"Stationmaster's log, Stardate – what's today's date again?"
*Muffled audio:* No translation available.
"Besides Garbage Day?"
*Additional audio:* No translation available.
"No, I'm not recording that."
*Vague burst of static:* Tentative identification: Failure. Re-try attempt.
"Fine. Stardate Garbage Day. If you want something more specific, record it yourself!"
*Audio feed:* Tentative voice identification: Dr. Pavenmeyer. Command not understood.
"Right. Then here it is: Pavenmeyer's busy with whatever his lab cooked up and won't tell me. I'm his counterpart, Agent Ravishing."
*Muffled outburst:* Definite negative.
"Call yourself whatever you want, 'Emrys', I'm recording, I'm calling myself Ravishing. You remember losing that bet, right?"
*No response detected.*
"Ha. I win. So this is Agent Ravishing, recording the lofty thoughts and quips of the Doctor Pavenmeyer. Who is, since he can't hear me now, quite the catch himself. Anyway, Shepard's problems have a tendency to … how do the kids say? Evaporate? Doomer away? Whatever. What he did to the Batarians has been recorded as Unexplained … but everyone knows he did it. Or suspects. No one really wants to find proof. The Hegemony really pissed off everyone. Sucks to be them."
Normandy SR-1, Communications Center
Shepard closed his eyes, centering himself. Interactions with high-level political entities held no appeal. 'I'd rather interrogate a slaver. No. I'd rather obliterate a pirate base. A while since I've done that – a month maybe. Once this Reaper fiasco is over, I'll have to see if I can build another Normandy. Crew it with a few good Mindoir veterans. Maybe ask the squad if they're interested?'
Over to the Comm room's far left, Wrex loomed. His oversized shotgun was nowhere in sight for a change, replaced by a knife that looked as if it could skin an armored personnel carrier. The big krogan had a whetstone secure in one hand, using its smooth roughness to sharpen the blade's edge, one long motion after another. Its rhythmic sound reminded Shepard of the old monastery from his childhood, where the reformed Knights had practiced their old arts, never suspecting their effectiveness against modern weaponry.
A thousand accelerated pellets were still pellets, even in an eezo envelope. Shepard made another note, looking into steel lining for armor – something lightweight enough for long durations. Even if a solid steel plastron was stronger than its ceramic counterpart, it meant little if the soldier wearing it could only support its weight for a few hours.
"Commander, we have an incoming transmission. Live signal from the Citadel, your favorite!" Joker's voice crackled over the ship's intercom. After removing the surveillance hardware, the system hadn't quite maintained its prior crystal-clear transmission – needing calibration, perhaps. "Let me know if you want it patched through."
Shepard glanced over to where Detective Vakarian sat, officially present to watch his progress for the Council. His dark armor, highlighted by an inhuman series of spikes and leathery plates was made all the more alien-looking by the bright orange eyepiece so similar to Shepard's own. The entire ensemble looked foreboding, a shadowy menace lurking behind the guilty. The turian swept round eyes, like an avian predator's, across the room looking for prey before locking on his own gaze.
A cheerful wink ruined the impression, but was appreciated nonetheless.
Nearer at Shepard's back, in accordance to protocol, stood Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko. While his expression was beyond Shepard's ability to perceive, his calm stance and confident attitude evident to anyone watching.
"Put it through." Shepard relaxed. Every movement would be recorded he was certain. The legendary Citadel Archives were legendary for a reason.
The holographic representatives of the Council members brightened, gaining resolution. Relay-bounced signals could be transmitted at FTL velocities courtesy of the reduced-mass properties involved. Such secrets had made the fortunes of corporations older than the Egyptians, establishing entire dynasties among the stars.
Shepard noted the tiny Mindoir Communications emblem in the bottom right corner of the projection, and made sure to hide a smirk. Few had believed such a thing possible, that an alien company could compete on a galactic scale. For that he was thankful for Alliance embargoes, and even more so for the Council's lack of the same.
"Is the report true?" Tevos began without the traditional greetings. "You discovered Rachni? And then let it go?"
"I am well, thank you." Shepard returned. His frigid smile could've chilled a star. "The Citadel is secured against Sovereign's approach?"
"He is coming here?" Valern's voice became sharper than normal. "Reports indicated his presence outside Geth Space. Retrieving allies, we believed – Saren and that … that … thing can't have finished already?"
"Provided the supposed 'Death Machine from Dark Space' is not just outside," the turian Councilor's voice brought calm to the impromptu panic. "We have other, more urgent business. The Rachni, Commander. Your report suggested their extinction was not complete after all?"
Shepard gave an abbreviated bow in the turian's direction. "Correct. The records retrieved from Noveria's Peak Fifteen laboratory specified how the egg was found on a drifting Rachni ship, dead in space. Passive solar collectors maintained preservation mechanisms for the incubator. The ship itself has been torn apart for research, which has been forwarded to SPECTRE command."
"Appreciated." Valern acknowledged. "But of primary concern is the continued existence of the Rachni. Their eradication was intentional – we do not wish another galaxy-wide threat to occur."
"Good." Shepard gave the trio a smile, almost mocking, but not quite. "You have received the reports on the Reaper threat."
Even billions of lightyears away, the uncomfortable air was discernable. "We know of your … concerns." Tevos admitted. "Although the existence of a distant mechanical race seems … far-fetched. A single ship is one thing …."
"What my colleague means is that your concerns about doomsday monstrosities do not merit the same level of alarm as the fact that Saren is loose and in command of a Dreadnought." The turian Councilor interjected. "Your assistance in settling matters with Saren's finances has calmed a large number of impromptu internecine fighting along the Council's border with the Traverse. Given Saren's attacks upon Eden Prime and other human colonies, I am rather surprised your own concerns are focused the way they are; Rachni are at the very least, a potential distraction."
"One that could see differences of opinion between allies," Tevos added. "I do not threaten the Alliance, Commander. I speak the simple truth. Tensions have risen in the wake of multiple Geth incursions, rumors of Saren and his pets everywhere. Sovereign is just a large vessel, even if the evidence you have submitted is rather … compelling. Putting it mildly, our specialists are confused about the Prothean data files."
A Gallic shrug lifted Shepard's shoulders a half inch. "Unsurprising. I, on the other hand, believe the Reapers to be a far more credible threat, and one which will require allies. Beyond that my actions on Noveria were the right thing to do."
"Destroying the Rachni was the 'right thing' to do when the entire galaxy was poised for destruction." Valern did not sound pleased. "We are concerned that you would think otherwise."
"Yeah." Wrex didn't move, but his voice caught the attention of the Councilors. All three heads turned to focus on the krogan. "Everyone knows what choice the Council'l make when it's losin'. An' keep it a thousand years after it won, too."
The discomfort of the conversation strengthened. Shepard could feel the tension like a taught bowstring.
"The Queen did not make threatening gestures or statements," he took the conversation in a tactical redirection. "I talked with her, questioned her. She has agreed to settle on an uninhabited world to rebuild. Arrangements are being made to ensure guardian satellites emplacements, including two Olympia class battle stations and support. The Tenth Fleet is being reassigned guardian duty, overseen by Rear-Admiral Kahn."
"Good," Sparatus grunted, orange-tinted mandibles tensing. "If you will insist on this foolishness, it is best to ensure security. I believe we can dedicate a few fleet elements to assist guardian duties – what system is being used? The report did not include this detail."
Shepard tilted his head, just a touch to the left. "That is restricted information. The Tenth Fleet will be standing by the closest Relay, while the battle stations will consist of long-term volunteers. A limited number of specialists will visit the planet itself, after a thorough background check."
The turian's brow plates lowered. "You intend to give the Rachni total freedom? And refuse to allow the Council access?"
"It is felt," Shepard maintained eye contact, no matter how difficult it was. "That given the proclivities of certain elements within Council space, that maintaining highest security of the last known member of a vanished species is in their best interest. My instructions are to ensure you are informed of the decision made, and that your candidates for support and observations are put forward. Please contact," here he almost couldn't maintain the uncaring appearance while saying his former friend's name. "Ambassador Donnel Udina, and he will forward them to the appropriate channels."
Dead silence filled the room.
"One moment, Commander." Tevos finally spoke before twitching one hand over her controls. The projection vanished, morphing into a miniaturized, rotating version of the Citadel, tiny production number hovering beneath.
Sighs no longer held back echoed throughout the chamber, designed as it was for acoustics. Shepard exchanged nods with Wrex, and an ambivalent shrug with Garrus. Then he turned to Alenko.
"I don't like it," the Canadian biotic murmured. "Maybe we bit off more than we could chew?"
"We have big teeth," Shepard returned, just as soft. "I'm sure they'll see reason."
Even without seeing the other man's expression he could make out the incredulousness. "The Council? Reason? Commander, Ash was right, even if she's not here right now. We're borked either way."
He acknowledged the point. "Yeah. Might as well give ourselves as much a fighting chance as we can, though. The Reapers aren't stopping. We need allies. You tell the crew?"
Alenko folded his arms. "About Mindoir's immigration policies? Sure. Don't think that was too overt, do you?"
"Someone in SAIS paid that idiot to bug the Normandy. Hope it's Cerberus, but given a few decisions I know, doesn't have to be. By now they know I have some resources …."
A near-silent grunt indicated his friend's opinion. Then the Canatian's hand rose to touch the side of his head for a moment. He nodded. "Ash. They're on the transport."
"Good." Shepard relaxed a hair. "Between Ashley and Bravo squad, there shouldn't be any problems."
Stuttering electrical sounds from the console caught their attention, the complex mechanism rearranging its innards to project a signal from halfway across the galaxy. The image re-coalesced into the triple orange-hued images floating above the projector. Only Valern looked somewhat natural in its odd hue.
"We have discussed the proposal, and would appreciate clarification of some items," the salarian Councilor began. His large eyes peered outward, before fading from Shepard's sight.
Shepard stood, arms folded behind his back, not responding.
"First, while it is appreciated how irregular the situation is, normal channels would pass through the Ambassador's office. Second, full access to the Peak Fifteen facility is necessary. Third, unlimited access to the Queen is improbable – there are many that would rather commit genocide than save such a race. However, we believe humanity is not as experienced in matters of galactic import, and will be moving to have the Queen transferred to a secure location of mutual benefit."
"I see," the N7 operative stroked his clean-shaven chin. Then he turned, to present the red stripes running along the right pauldron. "You know from my file that I'm rated as an En-Seven Plus operative. Correct?"
"Indeed." This time Sparatus responded, talons folding atop his small desk.
"That means I am entrusted to make decisions on the field involving potential threats considered of galactic significance. Not my sergeants, not the admiral in charge of the fleet. Me. The decision to maintain the Queen's existence was my decision alone, as was the prerogative to ensure securing the Peak Fifteen facility, following successful exfiltration."
The salarian's shoulders tensed. "Commander. What did you do?"
Shepard ensured his own shoulders were steady, level enough to balance a bookshelf. "The Queen is already en route to her secured position. Peak Fifteen, given the copious number of geth units surrounding its location and potential long-term issues from Saren's involvement, has been eliminated through both a neutron purge and aerial bombardment." A quick flick of the fingers sent a live feed to the projection, portraying an apartment-building sized crater in Noveria's icefields.
A hiss of dismay emitted through the speakers – from which alien he found impossible to ascertain. Two, if not three of them at least by the volume.
"Do you believe this to have been … truly necessary?" Tevos's questioning tone was light, non-accusatory.
He bared his teeth in grim parody of a smile. "I am glad you are finally questioning agents. Did you ask Saren what he was doing at Eden Prime? Or Mekkle Five? I have his mission logs. All of them. "
Valern's image abruptly refocused as his position reset. "SPECTRE records are classified."
"Of course," Shepard folded his arms. "SPECTRE Kryik's records were included in Arterius's logs. That's in my report as well, along with the restricted files of a half-dozen other operatives. He went through the STG's ExoGeni files too, not that it's accurate now, and need I bring up the Fury initiative?"
Tevos tensed. "The Fury Initiative? Are you certain?"
He jerked a casual thumb towards the Normandy's holding cells. "I have two of them undergoing interrogation right now. I had four, but Noveria wouldn't play ball unless I let them have something to play with."
The turian seemed unimpressed. "Detective Vakarian. You were a SPECTRE candidate. Do you concur with Commander Shepard's analysis of the Rachni incident?"
The lanky turian standing at the side made a gesture, twisting his wrist around in a complex motion. "I advised letting the Queen live. I'd prefer having her imprisoned in different circumstances, but I can't disagree with paranoia. Saren and the Reapers cannot be underestimated. We're all dead otherwise."
"You agree with this 'monster machine from beyond the galaxy' theory then?" the turian Councilor seemed skeptical at best.
This time Garrus flashed dagger-like teeth. "My name is on the report too. If this Sovereign is just a single representative of an entire civilization of murder-machines, then I recommend every race in the galaxy to start war-footing production. Dreadnoughts, munitions, recruitment. Everything. You've had my advice, I'll be watching your response."
"Is that a threat?" Sparatus bristled.
Garrus didn't move, but his entire posture seemed to resemble something from nightmares. Bony, angular, teeth exposed in what ignorant observers could call a smile – Shepard could see a resemblance to Nihlus. "If you feel threatened, maybe there's a reason."
The tense atmosphere tightened until Shepard broke it off. "My next target is in the Traverse. Saren had factories out there, working with PMC's – private military companies. I suspect the Bloodpack will be high on the list, he's shown a tendency for recruiting krogan, and they bring vorcha."
"First geth, now krogan and vorcha? This madness must cease." Tevos sighed, her orange hands rubbing against her temples. "Commander, we do not like the situation with the rachni Queen. To be blunt, not having control of her environment is akin to pointing an armed dreadnought at the Citadel, but with far greater consequences. There are asari who retain the memories of the Rachni Wars, and I believe some krogan whom left the Domain because of their losses. Trillions died because of those monsters – and yes, I understand they are thinking beings. That is what makes this worse; thinking, feeling beings that orchestrated the doom of so many."
Shepard felt a minor qualm, but quashed its emotive qualities with a shrug. "Circling back, it comes down to experience. Humans lack a great deal of it, including multiple attempts to eradicate entire sentient species. You've had your opportunity. Humanity will take a try."
"It appears we have little choice in the matter." Sparatus noted, dry tones in stark contrast to Tevos's passionate delivery. "So be it.
"While we process the data packages," Valern spoke quickly. "There has been an alert from an STG team sent to the Traverse. Saren's production facilities in the Sentry Omega cluster are being shut down, thanks to the information your auditors have managed to extract. While SPECTRES have been shutting down everything they can, there are several facilities still in operation within the Hoc System. It appears to be a bio-weapons research base, staffed by a mixture of mercenaries and geth."
"Sounds about Saren's style," Garrus murmured.
"Our last transmission is requesting extraction, but ground-based anti-aircraft are preventing standard methods. In addition, there is a weapons platform in geosynchronous orbit above the base. With the Normandy's stealth capabilities, we believe you would have the best chance of successful exfiltration. Please see to it."
"And if you would pass on a message to Matriarch Benezia," Tevos added. "We are looking forward to her return. Her trials under Saren's influence must have been terrifying."
"Indeed." Shepard pondered a moment more. Innocent the Matriarch might not have been, but good intentions lined each step of the woman's descent – habits of secrecy were hard to break. No one knew that better than he. "She will be relieved to return to the Citadel, I am certain. Right now she is considered a potential security risk, but is being treated with the highest considerations available."
"The Republics thank you for your consideration," Tevos offered a shallow bow. "We will keep her condition in our thoughts and prayers."
"I will pass that along." Shepard nodded at the Councilor. "I will keep the Council updated."
"See that you do." Sparatus grumbled. "Waesucks this is turning bad."
"The Salarian Task Groups will transmit any findings directly," Valern finished. "Good hunting, Commander and Detective."
The signal blinked out. Bright yellowish illumination staining everything an unhealthy tinge faded to the standard pale brightness provided by the Normandy's inset fixtures. The metals used in constructing deck plating incorporated multiple elements, by necessity magnetic due to their inherent properties. It gave a grayish appearance to the material, reflecting a silver sheen on the gathered group.
"Right. That coulda' been better." Wrex shoved himself away from the wall, the cutting edge of his knife making a final rasp. "I'll be in the cargo hold. Got the crates arranged the way I want 'em. Finally."
Shepard stepped out of the krogan's path, delivering a friendly slap on his shoulder. "Thanks, Wrex. Having a reminder helped, I think."
"Yeah, yeah." Wrex slipped his blade home in a sheath invisible to the casual viewer. "Later, Shepard."
Garrus passed by, rolling a set of finger motions in his direction; the turian equivalent to a tipped hat. Shepard responded with a lateral movement of the hips. They'd need to talk later – perhaps the first Council observer for the Rachni site could be the turian detective? It would solve multiple issues, if creating others. Something to ponder at any rate.
The room emptied; he started the surveillance scan once more. Ever since the departure of one former Alliance Officer Caswell Hudson, he'd kept the monitoring system active. Any act of espionage would be routed through the communications hub residing in that room. Simple sabotage like arranging for the FTL drives to trigger when pointed at a stellar phenomenon would sidestep such a contrivance, but getting information on or off the Normandy required access to the hub.
He grunted. 'Design flaw. Better compartmentalization, bad for combat damage – which makes sense, I guess. Stealth ship.'
Satisfied, he left the room. There were people to meet, things to see.
No sooner had he accessed the upper decks than a keyed warning blurred in the side of his visor's alarms. 'Top clearance communication – back down. Again.'
Irritated, he returned to the Comm room, and took note of the settings. Then he looked again. 'Banes again. Or at least, someone who claims to be Banes. Wondered when they'd try again.'
This time he pulled up the tracking program, and shut it down. Initiating the override took N7 authority, but at his command it ceased its stalking efforts. One by one the nearest tracer mechanisms deactivated, invisible if one didn't know where to look.
Shepard waited until the data exchange request had completed a third time, before keying the projector up. As he waited, he pulled out his omni-tool, and began checking its data feeds. Medical hardware was increasing in value, selling far above its realistic value – there had to be a reason for that. Perhaps some corporation was beginning a high-quality laboratory? ExoGeni was no longer performing such things under his ownership. They knew it, and he knew it.
"Commander Shepard." The indistinguishable blur of projected light quavered in place. "May I ask what you did to young Caswell Hudson?"
A beatific smile crossed Shepard's face. "Hudson elected to maintain his … artistic, shall we say, integrity. As such, his business plan did not coincide with my own vision for the future. As I recall, he departed on Noveria, without permission."
"Yes. The AWOL report is in the report chain." The male figure leaned back, pausing. "Are you certain you have no idea what happened to him?"
"I presume he left of his own volition," Shepard's hands rested at the small of his back, head canted at an innocent angle. "If he shows up, I would be most interested in speaking with him. Should you manage to make contact, would you let him know?"
The other man gave a short, disbelieving chuckle. "Of course. May we return to the business of which we spoke at our last exchange?"
"Prothean data will remain in my control." Shepard's arms did not move, a supposedly accepting position. "The information has been disseminated to a number of discerning minds, along with a beginner translation program."
"Translation program?" the other figure perked forwards despite the obscuring protocols. "The asari have been very protective of their multilingual pre-diluvium software."
"Protheans communicated large amounts of data through touch," Shepard shrugged as if the information were inconsequential. It pained him to give away something so valuable for free, but spreading the news of machinesthat could do his job made him less of a target. "Sensory interpretation is impossible for the majority of organic mental capacities. A good VI on the other hand is able to translate with over ninety percent accuracy, and getting better."
His opponent paused, seeming to think. "Shepard, I won't lie to you."
A very, very strong effort kept the En-Seven from snorting his opinion all over the projection.
"With your genetics and aptitude, you're a priceless asset. It would be negligent, if not an outright act of treason to lose your abilities." The figure didn't seem to notice anything. Analysis programs would detect the disbelief, but that was a problem for later, maybe never. "What would it take to bring you in from the cold?"
Shepard stared at the projection, jaw working. "Thing is, whoever you are, I like the cold. I'm a colony boy, born and raised in the Outer Rim. You couldn't buy me with all the credits in the galaxy."
"Every man has his price," the other being intoned, as if quoting some ancient piece of wisdom. "All it takes is time. You do understand that your value has increased to exponential values since the asari started noticing? The Alliance cannot lose you. It's easier if you accept a fee of your choice, than to force a situation that would be … unpleasant for both of us."
"Oh?" A flat, mirthless grin made an appearance on Shepard's face. His hands were free now, not doing anything significant, yet present in the fashion trained martial artists would recognize. His head dipped, then rose again, the grin widening even further. "Tell you what. If you want to get on my bad side, just watch the Hegemony over the next few weeks. Watch their numbers, fleet movements. But most of all, watch their hospitals and emergency medical centers. Look at them and remember what they did to me. Then, once you've seen their fate, I want you to think hard about what you're trying to do. If you want to play hardball with me, I'm more than willing to respond in kind. Here's my question for you." He leaned into the projection, ensuring the scanner could read every follicle on his face, down to the veins of his eyeballs. "Do you really want to go there?"
Leaning back he slapped the cutoff switch. The same motion turned into a sweeping gesture, activating his omni-tool. He tapped out a short message, stabbing the haptic interface with more-than-necessary force. Commands went out to his network, notifications of heightened paranoia. Refusing the apparent SAIS spokesman wouldn't trigger open combat, but it would step up harassment; permits refused, licenses revoked. That would necessitate reprisal, with his personal touch when possible.
He could use a rest.
[break]
Liara tinkered with another invention, dredged from the depths of her quasi-naturalized memories and the ingenuity of a quarian engineer. The device connected with the datapad, translating a batch of files into something resembling basic grammar, but lacking punctuation.
Sighing, the asari began another sequence, inserting a modifier. She liked Tali, she really did. The younger woman was energetic, enthusiastic, and possessed an optimistic outlook oft unseen in her downtrodden species. But sometimes her penchant for being literal was aggravating. Yes the device translated the most accurate version possible, but including every possible meaning did not help; the most and least likely definitions were so far off from each other as the difference between inserting a power gauge in the fuel canister and detonating an Element Zero fuel cell in confined space. Messy was one word no engineer would use to describe the aftermath.
Her own personal communicator chirped.
Liara touched the viewscreen, not recognizing the sender's code. Sighing, she set it down. "Marketers. Even on an unlisted number."
Seconds later, it chirped again.
Liara tapped the deny icon, trying to focus on the algorithm. "Not now. Try selling me tentacle creams later."
Brief moments of silence collected around her, coalescing into entire minutes. The quiet hum of the Normandy's engines, so soothing to her yet terrifying to most quarians, became more noticeable. It was a peaceful existence that called to her soul, a quiet area to work filled with interesting conversations and thought-filled solitude. Then the datapad chirped again.
"By the Goddess, what –"
"Doctor T'Soni. We need to talk."
Liara froze, one hand blazing iridescent biotics. "Wha …? How?"
The datapad's screen cleared, showing a young human female with red hair. "I apologize for hacking your communications Doctor, but it was the only way I could talk to you without … Him … knowing."
Liara lowered her fist. "Him? Him who?"
"Karl, of course. Shepard, the Spectre? She – No! Please! I need to talk to you!"
The asari paused a breath from screaming an alert. Every instinct urged caution, especially the ones that had been awakened in the past few months. But there was an urge deeper still that suggested listening – something evil might come from it, but what more could be done than already had? Then her new sense of paranoia shut down on the thought, before it could spawn any more trouble than its brief existence already had.
"Very well," she narrowed her eyes at the tiny camera in a fashion she'd observed Shepard do. It implied suspicion, and irritation. "Who are you?"
"You have been around him a while," the woman muttered. "My name is Lily. My last name isn't important. Well. Not now anyway. But fifteen years ago, it was almost Lily Shepard."
Curious, the asari settled back, thinking. "That's a human custom, right? Taking the male spouse's name upon … marriage?"
"It's the general custom, but not a rule," the red-haired woman agreed. "Karl and I were … engaged. Back in sixty-nine. Then … it happened."
Liara cudgeled her memory. It came easily, from her recent extranet searches on a certain Commander. "There was a Batarian slaver raid on Mindoir."
"Yes." No emotion escaped the woman's voice. Her eyes looked like chips of ice, cold and hard. "The second worst experience in my life. And a strong cause of the worst experience in my life. Look, you don't want my whole story. I'm just calling with a warning. You're engaged to marry Him, aren't you? It's been all over the news. People here are going frantic. Some are furious, some love it. All I want to know is, are you serious?"
The asari took a deep breath. "The Commander rejected the offer. I was not given a choice in the matter, either by my esteemed Advocate," a slight inflection, audible only to another asari, hinted at her anger. She regained control. "Or by the Commander. I doubt it will proceed – very little seems to stop him when he sets his mind to something."
"That's true," Lily agreed again. "I'm sorry to hear that, but glad too."
"I'm sure," Liara said drily.
A curious expression went over the woman's face, then cleared. "You misunderstand. I'm not engaged to Karl, not after … I'm married now. To a good man named James. We have two children. No, Karl and I are long since past."
"Then why did you call me?" Liara sat back.
The woman's head dipped forward, out of range from the viewer, then came back. "I had thought you might be growing close, if you're thinking of marriage. I wished to warn you, to tell you to never. Ever. Betray him. He's lost so much, sacrificed everything. His family, his life, his future. I thought that if you were serious about this, about Him. Then you needed to know. Do not ever betray his trust. You'll never get it back."
The asari blinked at the screen. "There is a story behind that."
A bitter laugh escaped the digital woman's throat, cut off with what seemed to be long practice. "Not much of one. But perhaps a visual display will help –" her hands dipped out of sight, emerging with a small square. "Human customs involve rings, typically the male proposes marriage to the female, and offers a ring as token of sincerity."
"I see, it is similar in other cultures as well," Liara relaxed a little. "The Volus negotiate betrothal contracts, and volunteer a significant percentage of their holdings or properties to show good faith. The krogan used to exchange gifts of precious gems or delicacies made from the more dangerous predators. Batarians –"
"Please do not mention those animals." Lily cut her off, a flare of rage echoing through her eyes. "I wish to keep this civil."
"All right …" Liara relaxed further, oddly encouraged by the show of temper. "Please continue."
"Karl made rings for us. Silver and gold weave. Simple, but elegant. Beautiful, how he wound the two metal together. 'Two lives,' he said. 'Two lives made one.' And I threw it in his face."
Liara's ocular ridges rose. "I'm … sorry?"
On the screen, Lily's head tilted forward, hiding the expression through voluminous hair. "After my sister … was captured, I was … not in a good place. I blamed Karl for not getting there fast enough, for not saving her. I… erred, in more ways than one. When he found out …."
Silent, Lily opened the box. Inside were two small circles, objects to be worn on the hands, so similar to the asari's own. Their appearance was flawless, gleaming wealth and polished finery – comparable to artifacts Liara had uncovered in royal tombs.
"I threw my ring at him when he discovered me, caught us in the act. Told him to make of it what he wanted, that he couldn't get anything right anyway. Do you know what he did?"
Liara studied the rings. Upon closer examination, they were even more impressive than she'd thought. The two metals interwove in a fashion she'd seen in high-end shops; turians were enamored of the human techniques, paying massive amounts to ship original works from human artists. The practice was not unlike the asari penchant for the Egyptian culture artifacts.
"He just looked at me. It bounced off his chest, hit the floor, and he just looked at me. I can remember it like it happened yesterday," she drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I saw it roll and hit his boot – I found out later he'd just come back from haranguing some Alliance negotiator that wanted to relocate me from what little was left of my home."
Silence made a strong bid for dominance; Liara let the woman collect herself, processing the information. It made sense, it made many things about Shepard make sense. His antipathy to a relationship, an utter disdain for controlling others, and absolute fury ….
"Did you know Councilor Tevos and Ambassador Udina sprung the betrothal contract on us both?"
Lily paused, wiping her eyes. "That would not have gone over well."
A small shrug graced Liara's shoulders. "No. Tevos believes we are a desirable match. Udina agreed for reasons I do not know. Both elected to finalize the arrangement without our knowledge."
Something akin to satisfaction crossed the other woman's face. "Udina has always been a snake. James told Karl to watch him."
"A … snake?"
Lily waved it off. "Human expression. It means not to be trusted; very old reference."
She accepted it. "Regardless, neither Shepard nor I initiated this situation. But we will finish it."
"Good." Lily's hand covered the rings, lid clicking shut. "Returning to my story. He left, and never came back. Not even to his brother's wedding. I'd hoped when he found Talitha that he'd at least talk to me …."
Liara watched the digital image waver, looking pensive once more. On the one hand it seemed
"Why are you telling me this?" Liara asked.
"I said already. You—"
"That's different." Liara pointed at the box, then dropped her hand from the lens's view. "Telling me to not hurt him is one thing, but you're a Survivor, aren't you? One of the handful that escaped the Raid? That is information Shepard has kept secret. Why tell me?"
Another moment of silence dragged on. Ragged breathing shoved from the far side of the link, as the woman hid her face again. Her words came from behind the veil of hair. "It's my fault. If something happens again, he'll break. He'll … shatter. And then I don't know what will happen. I'm married now, but I can't let go, can't let anything happen to him again because of what I did."
Sense did not appear to be applying itself to the situation. She frowned, thinking hard. "How did you get this number?"
The woman snorted a sharp breath, an echo of a laugh, the first sign of levity during the entire conversation. "You think of that now? Karl hasn't taught you much."
"He's been trying to keep me alive," Liara countered. The flair of protectiveness didn't surprise her, the entire team had become close over the past two months. "Espionage isn't much more than an academic exercise for me. And you're changing the subject."
"A quick study, too?" Lily noted. "I know a man. He has all the numbers."
Pieces slotted together. "Talitha is your sister. Shepard didn't say who all survived, but I recognize her features. His brother is named James …?"
The screen went dark, hissing a final burst of static.
Liara sighed. "I suppose that answers that." A frown creased the tiny scales forming the surface between her ocular ridges. "Fiancée? Shepard never mentioned a fiancée."
Anger seethed along Shepard's bones in a pleasant heat. Rage hadn't fueled his decade-long vendetta, but it had added impetus when the cold nights had grown tedious. Emotional fools let their emotions control them; perhaps wise men preferred different methods but his own preference lay in frigid logic. 'Cold is better than hot. Always.'
It felt … right. Centuries of enslavement, if not longer, had existed under the Council's auspices. Billions of lives lost to Hegemony tactics, raider parties, and schemes transcending human comprehension, were halting even as he stepped on Alliance-issue deck plates. It may've taken longer than hoped, but the end result was coming. Destruction. Chaos. Damnation.
His cabin door hissed open, broad and welcoming. Less welcoming was the unexpected presence of Doctor Chakwas, holding a medical scanner on one Matriarch Benezia.
"Commander," the doctor's attention remained focused on the readout. "You are just in time."
Shepard glanced between the two, then at where the Matriarch stood: before his personal locker. "What are you doing?"
"Medical experiment," Chakwas informed him. "Please proceed, Matriarch T'Soni."
The asari gave what seemed to be a smile, based on the movement of her jaw. "Please, call me Benezia."
"After the investigation, perhaps." Chakwas did not flinch. "Now, continue please."
One longsuffering sigh later, and the old asari triggered Shepard's storage locker. It opened, displaying an array of weapons, preserved goods and reading material to the room at large.
A hiss escaped his control – that had been a secured locker, high end Alliance hardware. A good picklock would've needed hours to break it open, or tools available to professional metalworking industries, which made enough noise to wake the dead. Yet the Matriarch had popped it open like a toddler's play pen, just brushing her fingers against the interface's icons for less than five seconds.
"There's the spike again," Chakwas scowled. "Try something else."
Shepard cleared his throat, harder than polite company would accept. "Just what are you doing, in my cabin?"
The doctor didn't look up. "All of my office has been sacrificed for this already. Do not worry, Commander. She will not access anything sensitive."
He glanced at the exposed sniper rifle and ammunition blocks within the storage locker. "I would prefer her access to this room be allowed under personal supervision, Doctor. Unless it is a medical emergency, even which I require being informed."
A look of embarrassed realization crossed the doctor's bearing. "Of course, my apologies Commander. When I discovered this tendency, I did not take as much time to think as I should have."
"Accepted." He could let some things slide; he owed Chakwas a great deal. "How did she get in my locker?"
Another burst of tension ran through Chakwas's shoulders. "That is what I am determining. Every time she tries to get into a secure place, there is a spike of activity in the tertiary adjunct neural connection of the fornix. I have traced the burst to a concentration of semi-metallic implants within the choroid plexus – but there's a faint echo from somewhere in the cerebellum. It is very faint, and growing more so with each scan I take."
Translation to more layman's terminology filtered through. "You mean, there's a reaction in the center of her brain, connected to the back by some trigger mechanism?"
Chakwas's elbows lowered in surprise. "Yes, actually. Well done. It is artificial in nature, but degrading all the time, due to the nanites introduced to her system, I suppose."
"I remained in control far longer than my Maidens," Benezia spoke in quiet tones. "Every time my nanite cleansing cycle went active, it felt as though my thoughts were clearer. More … mine, as it were. Now I know."
"One more time, please." The doctor pointed at Shepard's wardrobe. "Try the door there. With the Commander's permission."
Wordless, Shepard nodded assent. The asari reached for the touch screen, and slid her fingers over the glowing screen. This time her shoulder bunched up, before her hand swiped across the glossy surface again. For a third time the fingertips traced an unusual pattern, one Shepard could almost recognize, before her hand dropped.
"It's no use," Benezia admitted. "It's gone now."
Chakwas lowered her implements. "For now. We will try again later, just in case. Commander."
Shepard gestured a farewell as the pair left his cabin. Surprise it had been, but at least the treatment would prevent another incident – or so he hoped. The fact that it occurred in the first place was worrisome.
"Shepard."
He looked up; the Matriarch stood outside the doorway, looking straight at him. "Were it not for the additional nanites you supplied me when I boarded your vessel, I fear I would not have stopped with opening doors."
The comforting weight of his ulfberht hung at the small of his back, monomolecular edge keen and ready. "How so?"
Her facial features quivered, an emotion not matched by the rest of her body. "I heard Saren's voice before. It whispered to me like a conscience as your people might describe. I've never heard it at a level greater than a whisper, but words have entered my vocabulary that I know I did not possess. But after the last injection, I've not heard any whispers – just felt an intense desire to explore everything on the Normandy. Doctor Chakwas was intelligent enough to keep me away from terminals, but if the effect had not worn off, I fear I would have sought out the weapons you keep and conducted a one-asari war against your crew."
Shepard blinked. "A Matriarch, on my ship. Fighting."
The woman's arms folded – and yes, she had all the hardware necessary to be classified as female, Shepard's analysis center reminded him – evincing mild embarrassment. "I may have not been in live combat for some time, but once I was part of the Silent Scream."
He shrugged. "Your biotics are formidable as well."
"That too," Benezia agreed. "Which is another reason I am grateful for your assistance. Should I have been … persuaded to become violent …."
The asari left, allowing the unfinished statement to hang there. He could hear the elevator slide shut, another passenger opting to take the slow route.
'Good point.' He made a note, pulling out a pad of actual paper from the desk. While expensive, there was no replacement for an object immune to wireless security breaches. 'Need to refine that heavy biotic invader protocol, it wouldn't have been a problem for a Hegemony elite, but taking down a Matriarch would have political ramifications.'
Faint vibrations started to make contact with his wrist, inaudible to even the most keen-tympanic'd salarian. This would take finesse.
A circuitous examination of the room revealed the rest of his possessions untouched – only the miniature armory had been disturbed. 'Bad enough, but not the worst that could've happened.'
Making another note to himself, Shepard resolved to reverse-engineer the hacking procedure that had eviscerated a safe as highly rated as an Alliance Special Operations storage device.
Quiet finger-tapping against his omni-tool band, nervous habit to the casual bystander, transmitted a basic code to the receiver. It was an old one, taught to every N7 operative once they reached a certain level in their training, obsolete in every human realm of business outside of hobbyists. The code used alternating taps to convey letter designations, a process invented by an ancient painter-turned-inventor.
A smile dared to present itself on Shepard's face. Taps, short and long, danced across the wristband. "Emrys. Good to hear from you."
Silent vibrations responded, translated by years of practice. "Likewise. Your efforts succeed?"
"As well as can be expected," the conversation took far longer than modern instant text-messaging or, Nathan Hale forbid, voice messaging. He tapped out an addendum. "Plan is active."
An answer was swift in coming. "Which?"
Vexed, Shepard paused before readjusting his mindset to that of the eccentric figure. Careful taps spelled out code names – no actual details. Even in his cabin there was a chance of compromised security as the Matriarch had proven. What if Hudson had contrived to place one of those high-security devices utilized by Cerberus? Terrorist groups thought little of ethical ramifications involving organic listening devices. One Talisian acoustic worm could absorb sound for years before needing relief, and triggered no metallic-base sensors.
"Mindoir Justice." Far more blatant than any true spy would accept – blunt honesty stumped lie-weavers. Not that there was anything that could be done about it; once the release code had been triggered, nothing could stop it. "Days ago."
A long period of silence followed. Shepard filled it through filing reports. The jump to a paperless society came slow and hard, but it was being done. Later than anyone would've assumed, but arriving nonetheless. There were forms requiring physical imprint, but far and few between. A bi-monthly report on ammunition requirements still sat in paper format, as was the final medical report, but the majority carried through the electronic realm.
"Numbers aren't clear." The vibrations against his skin returned. "Bellum Sev is locked for fifth time this year. Emigration numbers unaltered."
A slow, satisfied smile grew on Shepard's face. His response felt satisfying, like a long-anticipated meal finally being laid to rest on the table before his plate. "Patience. It's happening."
Shepard strode towards the center of the ship's upper deck, heart lighter than it had been in ten years. 'Choice is made. Trigger's pulled. No decision to make. Now to bring everything down on Saren's head. Reapers better be patient, I've no time for them today.'
"Pressley." He stopped behind the Navigator's position. "What's our ETA."
Agile hands swept across the control panel. "Two routes, Commander. Either we take the Relays indirect route, or utilize the Normandy's extended range to make an FTL jump straight to Sentry Omega. It's a difference of a week."
Shepard cocked his head, looking past the older man's face by deliberate choice. "Advantages?"
"Stealth, mostly." Pressley shrugged. "Fastest route is loud. We'd announce to the entire cluster a ship arrived with the Relays. Even if we run silent, it'll have to power up and down."
He made a decision. "Take the long way then. We haven't made a good test on the Hawking engine yet. Might as well see if it's worth all the tax dollars, yes?"
Surprise lifted Pressley's hair over his eyebrows – and then Shepard lost the imagery. "The slower route, sir?"
"SPECTRES are working on Saren's network in Council space," Shepard closed his eyes, thinking. "The teams working from Alliance space are almost done with the initial tally. A couple weeks either way won't do much more than give him enough rope to hang himself. Going Hawking route gives us some respite from all the messages too."
"Aye aye, Commander." The Navigator stepped up to the large projection, and began issuing orders through its orange-hued features. "Diverting course, setting up FTL calculations – ETA one one-way is a week and two days."
Shepard nodded, and tapped his omni-tool. A quick settings change connected his implement to the Normandy's PA system. "This is the Commander. We will be taking an extended FTL jump in less than three hours. I am authorizing increased bandwidth for messages, orders and family. If you are on duty, contact your superior. We will be out of contact for a week. That is all."
A flurry of activity skirted his presence, the eye of a hurricane if he were to wax poetic. Already half a dozen lines were open, from the screens fluctuating board. Another five connections popped into existence, signatures originating from the mess hall. He gave it even odds for maxed out usage within ten minutes.
"Pressley," he tapped out an authorization code. "Better triple the bandwidth. Give the transceivers a workout too."
"Aye, sir." The Navigator started working on the panel. "Something to keep an eye on; for a frigate of this size, the Normandy has an incredible data processing capacity. But the range could be improved, maybe Moscow class hardware? They're dedicated sensor cruisers. Something to check with the boffins."
"Good idea." Shepard ambled away, the picture of serenity as the crew fell into gradual chaos. A slow smile curved across his face, responded too in kind by the mini mob swarming around him. There were bad things happening in the galaxy, and bad people causing them. But here and now, there were a few things a man of his training could do to benefit his own people. A few hours to wait, and a reduced processor for the Prothean analysis was pittance compared to what he asked the crew and soldiers of the Normandy.
A/N: My extreme happiness in releasing another chapter! We're so much closer to the end now, and my writing has matured over the years in ways I'd never believed possible.
I'm at the point where I'm grading Undergrad homework assignments now. A far cry from when I started writing this tale in order to improve my own writing, yes?
Deep thanks to Nightstride and Proffartburger for their suggestions and input. My suggested reading is Mass Effect: Convergence by Lanilen (Story Code: 10979995). It has a lot of good points, and the writer is very gifted at what he does. Give him a try, you won't regret it. Well, much. Unless you don't like his style ... but I'm starting to remember why I don't use Author Notes too often. No political statements from me though, no grandstanding about what 'science' truly is, or how history should be read. This forum is for entertainment and learning the art of writing. Stay safe out there.
Excelsior!
