The events following Shepard's demotion are rather obscured. The term 'Fog-of-War' applies to observers after the fact, as well as those in charge during battlefield maneuvers. Happily, history occurring in space may be viewed by a clever enough individual with access to an FTL vessel, a decent calculator, and recording equipment.
Unhappily, the Serpent Nebula is infamous for its obfuscating properties. It is, no doubt, at least half of the reason why the Reapers chose to situate such a construct in that specific locale. One wonders what could've happened should the Citadel have been situated around, say, a singularity. Would such a feat not be impressive? Awe-inspiring to a neophyte race, just creeping upwards from the depravations of pre-Relay existence? Arranging for the station to rest amid the Five Fire-Ring planets of the Formigian system would have been awe-inspiring as well.
No, the Reapers chose well. The smoke screen covered signs of malfeasance from external observers, granted a hint of mystery to the entire station's existence, and promoted the idea of a masterful race creating wonders with ease.
~Dr. Pavenmeyer
Project Ragnarök
Serpent Nebula, Widow System
Citadel
A good apartment on the Citadel was expensive. Space stations hoarded rooms in the same way a volus counted out credits; usage of each living space had to be verified with multiple checks. Alliance stations, with which he was more familiar, required families living aboard to train each family member in at least one vital task in addition to paying rent; civilians practiced non-combat duties from engineering to aquaponics cultivation. Races more experienced with space like the turians often allowed only immediate family, with up to two children. To have his own space – felt of pure decadence.
Shepard looked at all four walls of his new domicile, noting the asari-influenced design. Light green floor panels and featureless, gray walls were all the apartment boasted for decoration; his own meager décor contributions consisted of a foam mattress and two oversized duffel bags. It was not quite inspiring, but satisfying. Outwitting one's opponents never got old.
Rummaging in one of the duffel bags he withdrew an actual omni-tool, a full-power model to replace the stripped down version that now lay in pieces on the table. It popped into place, humming to life as soon as its onboard security verified his identity.
The haptic interface accepted his input override, firing up the actual system, rather than the shell programming visible to the unintended bearer. Visual differences were minimal, but the color flickered a hair darker than standard, meaningless to the ignorant. To him, it was a visual confirmation of the tool's integrity.
Without wasting time, Shepard accessed reports partitioned away from those without security clearance. Self-deletion was the least of problems facing a wary thief.
Contagion rate 95.98% active.
The readout powered through chains of numbers, which he scrolled past. Details could be read later, he knew the situation's details better than almost anyone else alive. A hive virus was efficient to the point of terrifying levels, yet remained vanishingly rare – eradicating a host population tended to do that. But there were still populations available, if one were both resourceful and determined.
Genetic divergence: 0.0001%.
Mortality rate: 97.139%
Current reported mortalities: Unknown.
He frowned. Fine-tuning a virus for a specific genetic phenotype had been difficult, but not impossible. Everything possible to minimize blowback had been done, to a level no Hegemony native would've attempted.
Ironically, the utter lack of guilt made him feel guilty. Yet he couldn't bring himself to feel sympathy. There were exceptions, but those few numbered less than half of a percentage point compared to the rest of their race. The entire galaxy feared Hegemony slavers, visible representatives of an entire race appearing dedicated to enslaving others. He could fake it, but that dishonored those who actually had the capacity.
"Better men than me," he murmured. Talking to himself was a mostly eradicated habit, out of necessity. Who knew what eavesdroppers lurked nearby? "It had to be done."
Raids: 47.92% -
Raids Weekly Projected: 91.1% -
Raids Monthly Projected: 477.4% -
Sentient Market Average Index Exchange: 352.1% -
Such numbers made his heart give a happy little skip. Hegemony slave markets were the worst places in the galaxy for captured, kidnapped, or otherwise acquired sentient beings to wind up. Once raiders were behind Hegemony borders, it was almost guaranteed that batarian naval vessels would somehow arrange to be in the same area, denying access to pursuing ships. It was natural to defend borders – expected, since a percentage of the profits went to the defending naval vessels. No one managed to follow a raider into Hegemony territory without a fleet.
He eased his head back, staring at the ceiling. Such an event had happened only once, and the Alliance had been warned in no uncertain terms about repeat performances. Yet the Hegemony raids on human colonies had trickled to relative lows, compared to salarian and asari colonies. That prompted his gaze back to the end of the report.
Labor shortage on High-Development locales are occurring at the same time as record Armali Arms sales. Recruitment for National Army Infantry appears to be in highest priority – Intelligence suspects wartime efforts beginning, yet fleet elements do not match combat profile probabilities.
A knock on the door snapped his attention away from the happy news. Rising, he strode to the door, keying the external camera. A collection of bulky figures stood outside, carrying boxes.
Smiling, he tapped the icon, permitting the group to enter. "Good timing, bring it all in."
Five humans made short work for hauling the oversized packages inside. It brought attention to the apartment, but so long as there was similar activity in other rooms and floors, it made his situation less prominent. No furniture raised more eyebrows than a sudden flurry of activity. Emulating a new resident meant few eyes were pressed in his direction.
In theory.
"Thanks, boys." He made sure to hand over a large tip, keying his omni-tool to send a gift card quantity along. "They just started a pizza parlor on Tayseri's Upper level. This should get you a couple, try them out."
Wide grins met his suggestion, along with friendly nods. In Shepard's experience, people that worked for a living were more suspicious of an incongruous payout. Making the tip more reasonable, and adding food to the deal, lulled suspicions in ways no other method could surpass.
'Hard to override the stomach,' he waved a farewell at the happy workers, and closed the door. 'We are designed to eat, and enjoy. Happy stomachs, positive feelings.'
Sighing at the naiveté of his own species, Shepard got to work unpacking the boxes. He'd just managed to assemble half a bookshelf when another knock came at the door. Instead of the usual rapid taps though, it beat an uneven staccato, like the opening beats to some archaic musical.
Shepard stilled. Then with quicker steps he advanced to the door, slapping the icon harder than necessary.
The doors slid open, quiet hiss ignored. Outside stood a man with a baseball cap, brim pulled low over his eyes, but doing nothing to hide the wide grin evident beneath. One hand pushed the cap up with an insouciant air, clear eyes a mirror of his own, sparkling in mirth.
Shepard could count on one hand the number of recognizable human faces, and have a thumb left over. Of those four people two never left Mindoir, and one avoided anything to do with him. One, however, often traveled around the galaxy on business. They'd met already a few weeks prior, but in the view of everyone, and then for a brief moment behind closed doors.
Silent, he stepped back, a tacit invitation. The other man followed, the grin broadening. An old saying about sideways watermelons and wide smiles came to mind, but he let it go. As soon as the door slid shut, he held up a hand.
His guest mirrored the action, raising the ante with another hand. When Shepard copied the motion, their reciprocating actions turned into a series of accelerating hand rotations and splayed finger patterns. It continued until both hands were in a blur, pausing less than a quarter second before moving on to the next position.
Shepard finally raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. You win."
The other man pumped a victorious fist. "Yes! I beat the legendary Shepard!" (1)
Letting out a heartfelt sigh, Shepard clapped slowly. "Congratulations. Next time we arrange a secret rendezvous, I'll choreograph the recognition signal."
"Just so long as it's not Rock Paper Scissors again," the other man shivered. "Fifteen Rocks in a row is just evil. Evil."
This time Shepard chuckled, and stepped forward into an embrace. Strong arms slapped backs in the gruff fashion universal across the galaxy to self-conscious brothers, before stepping back. "Good to see you, James. The kids doing fine?"
"Harry and Luna are almost ready for high-school," he responded. "Can you believe it? They're almost our age when … all this. You know?"
"Yeah." Shepard took a few steps back, settling on a crate. "Yeah. That was … a long time ago."
Choosing to remain silent, James gestured at the distributed packages, raising a questing eyebrow.
Nodding silent agreement, Shepard got to his feet. Together, the pair began shifting the furniture, rearranging it in the apartment.
The silence was far from oppressive. To Shepard, it felt liberating; communicating with someone who understood what was being said without explanation. The most elite squads could sometimes achieve that level of communication, similar to the brotherhood found in emergency responders and tight-knit families. But there were little things even the best squads couldn't catch, like the quirked eyebrow reminiscent of Handy Man Negry, referencing a joke told by people long since gone.
He laughed all the same. A simple, echoing laugh, bouncing off the apartment's walls. It was silly, unimportant. Yet James understood the silent reference, inane though it was, and laughed with him.
Sighing, he returned to work, striding across the open floor to place a bookshelf against the far wall. It was a nice change from the crowded conditions aboard the Normandy. Navy vessels, even cutting edge hallmarks of future technology, were cramped things, constrained by volume and survival conditions. Having only two people in an apartment larger than two cabins on the ship felt like luxury.
Thoughts buzzed through Shepard's mind as they worked, questions leading through dark paths, if one dared ask. 'How long has it been? Done. Finally done. Well … almost. So close, a few minutes won't hurt. When was the last time we've done this? Before that operation on Sur'kesh, too much blood and pain then. Before, back on Mindoir? I can almost smell the coal smelter. Good times.'
A soft clearing of the throat notified him of the impending end to that silence. He sighed.
"My children are well," James continued as if their conversation had never stopped. "They miss their Uncle though. They want to hear about your adventures on other worlds, especially now that you've been fighting … how did they put it? 'That spiky bird-face.'"
Shepard chuckled. "Did they like their birthday presents?"
His brother laughed in response. "Did they? Luna can't wait to visit Earth, and Harry took the books next door almost before they were out of the box. Books, Karl? Who uses them anymore, hardbound even?"
Shepard smirked. "Why do colonies still use internal combustion engines and four-wheel drive? It's reliable, and won't die with the batteries."
"Other colonies, yes. But now you've gotten the Granger's daughter addicted to book collecting, and books are not cheap!"
Shepard straightened. He looked his brother full in the face, taking pleasure in the simple act. "Then it seems the Memorial Public Library will be receiving a large artifact donation in the near future. Physical books available to anyone with a library card. A few hundred thousand hardcovers should start rounding out the collection nicely, don't you think?"
The other man stared, then sighed. "Fine. But I swear if there's any leak in your 'anonymous' giving, I'm slapping your name on the biggest statue I can find."
Such a statement wiped the smile from his face, thoughts taking over again. Shepard glanced around the room, noting the secure placement, and nearly completed arrangements. "Yeah. Back on task though …."
James winced. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Another wince and an extended sigh, like air escaping a pneumatic vehicular support, and the younger brother sat down. "Go ahead."
Shepard closed his eyes, focusing. "Talitha."
"Home. We officially adopted her. No one looks twice when she talks about her 'sister'. Doctors are helping, but it will be a long time before she's close to what she used to be. Good doctors too, not those brainwashing fools the insurance company tried to foist on us. But she's improving, loves to make pudding. Luna adores her."
A tiny spark of happiness flared in Shepard's chest. "The last three we found here?"
"One still alive, recovering on Earth. Politics in play there, last surviving family wanted him moved. One committed suicide, after he found out what the Batarians did to his daughters. The last one died of health issues but she died happy – she was overjoyed to be back on Mindoir. Couldn't stop thanking everyone around her for bringing her home. She's … buried in Survivor's Grotto."
The happy sensation turned somber. There was a curious streak of wetness Shepard discovered on one side of his face – he swiped it away, glad for the vagaries that had caused his brother to turn away for the moment. Then a deep, burning anger took away his ability to speak, a well of incandescent fury, roaring like a dragon.
He managed to quell the rage enough to speak. "The Hegemony?"
James stayed facing the other direction. "Public announcements are the same, re-broadcasts. My analysis team thinks they're using VI to re-scramble old messages. Not much difference over the years anyway."
"And?" Shepard double-checked his face. It remained liquid-free. It had to have been a freak accident. Sudden humidity, perhaps. Space stations had localized concentrations from time to time.
James looked back, a grim expression on his face. "Like I said, public information is ramping upwards. Factory outputs, mines, everything. But I've intercepted reports from long-range scout craft, and there are fewer transports making runs. Fewer commercial vessels in general. Hardware coming into Alliance's hands dropped by over fifty percent. Raids on Council worlds have dropped by over eighty percent."
"Brass thinks a push is coming?" Shepard mused. "Last time that happened Elysium was the target."
"I sent a few probes in slow FTL, bypassing the Relays," James admitted. "It will take a few days, but we should get information soon. Real information."
Shepard's gaze never left his brother's face. "James."
The other man grimaced. "It's … not pretty."
"Mass killing never is," Shepard's face turned dark. "Government funded slavery, murder and testing weapons on civilians is even worse. Tell me."
James sighed, covering his face with one hand, a distressing gesture. "At least five different Hegemony planets are under quarantine. Everything from Two Spot to Sach-Tays disease are being blamed. No one's come out and said a hive virus is involved though; my guess is they don't want to admit visiting an Interdicted world. How did you get that past their scanners anyway?"
Shepard waved off the question. "Simple, if you know their vaccine carriers. Nanotech creates a carrier virus, links it to the slaver DNA, and self-destructs. Just like a personalized vaccine."
"Huh." James shook his head. "I'm just glad you're on our side."
A wry grin slipped free, against his wishes. "Most people say that."
The moment of levity passed, a more serious expression crossing his brother's face. "Are you … well? I mean, this cannot be an easy thing to do. I support you, you know that. But the number of deaths is going to be astronomical."
Shepard looked down, pensive. "If this were just for revenge, I'd agree. I'll be the first to admit I'll shed no tears. But this has gone beyond standard rules of war. Hegemony slavers have been staging guerrilla raids against the galaxy for centuries, and no one has stopped them. We could've hit their worlds from orbit. I could've used a virus designed to kill everything with a Batarian sequence. But I'm not. We're not."
"Huh." James gave a slow nod. He rose, walking over to a long box lying on a matching size container. The application of his thumb to the corner made the flimsiplast covering fall apart, revealing an expensive lighter box beneath. He moved his thumb to hover over a bio-input point. "Do you think this is the right course?"
A deep snort reminiscent of a krogan dismissal hissed through Shepard's nose. "Right course? No. The Hegemony has over five trillion residents on Kar'Shan alone, ten times that across their little empire. What I've done will kill ten percent of their population, eradicate entire colonies and settled worlds. Nothing about killing possible civilians is right."
His head came up, gun-metal gray eyes finding the only other pair in the galaxy able to match them. "But if you bring in enough slaves, you have a breeding population. If we went in conventional warfare, it would kill a half billion humans in twenty years of invasion, pacification, and restructuring. Nuclear weapons don't hold enough fear, and planetary bombardment just hits everything. With this, at least there's a little control, focusing it on what slaver genes are there, instead of population centers."
"Yah, sure." James sought another corner. "Always wondered when the rationale would kick in, how many needed to be kidnapped before the government would do something."
"Slavers have kidnapped over a thousand times the minimum self-reproducing population," Shepard shook his head. "Every face of their government denies, approves, or obscures it. We could've been allies, trading partners, anything; alien races teaming up outside the Council. It all comes down to one universal truth, really."
"Oh?" James's thumb pressed down, triggering a seam to open. "What's that?"
A vicious grin spread across Shepard's face. "If you want to play with the big kids, you better be ready to get messed up."
"Agreed." James touched another corner, unlocking a second seam. "What about Saren?"
"He has to come here." Shepard's shoulder rose and fell. "The Citadel is critical to Reaper plans. Not sure how, but they always come here, and he needs to be here for them to come here. The Conduit would've made it simple, but Saren doesn't have that now, thanks to Benezia. Without the Conduit, he'll have to bring a fleet to the Citadel, and come aboard himself."
"That explains why Captain Anderson left," his brother nodded. The crate hissed open. "Then it's a good thing I brought a few toys with me. Want a hand repelling the big bad wolf?"
Shepard peered into the opening lighter box, seeing the pristine lines of a brand new Nightstalker armor set. His gaze shifted to the second box of equal proportions resting beneath, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Just like old times."
Pangaea Expanse, Refuge System
Tenth Scout Flotilla
SSV Normandy
Anderson stood above the map of the galaxy, watching the Tenth Fleet's icon progress towards their target. Additional markers showed where the Fifth, Seventh and Thirty-Second fleets were positioned, near Relays aimed at multiple target points. In a matter of hours, each fleet could reach any major point in the Alliance, or Citadel space for that matter.
He was careful to not say how each fleet just happened to be in range of the Citadel. Shepard's warnings were dismissed in many respects, but when an N7+ warned of an alien invasion, intelligent men listened.
"Sir," Pressley straightened at his post. "Ilos is in range. No enemy presence detected."
Anderson nodded, highlighting the report and sending it onward to Fleet Command. The lack of enemy presence was expected – they were deep in the heart of former Rachni territory after all. But nothing on the scanners meant the scanners could not detect anything. Asteroids, inactive geth units, or even space stations could evade the best sensors in the galaxy.
Around the Normandy, other scout craft flickered into sight, transitioning from standard Faster-Than-Light velocities into what the normal world observed. While lacking the sophisticated stealth technology aboard the Normandy, they each bore narrow profiles, stuffed with the best sensor arrays and engine power known to the Alliance.
As they transitioned back into reality the fleet's scout craft split apart, darting into the Lagrange points, active sensors putting out enough energy to fry nearby electronics. It was their second best method of defense, scrambling electronics. Their first best method of survival lay in their oversized engines, massive constructs in comparison to the fragile bodies.
One of the communication officers kept a close eye on the expanding data field streaming through. "Scouts One through Five approaching active stations – no hostiles. Six through Ten – no hostiles. Equatorial orbit under sweep."
Anderson took it all in, adjusting for time lapse and optimal attack points. He was no naval expert, but thirty years in the military gave a bit of experience in the matter. "Joker."
"Ready to roll, sir." The less-than-respectful voice responded.
He gave it no mind. "Find the biggest power output on the planet. That'll be our first target. Engines, give me stealth in thirty seconds."
"Aye-aye, sir." The more regular mannerism of Engineer Adams came through strong and clear.
Report after report cleared through the Normandy's main computer, using it as a relay to the fleet further out. As the last one checked in, there were flickers of pseudo-motion from the sensors, followed by the immediate presence of the 63rd Scout Flotilla arriving in full force.
"Mikhailovich to Normandy. Report." A gruff, irritated voice hissed over the communication.
Anderson keyed his transmitter before the rest of the crew could react. "Captain Anderson here. Sensors clean, proceeding to first objective. Recommend defensive position until we've isolated the best sites."
"Acknowledged." Mikhailovich was known as a hard admiral to work for. But the 63rd Scout Flotilla knew the man to be the epitome of honorable, unwilling to send others where he wouldn't go. "We're joining you. Sensor net to full power – we have one chance to find this thing, and I want it found yesterday. Keep your eyes open. Who knows what alien monsters are waiting for us out here."
The line clicked off, leaving the group of Moscow class sensor cruisers to disperse across the planet below. As a mere scouting flotilla there were no battleships or dreadnoughts, but the accompanying Justice-class destroyers were more than capable of holding their own in most light engagements.
Anderson hoped they were unneeded. "Joker. All ahead full. You heard the Admiral."
"Cheerful. Glad I don't report to him. Ah … sir."
Anderson ignored the breach of protocol, resuming his search on the projected map. It now held a scaled image of Ilos, swaths of territory becoming more and more visible as scout craft expanded the flotilla's sensory view. Labels, symbols and numbers began highlighting points, possible sites where Protheans would hide their technology. He focused on that, taking in data, using sharpened instincts.
"There." A point called out to him, a place still relatively free of the fire-blasted damage covering the planet. Wildfires still blazed on the planet's dark side, burning away the excess oxygen produced by plants with nothing to balance the carbon output. But this position even had a hint of green in the crack exposed to the stars. What's more, a hint of element zero was detectable, along with a steady electrical source, unlike the myriad storms pounding the planet's surface.
"Moving us in," Joker's voice was suddenly all business, focused on his job. "Stealth engaged, approaching atmosphere."
The entire ship hummed with anticipation, from the squadmates Shepard had left aboard to the marines and sailors still organizing the re-loaded supplies. A complete sweep had found some few surveillance devices left, removed as a matter of course, but none of the crew were under suspicion. Not any more, after all they'd experienced together.
Anderson pitied their naiveté. 'Best place for a spy to become an important asset. The trick is who they report to. Cerberus? Al-Int? The Shadow Broker? Do your best, hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Hang in there Shepard, I'm working as fast as I can.'
Below the ancient remains of a massive facility, encircling the ruins of an even older civilization came into sight. Thick, verdant greenery seemed to be thriving there, even water was visible from their high-altitude approach.
"Lieutenant Alenko." He tapped an uneven tempo with his fingers, thinking. "We are approaching a landing zone. Select your team and get ready to investigate. Chief Ashley, you are to accompany Doctor T'Soni at all times. Squads Alpha, and Bravo secure the LZ. Charlie and Delta stay aboard, stay frosty."
Verbal acknowledgement responded, quick and professional. Even the asari doctor seemed focused on the mission, unusual for such a young civilian.
He had to stifle a chuckle at the thought. The asari was almost sixty years older than him, and he considered her young? Xenopsychology was a fascinating study.
Pangaea Expanse, Refuge System
Ilos
Planetary Research Facility 01-42-4102
Liara focused on the Ruins. These were old. Older than the Prothean remains on Feros, older than the Sarish'ian sites on Thessia. Ever since the experience on Eden Prime, she'd realized how much things felt, the aura given off by inanimate objects once touched by the ancients. These ruins were old when the Protheans had begun their rise, yet still remained.
"Goddess," she touched one of the hideous statues. Their tentacles came from the wrong side of the head, curling downward and expanding outwards in unnatural formations. Yet their eyes were soothing, an intriguing artistic development she felt sure held deeper meaning.
'An aedicula?' her eyes snapped to a recessed opening in the wall. She took in its dimensions. 'Possible. But the main focus seems to be on the front. If there is a posticum, it would be … there.'
"Let's go over there." she waited until her minders acknowledged the directive, and set out.
It felt as if a dream. The world she walked upon held mysteries answering mysteries the university had pondered for three generations; and her own interest lay in nothing of the kind.
'Almost nothing.' She caught her gaze straying into cataloguing a nearby stele, as undamaged as if just installed. 'Artifacts everywhere, I should not even be walking here. Who knows what hidden clues are being eradicated?'
The massive powered armor containing the human Ashley Williams shifted into step beside and a bit behind her. The presence of the half-ton armor brought a wince to Liara's expression; the only thing more damaging than running a Mako over the entire facility was the multiple sets of heavy armor. At least the Mako stuck to open areas; power armor clambered into all the small places where people left the smallest and most fragile of artifacts.
Finding a back entrance, exactly where the typical culture preferred to secrete such a thing away, restored her confidence. Finding a Prothean-designed interface boosted it still more.
"What are you doing?" Chief William's electronic filtered voice invaded her concentration.
"What? Oh. I am accessing the temple's permissions." Liara resumed stroking the patterns through the protective kinetic-accepting receptacle. Its security was simple enough to nullify, after receiving appropriate clearance through the Beacon. "The Protheans redesigned the vestibule entrance. You can see it by the color differences on the floor and how they incorporated their own security overlay. If you … your pardon. I am rambling again."
"Do what you gotta do, doc," there was a strange quality to the other woman's voice. "Back home, we're still getting used to adding electronic classes to archaeology."
"Really?" Liara paused. "Fascinating. I have not performed much research on pre-Contact civilizations, or recent post-Contact civilizations for that matter. I imagine your concentrations rest more heavily upon layered soil deposits and recorded histories? I would love to investigate a dig site where everything around its origins had referential data!"
"It's not quite like that," Williams hedged. "See … well … we tend to be pretty … thorough. Especially when it comes down to making sure the other guy doesn't get up again. Or if we don't know what was there before."
Liara felt her eye ridges rising in what seemed to be the galactic standard symbol of surprise. "Oh. I … ah … see."
It was an awkward silence that held the next few minutes. Her hands twisted through the interface, unlocking protocols that had last been used perhaps thirty millennia before. Although the thought caused her brow to crease – why had such a timespan been considered standard? Her research did not indicate fifty thousand years necessary, or even probable. Yet another mystery to ponder.
"Hey. Uh, Liara?"
She hesitated. "Yes?"
The massive, armored figure awkwardly shuffled her feet. "Um. I'm sorry. About the whole asari alien thing."
"Oh." She had to blink. The other woman had been stand-offish, but then the entire human race seemed to mistrust her race more than any other species. "It is no problem."
"Yeah, it is. See, humans have had a bad history with stuff. Like, well. We don't like to talk about it. But it's really been a problem sometimes, trusting someone who has an entire mono-gender species. Look can we talk about it later? This is really hard for me."
"Of course," Liara refrained from pointing out whom had started the conversation. "Perhaps after we save the galaxy and rescue the Commander?"
"Yeah," this time a grin cracked the Marine's uncomfortable expression. "That – that'd be good."
The elevator's access panel slid open. Dust sifted off its edges; it felt like powdered chelan scales. Revealed beneath the slate-colored obstruction lay what appeared to be a touch-sensitive screen, bright green lines glowing on a black background.
"Amazing," Liara couldn't help herself. "What sort of vision did they have? Green is more soothing to multiple species, but orange is more efficient."
"Huh. Reminds me of the old IBM's," Williams commented. She gave an apologetic shrug at the asari doctor's incredulous stare. "What? Grampa had one of those. He liked restoring antiques. Those things were upgrades after the stuff they used in Earth's space program."
Liara's fingers drifted along the lines, more genteel, swooping characteristics than the Prothean cuneiform. The elevator started up, an energy barrier blocking the entrance rather than a door. "That is a puzzle to me, a word my translator has given several variations. Why Earth? Is it not a synonym for dirt? Or soil?"
The ensuing discussion helped keep her mind off the fact that they were descending into the depths of an installation designed by minds older than the Protheans, modified by a younger race, and now being accessed by a younger race still, all to have an outside chance at outwitting the same race that destroyed two of the three.
[break]
"So how did you open the security?" Alenko was speaking this time, walking beside Liara. She could feel his presence more strongly than the others; biotics had a greater 'presence', as she understood it. The biology escaped her.
"The security?" she kept her eyes on the long hallway ahead. Stone blocks, each fitted against the other with such precision as to leave nigh-invisible seams, rose from floor to ceiling. The floor itself consisted of similar blocks, but shaped to allow two large ruts on either side. Water flowed down the ruts, untold quantities seeming to have inflicted minimal damage over the eons.
Alenko gestured with one hand, mimicking something. "At the elevator. I saw Shepard do something like that, but he was a lot slower. How did you do it?"
She paused, searching his face. Alenko was an honest soul, and loyal to the Alliance with every fiber of his being; the sort of jokes other soldiers might make about the subject matter were not in his nature.
"Well," she tapped her omni-tool, muting the audio portion. "Shepard and I were both struck by the Beacon on Eden Prime. The information it imparted would've destroyed other minds, but Shepard has his talents, and asari have our own."
Alenko made a soft humming noise. "So it's that … mind meld? Like what happened with the Cipher?"
"In a way," the tunnel had descended in a straight line for over a kilometer now. She wondered if there was a point, or if she should've summoned a Mako. "Asari are known for it, but it goes deeper than this. We have memories, and can transfer memories, you understand?"
"Sure."
"We developed a way to store memories, and then give them to our daughters. The older Families have dedicated members who do nothing but focus upon retaining those memories, and transferring them at appropriate times. Marriages, deaths, births, major holidays and events."
Alenko's eyes widened. "You can do that?"
"I was considered quite the prodigy when I was younger," Liara smiled at the memory. "It lead to allegations of malfeasance during my student days. There are not many Master level initiates in Vivliothíki myaloú at my age."
"Cheating? You?" The shock in his voice was heartwarming. "I didn't think you'd even know how."
This time a small laugh escaped her throat. "I thank you for the compliment. But yes, I know how. I was instrumental in eradicating a plagiarism exchange, which did not earn me any friends – which was no great loss. Yes, I am adept at mental control. What is astonishing is how Shepard has managed to remain sane; humans are not designed for such an information transfer method."
"That's something I've wondered," This time Williams interjected. "It's strange how similar our races are. Five fingers, binocular eyes, five fingers and toes. Why? I mean, you guys have an extra nervous system and a spare lung … maybe a few other things, too. But it's downright Uncanny Valley."
She stopped to look at the woman in hulking armor. "Uncanny … Valley?"
"Not important now," A powered gauntlet swiped through trailing vines, shredding their structural integrity. "I prefer classical poetry, but humans have stories. A lot of stories. Telepaths, empaths, comic books and superheroes. Load any library search engine and you'll find a zillion sci-fi junk."
"Truly?" Liara felt her interest piqued. "I confess to have not investigated that aspect of human culture. Although now that makes sense now, there is a very popular branch of literature called fanfiction, you may have heard of it?"
Both humans swung to look at each other, puzzled, then shook their heads in mute denial.
"No matter. Essentially it applies creative license to known events or stories with the imagination of the writer. Humans have become very popular in the more lurid genres. Gina kept speaking about 'lost asari' and 'soul mate' concepts ... which sounds akin to what you were referencing. The existence of your own literature will only spur that to ridiculous levels."
There was a moment of silence while the two humans digested her words.
"If you were to share some of your poetry," Liara offered a tentative smile towards Williams. "I believe you would become very popular. At least for a while."
The Marine's shudder was caught by her armor's controls, translating into a pronounced shaking and rattling. "Thanks, but no thanks."
Liara felt a new presence, and slowed. The two soldiers caught her reaction, readying weapons in an eyeblink. She was certain they'd been walking in casual conversation yet both had death-dealing appliances prepared for combat in the amount of time it took for her to realize there was something different.
"Talk to me T'Soni." William's rotary carbines spun an ominous hum.
She felt touched to see the marine placing herself between Liara and the nearest approach. Despite their differences, the woman was a true friend. "There's something here. Something I … there!"
Alenko spun towards the asari's raised arm while Williams spun the opposite direction, arms splaying across both angles. "Wher – what the heck is that?"
An opening showed in the wall, an irregularity Liara was certain had not been there before. Her omni-tool's recording would show for certain, but the oddness was compelling. Perhaps there were some forms of mental compulsion the Protheans used? But she felt only curiosity, not the ominous, chilling aura of other artifacts.
"No, Doctor," Alenko blocked her progress. "We need to get backup first. We aren't going to split up, either."
"Damn straight," Williams growled, both weapons now pointing at the new threat. "We don't split up in an ancient temple thing, where aliens have been doing weird stuff for nobody knows how long."
Liara sighed in vexation. This had something to do with the 'movie night' events aboard the Normandy, one of the sessions she'd missed, involving monsters called zombies or something called Alien, which was an odd title for a movie in her estimation.
"Very well, if you insist." She took one last reading, noting the power fluctuations evident within the new opening's innards, and turned back, only to stop dead. "Oh dear."
Williams's seemed to take a deep shuddering breath beneath her armor. "That's … one way of putting it."
A second barrier, identical to the one blocking forward progress, now blocked their retreat. Its opacity was even more obvious than the former, a green-hued obstacle towering from the floor to the lofty ceiling. Its projectors weren't visible, heightening the mystery behind its generation – what form of technology was able to project solid-state energy barriers without exposing an actual projector?
"Well then," Liara turned towards the doorway once more. "If you don't mind taking the advice of a career archaeologist, shall we explore?"
Pangaea Expanse, Refuge System
Ilos
Forward Operating Base (Research Facility 01-42-4102)
Prothean ruins had a certain character – Anderson had once visited the Martian Ruins in his youth. If architecture gave emotion, then the Martian Ruins emanated constant solidity, self-assured permanence. They'd existed when humanity was just beginning to chart constellations, watching the third planet from the sun in alien fascination. He'd felt irritated by them, irritated by the arrogance, smug confidence, even a hint of condescension resting in every line of the enduring architecture.
These ruins were different.
Statues of melancholy, seated figures were everywhere, bipedal individuals with tentacles and bowed heads. To humans it seemed humble, reminiscent of some ancient philosopher, bearing the burden of the world on his back. Perhaps it was a message of arrogance by the original builders that did not translate to the modern era. But he didn't think so – unlike the ruins on Feros and Mars, these ruins gave the impression of mourning. It felt like respect for a revered elder, lost but not forgotten.
"Fascinating …" his charge over the past week murmured. "Every time I look at them they seem incredible anew. Pre-Prothean. Inusannon artifacts. Goddess, think of how old they are!"
He nodded. The opinion he'd formed when Shepard's report had been submitted mentioned her exuberance. It seemed correct.
Anderson took a moment to survey the forces now present on the planet. Archaeologists were more common in the Tenth Scouts than other fleet elements, but even with that consideration they were in unexpected proliferation. Almost all of the Normandy's marine complement was planetside as well, Beta squad remaining due to what he understood to be volunteering and a lost poker match. More soldiers were waiting in orbit, pending the approval of the lead archaeologist.
Another side glance checked said specialists' visage. She seemed determined, watching her surroundings with a keen eye.
"We need records of everything. Everything." Liara's voice was firm, directed at the gaggle of specialists gathering around. "The lowest floor had energy barriers, which I removed. There may be automated defenses, so stay in trios and maintain contact. Above all," her eyes flashed an ominous color, reminiscent of the purple edges of lightning-filled clouds. "Be careful. One broken piece of statuary would be enough to fund a University's entire budget for a decade. A full statue could ensure it remained solvent for a generation."
"An asari generation," Anderson reinforced the command with a glare of his own. "As of right now this planet is under Interdiction. Nothing goes off world without approval from both Admiral Mikhailovich's and myself. If I so much as suspect an artifact made it off-world, I will hunt down each and every one of you until I find who was responsible. Is that clear?"
There was no need to describe what would occur to the guilty party. Imagination could be a powerful attribute in archaeologists specializing in doomsday events.
"Good." Anderson gave a nod to the Alpha squad, whom took it upon themselves to deliver another menacing glower at the archaeologists, before moving towards the elevator system the asari doctor had unlocked. "There will be a long-term posting here, but no one will be forced to stay. This was your choice – there has been an official arrangement with ExoGeni to cover equipment and supplies. If you need something, write out a requisition and send it up. This place has more research potential than ten years on Feros, so make. This. Count."
Almost as one the group of academics nodded, emotions appearing a mix of bemusement and fear. That satisfied Anderson's imperative, so he turned back to Liara and gestured. "Doctor. You are in charge here, where should we go?"
The asari marched into the elevator, hands touching the armaments festooned about her person. There was something so very Shepard-like about it that he had to smile. Apparently, the young asari was smitten with the human, to have taken his instruction so close to heart so soon. A pity the boy lost every romantic bone in his body on Mindoir.
"I have interpreted the records for this, as Shepard suggested." She slapped a keypad on the elevator wall, triggering a miniature blue flash from her biotics. The elevator started, then began a smooth descent. "The Conduit is a backdoor interface with the Presidium, as he no doubt informed you."
Shepard had suggested something along the lines, but Anderson kept the vagueness to himself. Their falling out was healing, but still bore scars.
"Wherever the Conduit leads, I believe will be a critical juncture aboard the Citadel, although the Relay statue is theorized to be a key transition point. There is good evidence that we are correct. However; the Protheans had little time to conduct an operation once aboard the Citadel. They needed to board it, accomplish their task, and remove evidence before exfiltration."
"Good point," he checked their surroundings, watchful. "Shepard told you about this?"
Her blush returned – he was certain of it. The girl had it bad. "He told me where to find it in the archives, and I deduced the rest from the systems here on Feros. Did you encounter Vigil, the VI?"
"No."
"Well, it is a fascinating Virtual Intelligence, not a true Artificial Intelligence. It lacks abstract reasoning ability for one, and seems incapable of speculation despite being presented sufficient data. But it can detect Indoctrination, or at least the more common forms, and was able to unlock the Conduit passageway."
Anderson ground to a halt just as the elevator doors opened. "Passage?"
"Yes. The Conduit?" an innocent look reminded him that while her years were lengthy, her experience in military matters was limited. "The link to the Citadel, as we were discussing? At least, that's what Vigil said."
This time Anderson checked his timepiece, taking advantage of the moment to review what he knew of the rest of the Fleet's position. "How many can it transport?"
Her slim shoulders rose and fell in a simple shrug. "As many as step through. Vehicles, cargo, units – I do not understand the safety margins involved, but –"
He'd already turned away, raising his communication device. There were over three brigades available for his part of the operation, and time was growing short. He paused – "Is it large enough for a Mako?"
She pursed her lips, thinking. "It appears to be. When I asked, Vigil said the Protheans took several motorized battalions through."
He wanted to smack his head against the wall, but refrained. Such specific information would've been very welcome several hours earlier. As it was, they'd need to assemble, disembark, and transport the reinforcements in as short a time as possible. But frustration could wait. There were commands to give, recordings to purge, an invasion to mastermind.
Even as he began opening the appropriate channel, the sense of low-level fear was unmistakable. Anderson trusted the man, would give his life for a man that had unbent enough at last to trust once more. But he still found himself hoping Shepard knew what he was doing.
A short call, and a few choice terms, convinced the orbiting commander of the urgency. Not for the last time Anderson was grateful for the level of respect held for the N-School graduates; each level of training weeded out over ninety percent of applicants, but the number of nominees ensured a handful passed each year. That authority meant the difference between success and defeat – although he prayed it wouldn't be such a near thing here and now.
"Shepard hasn't signaled yet. We have time, but we need to be ready to go." Finished, he motioned the asari onwards. "Where is the departure point?"
Her blue-skinned hand fired up the omni-tool on the opposing wrist. A map projected itself, pixelating at odd points while others were of unnatural resolution. Anderson noted her rough, un-manicured nails, and raised his estimate another notch.
"Vigil's program is not perfect, but Tali adapted it for Alliance systems. We are here," a finger stabbed into the projection. "The planetary-based Relay is situated here, less than one minute journey by Mako from Vigil's point."
An open area appealed to his sense of strategy. "We'll set up there, and be ready to roll out as soon as we know. Is this area clear?"
A look of concentration crossed Liara's face while unfamiliar series of glyphs crossed the selected region. Two looked similar to the Prothean sigils emblazoned on the active panel nearby. "I believe so. This location is an aquatic reservoir with terrestrial conveyance platforms. It was originally built by the Inusannon, but the Protheans updated it to incorporate –"
He tuned out the lecture. Academics could be an issue on the battlefield; her survival under Shepard's tutelage spoke either to a native gift for combat, or Shepard's prowess at instruction. Recalling the conditions under which Shepard had met the woman, he assumed the latter rather than the former.
"Sir."
The new speaker was one of the squad leaders on the Normandy, Delta squad as he recalled. "Yes, Lieutenant?"
Jensen stood parade-ground straight, looking him straight in the eye. "Sir. My boys and I were thinking. We're going to be landing a gut punch against those metal bastards, right?"
He kept his amusement hidden from sight. "That is the intention, yes."
"Then sir," if possible, the light-haired combat specialist drew himself even straighter, his preferred automatic weapons coming to an uncomfortable-looking rest. "My boys and I volunteer to lead the vanguard. We're mostly quarian, on loan from the Flotilla. Ain't nobody know how to take apart those walking lampstands like my boys do. Get us in first, and I guarantee we'll fry 'em out of the way for the rest."
Anderson cast his gaze on the rest of Delta squad. Like their commander had stated, most were quarian. Glowing eyes shone behind smoked-glass faceplates, predatory in the extreme. It was easy to believe biologists claims to their apex predator role in Rannoch's food chain. Strong, reverse-articulated legs, claws sheathed behind gloves, and he knewfrom personal experience of quarian incisors, sharp enough to penetrate light armor.
"Do you … agree with your commanding officer?" he settled both arms at the small of his back, watching them with care.
An ear-splitting cry almost broke his calm. It sounded like the hunting call of the shadows no one dared chase, ravenous vengeance made flesh.
"Interesting." He had to pause, letting his heartbeat settle. Perhaps he should not tease Alenko's lurid descriptions of Tali in battle? Another time he could reconsider that thought. "I'm afraid that the contract signed with the Flotilla forbids me from allowing quarians under my care to lead the charge."
The glowing dots narrowed, anger growing palpable.
"That is my final word on the matter." He turned back to Jensen, who bore an expression of dismay. "By the way, Lieutenant. Did you know that the Makos going in first are being prepared over to the far side? I don't want to encourage stereotypes, but perhaps your quarians might be interested in ensuring their operational capacity. They are being refitted with Aitan hardware, and need maintenance."
Jensen's face looked murderous. "Yes sir."
"Thank you. Oh, and Jensen?" Anderson waited until the frustrated figure met his eyes. "I will be very, very busy. I cannot check on every squad, even one as valuable as Normandy's Delta squad. You will have to sort out which vehicle you will use to enter the Relay. I hear the vanguard captain is amenable to baseball recordings – purely as an observation, of course. The safety of your squad is in your hands, Lieutenant."
The complicated emotions crossing over Jensen's face tugged at Anderson's self-control. Bare neutrality won out in the end. But the look of pure gratitude almost broke it again.
"Thank you sir." Jensen's eyes sparkled with mischief. Behind him a pair of quarians were already lifting omni-tools, hissing incautious questions about base-ball. Jensen saluted, drawing his attention away. "Take care of yourself, sir."
Anderson gave a sharp nod. "Dismissed."
An ostentatious turn removed the entire squad from his line of sight. At the same time a fortuitous chirping tone squealed from his earpiece, high-pitched warbling rising to urgent levels. He accepted the call in a quick slap, straightening himself unconsciously. "Sir?"
"Anderson." The unmistakable voice of Admiral Hackett boomed in his ear. "You are to report to the Normandy for new orders, effective immediately."
Anderson had to remind himself to not grind his teeth, or express a more colorful vocabulary in the presence of a superior officer. His own ranking permitted certain leniency in the presence of those placed even higher than Admiral Hackett, but minor technicalities wasn't a hill he wished to die upon. Not to mention Hackett was one of the few Navy brass he actually liked.
"Sir, I would advise—"
"Understood. Denied." Hackett barked. His voice turned apologetic, but lined with steel. "I'm sorry Anderson. The Normandy needs you. The geth have a game-changer, and I intend to counter it."
Heaving an angry sigh, Anderson glanced around, catching Alenko's attention, turning just enough to include the nearby Gunnery Chief in her Menelaus power armor. "Alenko. You're running this show. Williams, stay with T'Soni, but back up Alenko."
"Sir?" The Canadian biotic had a shocked look on his face. "What?"
Anderson reached out to grab Alenko's shoulder, then held off. "Chain of command. I'm needed aboard the Normandy. Shepard should be next in command, but he isn't here. That means you are the next highest ranking officer, Lieutenant. You know how this works."
"Sir, yes. But … this?" Alenko's wide gesture could be considered an attack by those unfamiliar with biotic mnemonics, but it encompassed the whole panoply surrounding them.
"Cost of being good at what we do." This time Anderson did seize Alenko's shoulder, forcing the brown-eyed man's gaze to his own. "Don't worry about the Brigades. They have colonels for that. You're delegating for me. We have a battle plan, follow it until things go sideways, then make your best judgement. There will be enough chaos once we start fighting that it won't matter what rank you have – you're in charge here, and your job is to keep as many guns pointed at the enemy as possible. Logistics. Once you're through, Shepard will be waiting for you. Do you trust him?"
The biotic's jaw firmed. "Yes sir."
"Then get organized. It's time to take the fight to Saren."
(1) The hand patterns used by the Shepard's recognition is an actual thing, called 'Brain Gym'. Very good for hand-eye coordination, as well as flexibility in the metatarsals.
A/N: Great thanks to Nightstride, whom has been a faithful and dependable beta reader since this story began four years ago. He acts like it's nothing, but there are very few authors out there that can boast such a reliable colleague and friend.
We're almost at the end! I can sense it ... and read it, to be honest. Which is good. This past year has been rather interesting for me; as a teacher, rewriting course material for remote learning has been a challenge, but an enjoyable one. Writing here has helped ensure my course planning remain interesting and useful. I'd prefer a little more field research and a little less paperwork, but life isn't about to just hand over joyousness without effort. Thank you readers for reaching this point, and for the excellent inspiration (esp. Oklina!).
My suggested reading is Monstrum, by Ranshaj (Story ID: 12854680), a Witcher/Mass Effect crossover. If you have suggestions, leave them in the reviews or PM me, I'm always up for a new story!
Excelsior!