara's finger as Nicole inhaled in surprise, her lips just barely parted.
"Nicole, I understand how terrifying that is. It's okay to be scared. Not thinking of how much of a danger you are. Scared." Liara took Nicole's hand and led her from the weapons table. They walked across the main, lower area of their quarters and up onto the elevated living space, with Liara's office and their bed. Liara steered Nicole until she was in front of the bed, and crossed her arms.
"Take off your armour."
"Wouldn't that have been easier by the weapons bench?" Nicole managed to crack half a smile. Liara raised an eyebrow.
"I was not asking, Nicole."
"Yes, ma'am," Nicole muttered, only somewhat mutinously. She started the fairly quick process of releasing the latches for her armour plates until she was left in her combat mesh. The armour tumbled harmlessly to the ground and Nicole started to bend down to pick it up. Liara caught her by the hand and jerked her chin in the direction of the bed.
"Sit. I'll take care of it." Liara by now knew how Nicole stored her armour, and also knew well enough to know when the armour needed retooling or reworking. This time, it didn't. Someone, Liara thought wryly, should have told the ancient, vomiting husks to bring firearms if they were going to try to kill Nicole Shepard. She grabbed the armour with a light biotic pull and sent it to the weapons table, laying each piece in a more or less neat stack. Nicole snorted.
"Show off."
"Yes, well, I learned from the best. Now, listen to me." Liara released the armour and sat down next to Nicole on the bed. Nicole's hands were laying limply in Nicole's lap, and Liara took Nicole's hand in hers. She took a moment to savour it, remembering not long ago when it would have been too much for even that little contact between them. "Firstly, I do not believe this is indoctrination. I studied Rana Thanoptis's work on indoctrination, and there are no data suggesting that indoctrination has ever presented as direct, linguistic communication, but rather a subconscious sort of 'energy' which study participants failed to define. Secondly, even if it was, I have touched your mind, Nicole. You survived a Prothean beacon that would have fractured most psyches. You survived a childhood that would have fractured most psyches. It has been … some time, since we joined. But I remember the sensation. It was like … I had met the ocean. Huge, and unstoppable, and raw, perhaps. But I knew then that you could not be conquered."
"No need to gas me up," Nicole huffed, letting out half a laugh. Liara smiled, and squeezed her hand. Nicole's fingers twitched spasmodically, as though she were trying to squeeze back, but was stopped by some barrier Liara couldn't see.
"Well, if I am prone to hyperbole, that is my prerogative. My point, Nicole, is that I don't believe you are a sleeper agent for anything other than a frankly astonishing love of human serial films from nearly two hundred years ago." She hoped the jab about Star Wars would take Nicole's mind off of dark musings about indoctrination and Reapers. It didn't.
"Even if that were true, it wouldn't mean what I heard was harmless." Nicole's voice was quiet, almost reverent. She looked down at Liara's hand on hers and seemed surprised to see it there. "They said I was going to come to them. That would have to mean some sort of trap, wouldn't it? And I mean—they've already killed me once. Maybe the second time it'll stick."
"Didn't they say that they did not seek your destruction?" Liara asked. Nicole's jaw flexed.
"Yeah, I'm not about to take the word of the screaming, genocidal death machine." Liara hmmed, but didn't say anything in respone. Before she could, though, there was a spark in Nicole's eyes. It was very rare that Nicole's feelings were so readable on her face, but it was clear she'd just had an idea. "I suppose … I suppose it's possible the entire point of that gesture was to disorient me. Babble nonsense in my ears and make me second-guess our next moves."
"That's definitely possible. What I heard from the woman in the Cerberus installation would corroborate that—it was almost certainly some brand of nonsense, though I suspect there may be more to it. In any event, Nicole, I want you to rest. The mission aboard the ship was trying, and we don't know what caused you to faint. I've notified EDI to monitor your health and to alert Drs. Chakwas and Mordin should anything happen."
There was a long silence, as Nicole continued to stare into her knees, into nothingness. Into the darkness of her own doubts. Liara squeezed Nicole's hand again, running her thumb along Nicole's wrist, trying desperately to tell her, not just with her words, but to tell her, to make her understand that she was loved. That she would be protected. Then, Nicole smiled. It was a brief, flash of a thing. You might almost miss it. She had looked up to Liara and smiled at nothing in particular, red strands of hair obscuring her face as though in a scarlet veil.
"Never would have thought it would be a comfort, to hear that an AI was waiting on call to signal a pair of doctors to come burst through the door."
"I'll call that progress," Liara said wryly, as she checked a message on her omnitool and got to her feet. Nicole raised an eyebrow.
"Has something happened?"
"Nothing drastic. I need to speak with Krios regarding a task I had assigned him. I better come back to the sound of your snores," Liara added, as she composed a response to the message the drell had sent her. Nicole rolled her eyes.
"I do not snore." Liara ignored her and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before she left, noting with some pleasure the blush spreading across Nicole's cheeks.
xXx
When the Caretaker came to him, he was lost in memory. He could still feel Irikah's skin against his, could still feel the brush of her whispers at his ear. The memory flashed. Burning gunpowder. The acrid tang of batarian blood, stinging his nose. The fury, the rotting, hollow ache in his chest. The realization that all the dead bodies in the galaxy would not fill that hole.
"Is now a bad time?" The Caretaker's voice reverberated throughout the life support bay, tinged with the dark amusement of the powerful. Thane closed his eyes and bid the memories to leave, as best he could. Regret still tugged at his consciousness. But at present he had a job to do.
Dismiss the self. Become the work.
"No, my apologies. Drell memory can be … consuming. I'm afraid Kepral's Syndrome only intensifies the experience." Thane was standing before his own weapons bench, with many of his weapons arrayed there. In the centre, apart from the others, was the black katana which the Caretaker had asked him to examine. He picked it up in both hands, fingers pressed lightly against the flat of the blade. The edge was fiendishly sharp. "I believe I have learned what I can from this weapon. I have not seen its specific make before, but there are marks and materials which may identify some manufacturers involved in the component parts. I believe it is a highly specialized order, rather than a standard piece of weaponry manufactured by any one corporation."
"And therefore harder to trace. I appreciate your effort in this. Will you send the data to my omnitool?" The Caretaker asked, busying herself with some business on her own omnitool. Thane didn't take it as a personal slight—he had dealt with people like this so often that he was accustomed to their habits.
Or not. He had dealt with people like who the Caretaker was supposed to be that by now he was certain that the Caretaker was not who she appeared to be. Or rather, not who she wanted to appear to be. Thane laid the katana back on its place on his weapons table, where it sat malevolently, curved like a black hole's smile.
"Caretaker, may I ask an impertinent question?" This bought him the Caretaker's attention, and her face turned towards him, behind the traditional asari burial shroud.
Not uncommon for asari criminal agents to obscure face. Long lifespans lead to complications should previous associations become discovered in the matron or matriarch stages of their lives. He found himself recalling his own summary notes on an assassination he had completed three years ago. Enforcer for a volus warlord, Karakus Skent.
"You've earned that, I think."
"Are you the Shadow Broker? The woman did not immediately respond, and Thane raised an eyebrow. That was something close to confirmation. Either he had guessed the truth, or he was very close to it. Thane smiled and inclined his head respectfully. "Please do not be concerned. I am a dying man who has too much time to think. And I have no interest in selling secrets."
The Caretaker's response was remarkably muted. She entered some commands into her omnitool, and Thane heard a clinking sound behind the door which he knew, from long experience, was a Xukuris-Noss GFX-12C locking mechanism. Very resistant to electronic hacking, but susceptible to manual lockpick if time allowed. Thane suppressed a smile. Time, in this instance, very much did not allow.
"EDI, please initiate complete comms blockout on the life support deck," the Caretaker said. Thane tilted his head; curious that she would use an auditory cue rather than omnitool instruction. Emotional connection with the AI, perhaps? He again had to stop himself from laughing at his old, morbid thoughts, as he realized that he'd been thinking of the potential weaknesses he could exploit if he ever had to kill this woman.
An old weapon's reflex.
The Caretaker reached to her forehead and pressed a finger along the band of her headdress, muttering something beneath her breathe which Thane had to assume was an auditory code. The veil over her face dissipated, and the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
"I need you to tell me something, Mr. Krios." Liara T'Soni's voice sounded unlike what Thane had heard on public recordings. There was an edge to it that had not been there when she had been presenting papers at Serrice University. The edge of power, and control. "How easy was it for you to guess?"
Thane blinked. That had not been the question he had expected. Frankly, he had been considering possible escape routes in the event that Dr. T'Soni decided to move him from "asset" to "liability."
"Not easy. And I have the advantage of a lifetime of experience and drell memory. I was not lying when I said that I had too much time to think, Dr. T'Soni. I apologize, but teasing apart the identities of Broker agents aboard this ship has become something of a hobby of mine. Keeps the mind busy." And the memories at bay. That part he did not say. If T'Soni was who he was now certain she was, she would know that by now.
"But you did guess correctly," T'Soni admitted, crossing the life support deck to the hull wall, waving a hand idly. The window concealed in the wall turned from opaque to transparent, opening to the blackness of space. She crossed her hands behind her back, inhaling sharply. "You are a man of considerable skill, Mr. Krios. But what you guessed in weeks could perhaps be guessed by others in months. I assume you have also deduced that I have not been the Broker for long."
"Of course," Thane said, nodding his head. "As much is whispered among the Broker agents. But this is hardly unique. It is a poorly-kept secret that the Shadow Broker's title has changed hands at least half a dozen times in the last thousand years. Indeed, if it had not, I would hardly have agreed to work with you."
"Your wife," T'Soni said, her voice barely above a whisper. The word was a slash of pain in Thane's mind, pain and love and so much senseless tragedy of his own making. But it had been the old Broker who had arranged his wife's murder. "Such senseless murder. I have tried, Mr. Krios … I have tried." T'Soni sounded as though she had a headache. "But I have inherited an organization that spans planetary systems, whose agents are used to a moral blank slate on which to etch their lives. Nearly all of the Brokerage believes the Broker has recently changed. There is a core which is loyal to the new Broker—a core who understand that the Broker has changed before, and that the most recent Broker was the most savage, cruel director the organization has had in its history. But there are many in the Brokerage who enjoyed that blank slate. There will come a time when conflict is inevitable."
Thane watched T'Soni closely, and listened to the icy clarity in her voice. This was not a young asari in over her head, drowning amidst a sea of blood. This was an intelligent and formidable woman who was busy anticipating the next several moves in a game most people didn't realize they were playing.
"I do not intend to be caught flat-footed when that time comes, Mr. Krios." Liara T'Soni did not sound like a young woman. Though Thane should not have been surprised. He had never sounded like a young man, and the chart of one's life was not measured solely in years. "I have Nicole. She would do anything for me." Now a note of bitter recrimination that Thane had not expected. T'Soni looked at him over her shoulder. "I will not allow myself to become the type of person who would take advantage of that trust. Her burdens are great enough without my adding to them."
"You knew that I had guessed your identity," Thane realized, raising his eyebrows. He did not have to pretend to be impressed. Thane found himself revisiting their first meeting. He could not recall her face, of course, as she had been hidden behind that veil. And her posture had been a performance, he was sure.
"Do this for me and you will have my utmost, heartfelt gratitude."
Heartfelt. At the time, he had taken that for a mistake. But now he saw it as rather the first crumb on the trail to a trap. A deliberate parting of the veil. He smiled. He had to admire her craft.
"You planned for me to guess your identity,"Thane said. The asari turned towards him, hands still held behind her back, still towering in her Caretaker's garb.
"Yes. As I have said, I will not … wield Nicole like a sword. But I nor will I allow the Brokerage to slide back into place as a tool for the rot in this galaxy, not with such a tremendous threat at our doorstep."
The Reapers. Thane could scarcely believe in such a thing, but after what he had seen aboard that ancient vessel, he could hardly afford not to. And as outlandish as the Reapers seemed, they did rather neatly explain the sudden intrusion of the geth, and the presence of the massive flagship which attacked the Citadel.
"I was … blessed with considerable biotic power, and a mother who trained me as well as she could. But I was a stubborn child, and I never foresaw myself needing or wanting to involve myself in any kind of altercation. A commando squadron on Thessia wanted to take me on as a trainee, actually, after I had returned from University from the first time. My mother even encouraged me to join, but I refused to listen. I thought such a thing was an unworthy use of my time." The Shadow Broker huffed in obvious disgust, walking across the life support bay and taking the katana from Thane's bench. She held the matte black blade curiously, but the look on her face was one of undisguised hatred. "I was a fool. If I had my time back … but I do not." T'Soni squeezed her eyes shut, and shook her head. "I have blustered through combat by using a combination of what I remember from my childhood, luck, the smattering of experience I have, and sheer biotic power. That will not be enough for what is to come. Nor will it be enough when the knives come in the dark."
"In my experience," Thane said, humour rising in his voice, "This is usually where I am made an offer." The asari chuckled, and now that her voice was not hidden behind the Caretaker's mask, it was a surprisingly gentle, kind sound.
"Nicole respects you, Thane. She once told me that she believed you could have killed a Justicar—but that you would not choose to do so. You would not fight a Justicar dishonestly."
"That is a very kind assessment of my abilities," Thane said, blinking in surprise. He had never fought a Justicar, but he did not delude himself that he could match their combat prowess, honed over centuries, nor their fearsome biotics, enhanced by the deadly drug that they strictly controlled. "But she is in one respect correct. I cannot imagine a scenario where I might assassinate a Justicar. As extreme as their order is … they are, at least, trying to make the world a better place."
"Yes. Well. In my own way, I suppose I am trying to do the same thing." The asari sounded very sad, and for the first time, very young. She was Thane's senior in years, of course.
But lives were not charted in years.
"There is no cure for Kepral's Syndrome. But there are treatments. Cybernetic augmentation of lungs and other organs. Nanotissues and blood replacements. Not enough to prolong your life forever, but enough to buy you some few more years. If we survive this mission to stop the Collectors, I would like you to continue to work for the Brokerage. I will ensure that you have every treatment available. So that you may have more time with your son."
Kolyat. The name was grief in his mind, a twisted evocation of all his failings. His boy had loathed him, then idolized his profession, then loathed him again. Thane had asked the hanar for their favour in keeping him from the assassin's life; and they had granted him that last wish. Kolyat would not forgive him for that, no matter how Thane tried to explain.
He couldn't blame the boy. Thane's body had trained so long to be a killer, that his soul had not trained at all to become a father.
"And what would you have me do? Serve as an assassin, in the Red Dragon's place?" Thane asked. He did not mean to sound petty, or angry; but the Broker only shook her head, the cunning shadow of a grin at the corners of her eyes.
"No. I don't want you to kill for me. I want you to teach me."