Virmire. In the annals of history, Virmire is a planet that shall be termed the best and worst example of preventative tactics. While the information is redacted from external files, I am confident there is sufficient data for discerning viewers to discern a true reason. Suffice to say there will be a reckoning for the individuals restricting information from the galaxy at large.
~Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer
Project Ragnarök Files
Shepard checked his omni-tool. The communications blackout prevented new material from entering the electronic mailing system, but there was nothing preventing him from reading old messages, or composing new ones. Once their deception was over, he'd send a new batch composed over the past few days, solidifying his future plans.
'Future plans.' He frowned at the verdant greenery. Everything he'd planned was in fruition – what was there to do now that the survivors had returned? 'Reapers will be a problem.'
That, as a lawyer of his acquaintance was fond of saying, was someone else's problem. Once Saren was gone, the issues of extra-galactic threats would fall to someone who worked well with the Alliance supervisory intelligences, or at least could stomach their amoral standards. He was done with even tangential cooperation. When the end justified the means, morals died, and so did anything worth fighting to save.
'They'll need weapons. Money. Hardware.' His thoughts turned cheerful. 'Mindoir has factories and shipyards. A few allies in the Outer colonies, and a lot of favors from the Inner. Shoot, maybe we can set up a resource-trade agreement with some of the bigger shipyards. We could turn the whole system into a war machine … might have to.'
The soft buzzing of comm-to-comm interference brought his attention outward. The salarians were performing their best analysis before him, and he was only making desultory notes? Better to break a bad habit before it started. It was not often even close allies as the Alliance and Salarian Union were able to observe top-rated operations.
Their maps were projected for all to see – Shepard would've bet his eyeteeth that there were additional maps marked with a far more elaborate conjurations out of sight. Council writing styles involved angular symbols in vertical columns, a Salarian invention. Republic Runewriting – better known as sarish was arranged left to right in a flowing script, graceful to read but less efficient.
"Saren enhanced his security after our third attempt," Kirrahe gestured at the map. "The internal dimensions are accurate as of thirty-seven days ago. Since then, the cloning chambers have been in full operation, and the geth installed a transmitter network across the entire compound with a surprising amount of redundancy."
One of the quarians nodded. "Standard protocol."
Kirrahe's head canted towards the suited soldier. "There is a standard operation protocol not shared to the Council?"
Jensen, the squad leader took a single sidestep, blocking the quarian's line of sight. "Already had a chat with the Flotilla. The Council received all known information three hundred years ago."
The salarian paused, then nodded. "Understood. Should you wish to share more data, I will listen."
Jensen smiled, before snapping his ocular protection shades back in place. "Happy to."
Shepard hadn't stopped studying the device. "Geth patrols, krogan inside. Full-spectrum scanners?"
"Apparently," Kirrahe rejoined the larger group. "After the geth installation we infiltrated four more times, testing security and checking perimeters. To date the jungle prevents infrared perception until twenty-seven minutes before sunset, and fourteen minutes after dawn, adjusting for solar noon rotation. Oklina?"
Another salarian stepped forward. His pure white armor looked incongruous with the jungle surroundings, but Shepard withheld judgement.
"Geth patterns indicate high-value targets here," tridactyl fingers pointed at the larger end of the compound. "Krogan interference probable. Geth sensors, krogan resilience … problematic. Drones detected before data achieved, krogan groups impossible to eliminate within time frame. But. Opportunity."
Kirrahe bobbed a sinuous motion. "The geth monitor underwater passages, but less than the other passageways."
"Three sites appear vulnerable," Oklina shifted the map into what seemed to be a cave system. Small points blinked white. "Weight-bearing walls are over here, here and here. Sufficient explosives should eliminate the support."
"Sapping charges." Shepard muttered. "Underwater? Dangerous."
Kirrahe shrugged again. "There is no guarantee of success. But it is the optimal approach, we believe."
Shepard's eyes closed. "The geth already know all of you. You want us to plant the charges."
"Accurate." Oklina's posture shifted in his direction. "Objections?"
"Yes." Shepard folded his arms; salarians were more wary of physical superiority than most, the tradeoff for possessing cartilage in greater quantities than bone. Using it felt like bullying, but to not use it would allow the cunning race an unfair advantage. "The Normandy can drop two rounds at my command. We need as much data from this site as possible, and my squads aren't known to the geth yet."
Kirrahe tapped his lower jaw. "Ah. I see. Outside Council authority, and the Traverse. You are authorized by the Alliance?"
"En-Seven Plus." Shepard turned sideways that the decorative emblem on his shoulder was visible. The ultraviolet component was visible to quarians, but salarians needed prompting. "For the specific purpose of eliminating Saren as a threat."
"Ah," the white-armored salarian murmured. "Eden Prime, significant colony. Threat increased above standard measures."
"Very well." Kirrahe restored the map to default settings, clearing the marks from before. "Secondary plan. You and Detective Vakarian would augment the attack. Do you have suggestions?"
A cold smirk escaped Shepard's control, reined in before it could do more than twitch his lips. "Delta squad and I take out geth patrols. I can stop their signals reporting back to the main processor."
"How?" the salarian they'd first met demanded. "There is no technology that can prevent a geth unidirectional broadcast network from detecting emissions within its perimeter."
"Because I'm special." Shepard offered a little grin. He let it fade. "Since we're working together, I can tell you it's nanotech. Something I've worked up for raiding military outposts. Are you familiar with the Kre-Chek scanner array?"
Kirrahe flexed in a fashion that seemed to quiet the irritable salarian's outburst. "Hegemony model. Top-of-the-line EMF detector, separate sensors covering micro and radio frequencies." His shoulders lifted then fell. "Breached on three separate occasions without known cause, two years ago. STG suspected Alliance involvement, but there were no official assets in the area. Your work, I presume?"
Shepard reached down to his belt. One of the pouches disgorged a small block smaller than his palm. "Two ways to get past one; strip your team of all electronics, or make a dead zone inside its perimeter."
Every salarian eye was focused on the tiny brick in his hand, as if it were worth more than the entire encampment and themselves. Kirrahe took a deep breath. "Nanotech."
"Yes." Shepard slipped the block back into its casing. "Created, programmed, and weaponized for Ey-Ay opponents."
The pensive posture resembled something still more contemplative. Thin tridactyl fingers tapped, until Kirrahe looked up. "You realize … I will have to report the existence of such a weapon to my government?"
Shepard snorted. "I'm retiring after this one. If the Alliance wants more of it, they'll have to find somewhere else to get it."
"I see." Kirrahe touched the side of a cranial horn, glancing to the sunrise. "Detective Vakarian is returning. Excellent."
Shepard's own HUD projected a friendly dot on his IFF scanner. Almost all Alliance personnel had a low-power reflector built into their omni-tools, one that absorbed certain frequencies on seldom-used bands. If observed with correct software, it revealed the identity of allied units as blue, unknown contacts as yellow, and known enemies as red. It all felt fantastic in some ways, but served its purpose admirably.
The lean, hard form of a turian hove into view. It raised an arm at Shepard, who responded in kind. Further back and covered in muck was the massive bulk of Wrex, striding as if he had performed a minor walk than sub-orbital landing. Behind them moved the rest of Alpha squad, specialized armors providing distinct outlines.
"Shepard." Garrus slowed near him. "Heard you come in for a landing. Maybe you should try using some pillows?"
He kept any humor from his face; the salarians seemed aghast, if intrigued. "Good thought. I'll put it on my to-do list, right after you get your water wings. Wrex still hasn't dried out his ear canals after your last time in the hot tub."
"Ooh," the turian snorted. "I'll have to do that."
Moment of badinage over, Shepard waved at a spot close by. "Making a new plan. The team here is good to go, but we need to make one try at getting inside, pull what data we can out of it."
"Crack open a geth stronghold, protected by krogan and all the resources a renegade SPECTRE can throw together?" an eye ridge rose. "Sounds like a Tuesday on your crew, Shepard. That … is a day in your week, right?"
"Third, depending on who you ask." Shepard nodded at the big krogan next. "Wrex."
"Shepard." The basso grunt responded. His large head tilted to view the salarians. "Snacks."
Shepard rolled his eyes. "Allies."
"Heh." Wrex eyeballed the salarians. "How many times does a krogan have to toss your legs off the fire pit before you're official snackfood?"
Shepard coughed in a meaningful fashion. "If I may?"
"Sure, sure. Just using a little krogan humor." Wrex glanced down at the nearest salarian, and sauntered away. Only an observant individual would've caught the way he licked his lips.
Shepard kept a straight face as the rest of the salarians faded back, body language almost screaming combat readiness. But it gave him an idea. He turned to Kirrahe. "How would your squad feel about using Wrex as bait?"
Saren's research outpost loomed in the near distance. Walls fifty feet high towered over the surrounding jungle, gray and steel surfaces dull against the multiple shades of green. Water pooled around one side, vines and other plants clear for hundreds of feet around its perimeter, a 'Kill Zone' in Alliance parlance. No wildlife moved into the clearing despite the abundance of open water and new growth.
Wrex strolled into sight, lumbering across a metal platform. His armor looked as if it had been scavenged from a dozen battlefields, pieced together with the vaguest ideas of coherence. Geth drones hovered past his form, scanning everything, one swung to perform a second scan, then flew on.
"This is the stupidest idea ever." Wrex's grumble was audible from the trees. "Look at me, I'm a krogan. All krogan look the same. Garbage."
Shepard suppressed a smile. The old warlord had almost jumped on the opportunity, learning of its potential.
A few moments later, Wrex strolled back into the trees. He waited until a few dozen paces into its cover before looking around. "Tell me yeh got it in there."
One of the quarians snickered. He was positioned before one of the salarian's computers, typing with greater speed than Shepard believed a three-fingered species capable. "Easy. They've boosted the base running time, but a little trigger here … add to the kernel there … got it. Self-updating, using the old codes."
Kirrahe looked impressed – or at least, Shepard interpreted his mannerism in such a fashion. The salarian said nothing, however. One of the few who understood tact outside of combat.
"The Board gave permission to use everything we knew to help," Kal'Reegar, one of the other quarian marines interjected. His broad shoulders appeared a bit out of place among the quarians, but he carried himself with the same ease recognizable among the rest. "The Geth War was a long time ago, but they're still based on the same code."
The squad leader whistled. "Three centuries on the same stuff? Must've been good stuff."
"Our best engineers created it through fifty years experiments, then a century of testing," the kneeling quarian added. "Reegar, the virus won't last long, but it should get us into the compound."
The broad-shouldered quarian nodded. "Understood. Sir?"
Shepard held a hand over his head, twirling it for attention. The rest of his squads broke off what they were doing and headed for the trees. "Good. Let's go."
He waited half a beat until the others had vanished into the trees, then looked at his counterpart. "Up for a friendly wager?"
Garrus hefted his modified Council-issue rifle. "First kill, last kill, most kills?"
"Good. Terms?"
"Hmm," the turian slowed his pace to match Shepard's. "I can't match your money. But how about something intrinsic? You collect weapons, don't you?"
"I've been known to keep a few," Shepard smiled. It felt good to share a conversation with someone else. His social skills felt rusty, but … they'd been receiving a workout ever since this mission had begun. He felt a momentary pang, contemplating the end of the mission, Saren's demise and his own retirement. Then he pushed the emotion aside. "Three pieces for losing the sweep?"
"Done. One per win," Garrus agreed. "I have a few artifacts at home. They need new edges to keep them company."
Shepard hefted Excalibur, the custom manufacture rifle he'd received near the beginning of this venture. "I'll make sure they have a nice display."
The Mantis in Garrus's hands unfolded. "We'll see."
By then they'd reached the edge of the trees, looking into the compound. Both squads were halfway across the open ground, taking advantage of the mild friend/foe alteration the quarians had made to geth processes. Four more snipers peeled off, joining their squads, hurrying to keep up.
Shepard picked up the pace, feeling sweat start to drip down the side of his face. Garrus looked the same, if less moist; turians lacked the same cooling abilities that humans had, but possessed other benefits instead.
"First." The Mantis was up on the turian's shoulder, barking the same melodious twang all eezo-based firearms seemed to sing. Far up on the compound roof a bipedal unit toppled, receiver array built into the light-emitting unit shattered.
Shepard followed up a moment later, sending an armor-piercing round through the main processor of a geth sniper. The near-invisible construct faded into sight, releasing its hold on the wall before falling. "Second."
After that it was a steady noise, solitary units picked off at range. Unlike most organic species, geth possessed the capacity to perform forensic analysis within minutes, following trajectories with ease. The small powder application being released by Wrex in the forefront of the assault squad was paying dividends for such an expensive investment.
Shepard took a long step to the left, lining up another shot. Where he once stood became the repository of a dozen high-velocity rounds. "They're onto us."
"Yep," Garrus took a half-step forwards, ducking into a kneeling posture. His shot blew through something Shepard didn't take the time to identify. The gun cams would record the evidence, anyway. "Think they'll pull out the artillery soon?"
Another two steps put Shepard beyond the next counter barrage. "This feels too easy, like it's a trick."
"So long as it's our trick," Garrus paused, squeezing his trigger. "Seventeen."
He hissed. "Drones? Fine."
"We've breeched," Jensen's voice came in over his earpiece. "Coming, sir?"
Shepard jogged again, letting his forward motion be an answer. An Alliance Marine needed to cover ten miles in less than an hour as the very minimum entry qualification. After gene modification, training and peer pressure, most could pull off the same distance in less than thirty minutes.
On his part, Shepard tapped a command into the Nightstalker armor, reducing his mass. The resulting acceleration kept him on par with a quarian athlete, crossing the mere couple hundred yards in seconds. His velocity stopped just in time to allow him an opportunity to whip the rifle's stock around without thinking, crushing a geth Destroyer's fuel line.
"Crap!" a reflex burst from his eezo-enhanced gauntlet shoved the unit back, into a pair of krogan. One fired its shotgun, rupturing the already jammed fuel cell.
His squad was already taking cover as the fiery explosion rocked the ground. Tongues of flame stabbed towards Shepard, deterred by his defensive screens.
"Hell of an entrance, Shepard," Wrex's shotgun boomed across the room. A tight series of holes appeared in a Prime's torso, penetrating a weakened barrier. "The turian coming?"
"Yeah," Shepard leaned backwards against the wall, allowing a rocket trooper's ordnance flash past. It exploded on the far wall, sending rock shards against the entire party. "He's just behi-"
Garrus vaulted over the edges of the new opening like an action movie hero, landing in a half crouch to sweep the passage both directions with his assault rifle. "I'm here. Anybody miss me?"
One of the salarians, Oklina it seemed with the white armor, snorted. "Turian bravado. Typical. Unnecessary."
"Where to?" Jensen's eyepieces glinted in the mixed lighting. His own preferred weapon, a light machine gun, made a happy metallic noise as it cooled. "Not that I don't mind the whole 'he said, she said' thing. But where do we need to go from here?"
"This way," Shepard checked his visor, scanning the area. New geth units would arrive soon, they did need to move.
Their progress was swift, in keeping with professional training. Metal halls passed by, small bunches of geth taken down with disciplined fire, rarely given the opportunity to counterattack. Quarian software upgrades rendered their presence invisible, and a medium-sized fortune of nanotech powder ensured every unit in proximity suffered a cascade failure in the communications array, necessitating a hard restart.
Small storage rooms gave way to medium-sized laboratories, tanks of growth medium bubbling along the edges while mechanized hardware processed massive glassware flats. Very few organic beings populated the area, save for smaller krogan, armored with what looked like mass-produced plate armor and geth weaponry. One asari gave them a single look, screamed, and dove out a window.
He ignored her. In the grand scheme of things, she was unimportant.
But the rooms were becoming larger, armor-grade material making up some of the doors. It seemed nonsensical how some of the doors were built to keep out heavy weapons, while others seemed just thick enough to deter an anemic zephyr.
Shepard checked his onboard map; they were getting close. His attention returned to the fight.
Off to one side he could see Wrex, a single-man squad, taking down threats with an ease surpassing Shepard's personal best. He squashed down a pang of envy, after witnessing the krogan pick up an actual geth Prime unit by the legs, using it as a battering ram on the smaller units collecting behind its bulk.
'Organic biotics,' he observed a faint flicker shimmer over the biggest machine's form as Wrex's hands let go. 'Faster than artificial. I could train for years in this armor without pulling off that kind of technique.'
He settled for putting away the sniper rifle, awkward in the confines of a building, and drawing his blade. A practice flourish ensured its weight settled into his muscle memory, its length clear in his mind's eye. Any fool could play with sharp edges; it took practice to for one to continue playing.
Reducing his mass again, Shepard made an inspired dash, blade falling from a high position to low. While no monomolecular edge, the material was sharp enough to relieve an enemy krogan of his side arm.
'Missed.' Shepard rotated with the backswing, bringing his blade back up and through. The species was legendary for durability, but not even a krogan could survive a pair of severed carotid arteries. Just to make certain, he quick-drew his sidearm, sending a series of armor-penetrating shells through the underside of the krogan's jaw. 'Sloppy. Slow.'
Pushing harder, Shepard slammed his sword into the crack of a locked door. One hand slapped the metal surface, the other manipulated a control sequence around the hilt. Opposing biotic forces traveled through the blade and gauntlet, rupturing the two halves open. 'Thin enough metal.' Boosting his personal shields, Shepard dodged through, lunging left while another marine lunged right. 'Would've been handy back at that pirate base. Airlocks should be thinner.'
His pistol found its way back in action, spitting fury at another krogan – this one had shields up at full power but bloodied flanks, charging with every sign of berserker rage gleaming in its eyes.
High-caliber pistol rounds splattered off the oncoming krogan's shields, depleting its capacitor too slow for effectiveness. Just as Shepard powered up the Nightstalker's eezo hardware, something blurred from the side, knocking the four-hundred pound alien off into the wall. The blast shattered what was left of the shield, devastating to the senses.
"Thanks," Shepard nodded at Garrus.
"Predictable," the turian nodded at the stunned behemoth, loading another concussion charge. A second blast pulverized essential components, finishing the job.
He took a moment to scan the room. Alliance Marines were halfway through what looked to be a supplies cache, a communications specialist downloading copies of everything digital. It was a perfect storm of engineered violence, chaos in all its beauty.
"Main center just ahead," Kal'Reegar had a rocket launcher pointed at their entrance point. The first oversized Colossus frame they'd encountered so far lay in a smoking pile of spare parts at the far side of the latest opening. "Better make this quick!"
Frowning, Shepard glanced at his countdown clock. The geth were reacting faster than hoped. To be expected; their run times were operating at rates above what even the most pessimistic quarian engineer had predicted. Something about their association with Sovereign enhanced both their reaction and problem-solving capabilities – Shepard wasn't sure what it was, but he didn't like it.
The next burst of enemy fire came from outside the laboratory, rather than deeper inside the compound. An encouraging sign.
Two quarians flanked the same opening Kal'Reegar was covering, body language bespeaking utmost glee. One was fabricating rounded explosives, carving chunks of material from the wall and feeding them into a trio of minifacturing furnaces housed in his omni-tool. While slow, the device's outputs were steady. Two out of every three grenades went to the partner marine, who lobbed them at prospective targets at random. Between the two of them, the entrance seemed secure.
Shepard nodded at the Light Assault marine, standing at his side. "Keep high, watch for drones."
"Sir." The marine stepped back, then vaulted into the air, rocketing up the twenty feet between the ground and first available ledge. Thrusters set into the soldier's pack limited the amount of supplies one could carry, but the added mobility was an acceptable tradeoff.
Having an extra set of eyes watching from above was helpful. But it did nothing for the pervading aura keeping Shepard's nerves on edge. It felt like an old drug compound he'd eradicated once, when half-civilized pirates had experimented with some kind of ancient hardware and red sand. In retrospect, it might've been a Reaper artifact.
"Hate this place." Wrex grumbled. "It's … wrong."
Shepard froze – after learning of asari mental abilities, Alliance military forbade any fraternization between its members and the blue-skinned aliens. But Wrex had just spoken what was on his own mind like a mind reader. A common thought everyone had, mind control outside of a specific individual? Reaper mind workings? This was so far above his pay grade it wasn't remotely funny.
"Heads on a swivel." He resolved to watch his thoughts. More than he usually did. "Stay sharp people."
The next door opened outward unlike every other door he'd seen in Council space, a vault-like construct wider than Wrex, were he lying down. Titanic slabs of metal parted, revealing a short hallway that appeared to have much in common with the worse Hegemony detention facilities, including easily-washed floors, and walls that could double as trash compactors. A slender opening leaked illumination from the far side, smaller than the entrance, and more traditionally shaped.
'Small door there, big door here.' Shepard took a long look at the oversized security doors, bigger than one could find on many battleships. 'Saren's trying to keep something inside.'
"The far side open?" he took a slow step forward. Nothing creaked, or otherwise hinted at potential imminent death. "I'm going in."
"Sir." Siegfried, the lead for Alpha squad gestured, sending one of the Mech armored units forward. The pilot's cheerful grin was evident through the Meneleus's power armorfaceplate. "Stay behind the scary man with a gun," Siegfried flashed a grin. "Try to not shoot the Council's eyes and ears either."
Shepard rolled his eyes. The squads were becoming more and more protective as time progressed; annoying to one used to solo operations, but heartening too. Adjusting was easier than he'd feared, but the faint hint of betrayal hummed through his veins whenever one of them stepped forward to take damage in his stead.
The far side had a vault-like door on par with the larger end, scaled down. At that size the door's massiveness couldn't be hung on typical hinges, but inched outwards, then sideways. Rails seemed to be involved, rolling back metal too dense for even battleship-grade use.
Deeper, behind the doorway, was gloom. Shadows playing with light, twisting in unnatural angles – Shepard could feel an almost palpable presence weighing down on his mind. 'No. Not … like that.' His thoughts were churning slower, reflexes operating on reduced efficiency. 'There's something in there.'
"Sergeant," he called over his shoulder.
Siegfried cocked his head in his direction.
"This is a direct order, recorded just in case. If we don't come out in ten minutes tops, close the door and get out of here ASAP. Then contact the Normandy, and tell them to do an orbital strike. That's an order."
The big man glanced inside, then back. "Yes sir."
Satisfied, Shepard pushed on, flipping to infrared. Nothing revealed itself, at least at their angle. Sharing a look with the turian – which he interpreted as being correctly deciphered when the turian began readying another concussive blast – he slipped out several flash-bangs from his belt.
"Olsen," he nodded at the oversized power armored individual. "Garrus and I go in, left and right. You come down center. Anything moving, make it stop moving."
"Clear." The armor pilot rumbled. Rather than the usual rotary carbine armaments, this model featured a pair of shotgun-style installations, if one could use such a name for something that could shred through geth shielding, armor and inner plating. Localized artillery was a better term, or knock-knock's in the parlance of Power Armor divisions.
The armor settled in a ready position, both arms lowered in the textbook preparatory posture. "Ready when you are."
Shepard stalked forwards, matched by Garrus's predatory stride. He didn't need to look to know the turian was waiting on his command, and nodded. Raising three fingers, he dropped them one by one. As the last one clenched the two burst forward at a run, the entire room erupting in light and sound.
First in, Shepard wheeled right, sweeping the area for targets. Behind, Garrus came out a fraction of a step later, spinning left to do the same. A half second after that, the mechanized armor pounded into the room, weapons raised.
"Clear right," Shepard guided his pistol's flashlight across multiple platforms, checking over and under for hidden body parts or weapon emplacements.
"Clear left." Garrus repeated.
"Big momma …." The marine final uttered.
Shepard paused. "Big …" then his eyes caught sight of the odd bit of construction in the center of the room. "Oh."
In the center of the room, surrounded by girders of galvanized metal, stood a Beacon. Its similarity to the construct on Eden Prime was absolute – its base curved upwards to support a collapsed cylinder. Dull metal and blue-green lights contrasted across its surface, Prothean script running in too-fast-to-read lines across the transparent portions. Faint scrapes were visible on the lower portion, scorch marks running up the back side of the main column, yet it gave an impression of implacable presence; fifty thousand years had thrown everything possible at the construct, resulting in near nothing.
But below it, and to one side, sat a metal sphere. Or rather the remains of such a sphere. Its circumference was sliced in half, as if by a knife larger than Shepard's leg. Unlike the Beacon, this device looked almost … organic. Faint scars were visible along the outside surface, healed over in tiny ridges. Lines like circuitry orbited through the external surface, a few lines leaving the first half of the sphere, leaning over into the second part.
Shepard stared at the wires. 'Are those … throbbing?'
The smaller lines glowed brighter, seeming to expand under his gaze. It was hypnotic, pulling his attention towards the cool light. It almost felt like the room was growing colder, humidity throwing a dank chill over the dim structure.
"Commander," Garrus caught his attention. The coldness faded, adrenaline surging back. "Can you work your magic on that Beacon?"
Shepard swallowed, and put the strange artifact out of mind. The last time he'd approached a dedicated Beacon, he'd wound up in a very bad place. Liara – Doctor T'Soni – had been injured. Saren had almost successfully started off hostilities between the Salarian Union and the Alliance.
But that was before.
'Got experience now, and the Cipher.' Shepard took another step up the small walkway. He glanced down at the small bisected sphere below. Its construction felt … cold. Inhuman. But the thermal readings on his armor registered no altered temperature. 'Must be my imagination. The Beacon is important. Sell it for another dozen dreadnoughts … shoot. A gross of dreadnoughts.'
He surprised himself when the Beacon's base came into sight. Emotion was shoved to one side, helpful but unnecessary. 'Get to work.'
"Vakarian," he didn't look over his shoulder. "If I start floating, hit me with a concussive round."
Deep disapproval met his words, he could sense it. The cold deepened, chilling to the bone. On the Beacon itself, the green lights began to glow red.
"Got it Commander," the turian moved away, adopting a ready position. "But I really hope it's not necessary."
"That makes two of us." Shepard reached out, hesitating one more moment, and touched the plinth. Instinct shifted his hand to one side, laying his first and second finger atop two long strips of green light that brightened at his touch. "Huh. Nothing hap-"
"The war goes badly. Systems are falling; retreat is impossible. Volunteers are carrying Sunfire Death aboard the Reapers, detonating themselves with the Cursed Ones. Sectors Twelve and Thirteen no longer respond, Sectors One through Five are almost lost."
An insectoid face turns towards him, rising to stay level. "Warnings are being sent throughout the Network. This reaches you, visitor. Prepare. No matter how strong you are, become stronger. You fight enemies that destroy the stars, care nothing for civilization. They seek to destroy everything – remove all life from the galaxy."
Black tendrils float into sight, wisps of dark smoke. "Reapers are our enemy, but they are not our downfall. The last reports from," the words are unintelligible, giving the sensation of an asteroid field of dwarf planetoids. "Show these Ghaik are connected to something bigger. The Arthropods flee the presence of a single sphere, attacking with everything an entire division brings to bear, against orders. They will be Purged."
More images pour past, ships taking and giving fire, exploding in the dozens while taking down half their number in Reapers. More of the insectoid beings appear, but now it looks like the appearance is due to strange armor, lined and organic appearing.
"Other monstrosities are fighting the Reapers. We are but bacteria in their sight. Bio-contamination, used to inflict minor wounds on the Reapers. Over five million Beacons have been launched – we estimate less than a thousand will remain afterwards."
Shepard hissed, pulling back. The scene wavered, coming into focus again. More information pressed itself into his brain, data translating itself into numbers. Plans. Past battles and figures.
"Strongholds may exist by the time this message is received. Coordinates are sent. This cycle is older than we realize – lies to overwhelm, but not all false. Do not ally with them. Do not seek trade. Do not trust the Reapers or the Abominable Ones. Slay their intermediaries. Destroy any place granting them refuge, it is too late to save them."
An expanded view of the galaxy from above the galactic plane. Fuzzy blobs circulate in multiple groupings, fading one by one.
"The Reapers come from without, but the Abominable Ones dwell within, seeking, always seeking planets of water. All are death traps. Avoid at all costs."
Strange eyes bore outwards, yellow-brown defeat against a backdrop of loss. Pain fills its thoughts in a final blast.
They came too fast. Our greatest discovery calls them, the center of the Empire. Forbears were enslaved to maintain – their memories are all of servitude. They cannot be freed. May the Hunter guide you, may the Aspects prevail. Death to the Reapers! Death to the Abominable Ones!"
Shepard reeled back, stunned. The entire speech resonated through his brain, overpowering conscious thought as its impact percolated into its depths. It took him three tries before he could close his eyes, forcing the eyelids down through sheer force of will. An almost equal amount of effort was needed to bring them back up again.
"What happened?" Olsen's matching shotguns were pointed directly at the Beacon, a dangerous level of charge whining upwards through their circuitry. "Commander!"
"'m'okay," Shepard slurred. Colors seeped back into his vision, bringing life back into the world. For a moment he tried to overpower the urge to complain. Cursing was clinically proven to reduce pain's impact, but he'd cultivated an approach eschewing such limited creativity. Therapeutic or not, there was an image to maintain – he decided on a compromise.
"Ow."
The turian detective pivoted into view, scanning the corners. "Think you can stand down, Olsen. He sounds alive."
Shepard's muzziness began to clear as the lighthearted chuckles broke the chamber's silence. The sound faded, as if the room itself disapproved of levity. But before he could investigate the strange element, another anomaly made its presence known.
"You. Are not Saren."
Dark tones; metallic and artificial. If a glacier were given voice, it would have a similar sound. Ice would've seemed warm by comparison. Humans could live on the ice worlds; Noveria was a prime example. But the mechanical emptiness encapsulated here brought mental images of the solid methane comets, forever drifting through the void.
Above, red lines stitched themselves together in an outline Shepard could recognize. There was only one construct in the galaxy that resembled such a shape, and he had been studying it until his eyes bled. Insectoid legs extended as if the projection stood midair before them, a tiny, tiny fraction of its focus brought to rest upon them. There was no anger in the thing's bearing, or appreciation – the utter lack of empathy sent tingles down Shepard's spine.
"Reaper." Shepard made sure his recording suite was active. He had to swallow, trying to remove the dry sensation. "Sovereign?"
"Reaper." The voice froze the air for a moment, evaluating him, disregarding the rest of his squad. "Prothean term. A rudimentary attempt to label that which was their destruction. In the end, what you choose to call us is irrelevant. We simply, are."
Coldness drew at Shepard's thoughts again. For a moment it felt as if he were standing in an unending ocean floor, countless tons of frigid water above and eons of time watching from alien eyes without. He shook himself back to reality. For a heartbeat it felt as if the spherical construct lying half-disassembled beside the Prothean artifact was looking at him, but the sensation vanished.
"A machine." Shepard watched its motions. Despite the obvious artificial components, it gave an impression like some old arachnid, lurking above an ancient web. He did not appreciate the subconscious portions comparing himself to a fly. "Destroying the Protheans, their predecessors. A cycle, why?"
"Creatures of blood and flesh, fumbling in ignorance, incapable of understanding." The blood-red projection rotated, seeming to notice the scattered machinery attached to the Beacon. "Organic life is nothing but a genetic mutation. An error. Lives that fail to survive a fraction of our own. We, are eternal. The pinnacle of evolution and existence. Before us, you are nothing. Your extinction is inevitable. We, are the end."
"How many did the Protheans kill?" Shepard felt one corner of his mouth raise. An old Nordic saying about those who taunted more powerful men needing few new shirts crossed his mind, but he ignored it. There was a strong urge to find a very large boot, and introduce it to the Reaper. "How 'eternal' did they prove?"
"Arrogance. Ignorant confidence. The cycle cannot be broken." Sovereign's spidery limbs tilted, as if sensing prey. "The pattern has arisen more times than you can fathom. Organic civilizations rise, evolve, advance, and at their apex, are extinguished. The Protheans were not the first. Yours will not be the last. Others will find the Mass Relays, and then the Citadel. The Legacy of my kind."
Shepard nodded. "You control growth. Guide research, by providing examples."
"Your civilizations are based upon the Mass Relay technology. Our technology. You exist because we allow it. You will end because we demand it."
"Harvesting us, after we reach Mass Relays. What do you get out of it? Why go through all that effort?" He hoped for any answer – but doubted it would be helpful.
"My kind transcends your very understanding." Sometimes he hated being right. "We have no beginning, we have no end. We, are infinite."
His arms folded on instinct, there was something about the dialogue that unsettled him. More than the concept of speaking with an almost definite mass murderer on a scale beyond comprehension. "Destroying civilizations at their height … why do you need to harvest them after they reach the Relays?"
"We are legion. The time of our return is coming." It ignored his question, light collecting and shattering along its crystalline axis. "We are each a nation. Independent. Free of all weakness. You cannot even grasp the nature of our existence. There is no equal. No civilization has, or can, ascend to our existence."
"I doubt you sprang into existence without help," Garrus put in. "Basic thermodynamics. Unless now you're claiming the Reapers were formed with all the stars during the Great Light?"
"We were there when the Great Light began. We will remain after its ruin. Your progenitors fought against reality. They failed, as you shall fail."
Shepard thought hard, pulling free at last from whatever malaise tugged at his mind. Just out of the corner of one eye he saw the spheroid sparkle a dark blue, and fade. He put that out of mind too, for later consideration. "You needed Saren to do your dirty work. The Rachni. Now you have the geth. Why proxies? What is it you fear?"
"I am the vanguard of your destruction." Dark red lights flared, rumbling tones that shook their footing. "Your purpose in this cycle is coming to an end. The data you have provided contains no new contributions. This cycle, has failed."
"Abominable One." Shepard wasn't sure what made him speak up. But there was a feeling from the vision, that Reaper was different from Abominable One. "You're going up against something … you need organics as foot soldiers. Armies against … something. What are they?"
The projection rose, arms folding beneath itself. "A term for a forgotten race doomed to destruction. This cycle, or the next. Your fates are enjoined. This exchange is over."
Instinct once again came to Shepard's rescue. He covered his helmet's faceplate with a forearm, protecting the more vulnerable transparent material from debris as the projection exploded. Metal snapped, groaned and collapsed, breaking apart under forces invisible to the naked eye. His suit, hardened against interference as it was, sparked, a readout fading out of existence before reappearing as a fuzzed parody of itself.
Beside him, the power armor froze in place, unmoving despite the efforts of the pilot within. "Servos offline sir! Main power dee-see'd!"
Shepard reached out, slapping the eight-foot tall warrior's nearer pauldron. "Go straight to reboot, skip the checklist."
"Uh, Commander?" Joker's anxious voice came over the comm. "Don't want to break silence, but Sovereign just pulled off a Whifferdill I'm not sure I could do in a drone. Looks like you're getting company soon, might want to get out of there?"
A quick command sequence increased Shepard's mass, sending a weight neutralization field from his gloves. Nightstalker armor was designed for fast bursts, as a force multiplier, not sustained events. But after equipment failed, he'd still be capable of killing anything that crossed his path; a biotic of similar gifts would not.
He managed to haul the multi-hundred pound pilot out of the safe room, and five steps beyond before the hardware shuddered. The glowing effect sparked to life, then rapidly faded. It took a prodigious amount of skill, plus a long paint scrape on his armor before the soldier's weight was safe on the floor.
"Incoming Shepard," Siegfried's weapon spat rapid-fire bursts at the far doorway. Its new, larger appearance demonstrated significant firepower opposing their progress. A quick tilt of the rifle sent a jet of excess heat away, and the big human scrambled into cover as a quarian took his place. A grenade bounced off the covering rubble, detonating in a flash. "Glad you could make it."
Shepard slammed the side of his gauntlet into his thigh, shaking it out. It pulsed, sending a dark blue orb of biotic energy into the floor by his boot. The hardened plating decayed under the energy, accomplishing in seconds what took natural forces a century.
"Damn it," Shepard tried for a restart on the sensitive eezo-laden portion of his armor. The command returned back negative. "Sarding pits of Carkoon!"
Another burst of heavy fire brought his attention back to the fight. Kal'Reegar had his own assault rifle out, a steady defensive fire keeping the geth back. Standing over him one of Alpha squad's Heavy marines had an LMG, its unending rate of fire granting the others a chance to catch their breath – none were so foolish as to relax. Those few moments one could spend reloading, gulping from a canteen, or just motionless breathing were worth their weight in nanites.
"We are Omega!" Shepard underhanded a grenade of his own through the passage, adding its restrained thunder to the cacophony. "Everyone to the El-Zee, repeat, pull out to El-Zee!"
One of the salarians in a different corner of the room triggered the side door. This passage was a dead end, terminating in a storage closet – but explosives made an opening simple.
Shepard made a mental note to avoid guerilla conflict with this salarian's group. They maximized their native gifts, always thinking, leveraging advantages; despite all his training, he'd lacked the floor plan they'd obtained or had the time to calculate if the walls were weak enough for egress. Part of the perils of needing more than ten hours of sleep per week.
"Exit secure. Go! Go!" Kirrahe appeared at the other end of the tunnel, beckoning.
"You heard the man," Shepard checked, making sure the power armor set was up and running. In this case, he literally was, he and his massive shield generator leading the way. "Go!"
The general logistics of a dozen Alliance marines, six quarians, a krogan and a turian using the same exit would've taken time. But trainedprofessionals knew how to alternate transit, ducking after each other until the last two tossed double handfuls of explosives into the room as they egressed.
For Shepard, the next fifteen minutes were a blur. Geth being geth had mapped their route almost before the last mote had fallen, and set about throwing as much hyper-accelerated rounds in their way as possible.
"Shroud up!" he threw a block of nanites into the wall, sending an expanding silver cloud into the air. It was like using a three million credit MRI machine as a place to hang finger paintings, but with less heartwarming sentiment.
Oklina showed up, waiting for the group at the next intersection. "Path clear. Suggest we hurry. Baffle duration?"
"Thirty seconds," Shepard clutched another fifty million credits worth of nanites in one hand. The programmed actions flowed from his HUD into the tiny brick, altering their capacities. "Move!"
For a change, he envied the quarian's adrenaline reflex. Unlike humans with their 'Fight or Flight' option, quarians entered what they called a Cold State. It gave a minor boost to physical endeavors, but surpassed all other species at accelerating thought processes. As he watched, the six quarians identified targets, taking out six geth units in two seconds, without communicating so far as he could tell.
Meanwhile the human marines compensated by running hell-bent for leather, as his old Sergeant called it, relying on reflexes and training to take out targets of opportunity.
'More cross-training,' he made a mental note. 'Get the quarians to single out targets, get the humans to haul mass. Good combination.'
He himself slid across another opening, Excalibur in his hands. One brief second was all he had, but the Prime unit poised to enter had a large target above its shoulders. It shattered nicely.
Then the outside was visible, the actual trees and ankle-deep water that seemed omnipresent on Virmire. Shepard frowned – a kill zone surrounding Saren's base was known as that for a reason. Before he could object, he was out and running for the trees, the first of the group.
"Light 'em up!" a hoarse voice boomed. It took a second before Shepard placed it as belonging to the salarian's whom had stayed behind.
Three of the Heavy marines had remained behind as well, each armed with an LMG that now operated in tandem. Constant fire raked the structure above and behind Shepard, driving back the pursuing geth forces.
A lone krogan, flash-cloned markings obvious, bulled its way across the field. He saw a Mech take it on a frontal charge, lifting the krogan off the ground and tossing it, only to flee.
Shepard spun to a halt in the open, without cover. Instinct drove his attention to the rooftop, where something floated into sight. For a moment he thought it was Garrus – lanky build, lean constructed armor, and a helmet designed for a turian's longer skull. Bright blue flashes erupted from the hovering platform, and the hair on the back of Shepard's neck rose.
"Scatter!" he took his own advice, taking short, quick steps to avoid the fire. In response he slapped the sniper rifle's stock into his shoulder, sending an armor-penetrating round back.
It hit something, but what he didn't know. The flying turian's attention snapped to him, one arm rising in Blackwatch classical preparatory techniques for biotics.
Shepard fired a second round, and dodged again. Reality-warping energy throbbed past his cheek, turning water into steam. The explosion pushed him off his feet, sending the sniper rifle out of reach.
"Work, damn you. Work!" Shepard swept through the activation sequence on his Nightstalker armor, trying for the element zero enhancements again. They flared to life launching a Warp sphere so powerful it disintegrated the emitters on his hand upon release. "Kriffing' Son of a bolen!"
"Who taught you that?" Garrus's dry voice came over the radio. "Your mother would be shocked, I tell you. Shocked."
Deep anger surged through Shepard's mind. Clarity fought to escape his grasp, kept close through sheer force of will. Whatever had happened wasn't Garrus's fault, ignorance wasn't a sin. Most of the time.
Looking up, wondering at the lack of continued fire, he saw the flying board lowering itself in jerking drops, skidding sideways until clipping the sodden vegetation. Its pilot seemed unperturbed, dismounting from its shuddering arrival as if stepping from an escalator to the next floor down. Doing so exposed its profile, prosthetic implants glowing a dull color under the sunlight.
"Shepard," the turian's voice sounded more metallic than a typical turian's. It was deep, commanding; capable of inspiring followers to great deeds. "I was afraid you wouldn't arrive in time."
Using his off gauntlet, Shepard readied another salvo. Around him the rest of the squads were continuing a slow retreat. 'Good. Enemy stronghold, no place for a chat.'
One squadmate, then another opened fire. The diffracting shield surrounding Saren darkened, absorbing every shot. A grenade detonated against its surface, darkening a larger portion that two quick-eyed salarians hit three times with sniper fire. Nothing penetrated; a chance look showed bits of metal making tiny ripples in the water surrounding the downed turian, kinetic energy spent.
They stopped at Shepard's signal. For his own part, he continued to step back, watching the geth units congregate. Every instinct urged him to dive for the custom sniper rifle he could now see half sunk, but experience forced him to watch the greater danger. Any move could be an attack, worse than all but the most fanatic of Hegemony elites. "Saren Arterius."
"Face to face at last," the taller turian gestured and all geth units froze in place. "Perhaps we may speak? An impressive effort, by the way. My geth were convinced your krogan was one of my own. Not that I can allow you to disrupt my operations, or should I say, disrupt them further."
A smirk crossed Shepard's face, gone before it finished forming. "I try."
"A formidable opponent. You use both battle and economics to defeat your enemies. I wonder what surprises you have in store for the Hegemony? Their outer colonies are … disturbed."
Shepard lost any sense of humor, anger slamming against the barrier keeping it in check. "They destroyed colonies. Murdered, raped, pillaged across Council space, and tried to do the same thing to the Alliance. Sound familiar?"
The turian lifted his head, releasing the short, rapid-fire barking noises that stood for laughter amongst his species. "Comparing my actions to slavers and thieves? Geth are synthetic; they kill opposition and have no lust."
"Husks," Shepard kept his temper down, focusing on the soon-to-arrive ride. "Rape is taking someone's body without permission. Geth put living humans on pikes, and take their lives. No difference."
That stopped Saren. "Interesting point. I will not apologize for employing brutal tactics – I require results, and have no time for half-hearted measures, much like your own efforts." Mandibles rose and fell. "Ah, but this is circling the flagbearer. You understand that I cannot allow you to leave? Sovereign will be pleased with your capture."
Shepard shrugged, a sensation of confusion beginning to make its dangerous connection through his brain. "Reapers don't take prisoners."
"True," Saren acknowledged. "But they do take servants."
This time the teeth escaped Shepard's control, lips lifting in a carnivore's threat display. "I am no one's slave, Saren."
"Slave is a strong word," Saren paced left, stepping through the water like a parade instructor, finding a protruding rock and ascending its minimal height. "You do not understand what is at stake here. What I am creating."
Shepard bent, lifting his rifle from the mess. Water poured out of its barrel, matching the disgusted look on his face. "Lies and death. That's all you create. I've found Prothean archives, old ones going back before their fall. In the beginning, their end began with traitors at high-level positions. Like Councilors. Like you."
Saren's head shook. "I'm too valuable. So long as I prove I have value, I can prove that both machine and organic can coexist. That is my goal, Shepard. The Reapers cannot be stopped, but we can prove organics are reasonable, and can be useful."
"And the krogan?" Shepard sensed Wrex's attention come to a laser-point focus. "You have a lot of krogan around here, Saren. None are from Tuchanka."
"That is part of my undertaking," Saren looked happy again. "The Genophage can't be stopped. But we can create new ways for them to grow their population. Cloning chambers, with sufficient expertise, can recreate the krogan once more. With the krogan on my side in ever greater numbers, other races will be reluctant to provoke outright war. The Reapers will cull the unwilling, and allow the useful to survive."
"On their knees? On their bellies?" Shepard clipped the rifle to his harness, never letting up on the intangible force welling inside the eezo node.
"Now you see why I did not bring this to the Council," Saren sighed. "Organics are driven by emotion. We cannot fight the Reapers, look at how such a stance worked for the Protheans. You saw the visions, and you claim greater knowledge; the Reapers annihilated them. Technology greater than we could ever dream – and they were overwhelmed."
"Emotion is a survival trait," Shepard countered. "If you don't use it right, you suffer."
"Independence. Anger. Pride. Stubbornness." Saren reeled off. An accusatory talon encompassed Shepard's team members in a sweeping gesture. "Humans cannot go through a simple transition of authority without constant turmoil. Salarians spend half a generation plotting to gain power before repeating the process, even turians cannot accept a superior power without force. All require time, time we do not have."
Shepard gave a shrug.
"The only chance we have," Saren stepped closer, remaining out of grappling range. "Is to show our worthiness now. To show we can be trusted. Shepard, I know you saw what is coming. You know the Reapers cannot be defeated. What are a few petty freedoms compared to the existence of the history, the soul of the entire galaxy? The Reapers will suborn those who resist, invade their minds, and then gain control on their own. We can avoid that fate, Shepard. We can save countless lives if we act now."
"We cured Benezia of Indoctrination before it was too late." Shepard left out how. Such information would not help convince, and only harm their odds. "You … I think it's too late. Essential or not, the Reapers wouldn't trust a tool like you."
"I have earned their trust," Saren insisted, coming a step closer. Then one hand shot out, seizing Shepard by the neck, augmented speed too swift for Shepard. Behind, the geth opened fire, concentrated fire avoiding Saren's position with inhuman accuracy. "But you will not be convinced. A pity."
"Shepard!" he could hear multiple voices calling out, doubling through the air and his earpiece.
The hand grasping his throat tightened, enhanced augmentations crushing the gorget. Shepard swung, missing the strike; human length proving shorter than turian's in this case. He struggled, releasing the stored biotic attack to deflect off the turian's plating.
"A worthy foe you have been," Saren lifted higher, raising him off the ground. "My financial support is near gone, thanks to you. Total warfare, is how you humans put it? Eliminating money, associates, and then myself? You could have been a turian."
Losing breath, Shepard made fast calculations. 'Enemy stronghold, full enemy army. Augmented opponent, SIU or better. Allies driven back. Not good.'
The claws tightened further, air supply getting choked out. Pressure was being applied to the carotid arteries; if held long enough it could induce unconsciousness within ten seconds. He'd used it himself numerous times, every species had a corresponding weak point.
'Not this time!' Shepard unleashed his rage, letting its strength power resistance. Tensing his neck muscles slowed the pressure, supporting over a hundred pounds of raw weight below.
A grenade popped free, slapped aside by Saren's other hand. Shepard raised his knees, lack of leverage preventing full power, but enabling stronger blows than his arms.
"Don't struggle," Saren almost crooned. "It will be all right soon."
Shepard saw red. The element zero nodules flared one last time, dying in a cascade failure. Sparks jittered across the Nightstalker armor's surface, sinking into the turian's shields and his own flesh indiscriminately. Every trick he'd learned at the hands of Alliance professional soldiers, Drell specialists and the bushwhacking misadventures of his youth came into play, swinging like a hooked Ripperjaw in Mindoir's deeper lakes.
His efforts drew only a strained breath from Saren. The turian lifted higher, adding a rhythmic strike to Shepard's abdominals with his other hand. Each blow felt like it came from a Wardancer's spin-kick repertoire.
Fighting harder, Shepard attempted to swing his legs over Saren's head, but the ex-SPECTRE was too canny. Lightning shifts of minor proportions kept Saren's head out of the way, forcing Shepard to expend greater energy on each effort.
Shepard abandoned simple fisticuffs and pulled out his blade. For the first time he saw fear, the tightening of mandibles on lower plates. That was good; he wanted to see the turian hurt.
This time Saren grabbed Shepard's sword-arm, preventing the blade from being used. But this left Shepard's off hand free.
A dull roar of breached sonic barriers almost broke his concentration. Out of the corner of one eye he could see the Normandy hove into view. Like a massive gunship, orders of magnitude larger than conventional vehicles, it lowered into place overhead. Settling in protective posture, it rotated a touch left, revealing part of the remaining onboard complement standing on the boarding ramp, while the larger ship-based weapons extended, ready.
Gleaming Aitan weaponry flickered into sight, and fired. The resulting discharge arced from the Normandy to geth units, jumping from trooper to Prime to Juggernaut. Bolts designed for anti-ship action overloaded infantry in an eyeblink.
On the boarding ramp, four Power Armor marines were braced in firing posture, opening up in a thunderous roar. Behind them Alenko was standing, directing fire and providing an additional barrier against incoming fire; Heavy Marines popped into sight launching rockets while the specialists appeared like wraiths, taking shots and ducking back. But the combined battle-cacophony of anti-vehicle grade weapons was dwarfed by the ear-shattering sound of the Normandy's secondaries, weapons that had never been designed to operate in atmosphere.
Saren winced. It was a tiny mistake, very, very small on the scale of martial displays. But it was enough for Shepard to land a two-fingered strike in the turian's orbital socket. Every living being protected their senses with extreme prejudice – it was a form of programming hardwired deep in the survival instincts. Saren's three-fingered hand loosened just enough for Shepard to squirm free.
"Get 'im!" Wrex's bellow signaled a deluge of mass-accelerated rounds. Carbine, shotgun, even a few pistol rounds impacted Saren's shields, sparking blue dots. "Shepard! Get clear!"
Shepard rolled to his stomach, gasping for air. 'Just like Basic,' he elbow-crawled under the oncoming fire, towards the shooters. 'One more foot. Just one more. One more push soldier. Ain't quittin' here. Not dyin' now."
Hands grabbed his upper arms, dragging him into the trees. Tridactyl fingers clutched his upper arm, hauling him up into a fireman's carry. Garrus's voice rose over the tumult. "I got him! Get to the ship!"
The next few minutes were another blur of bouncing greenery, sliding across mud and the constant chatter of sidearms. Then he saw scraped metal underside, and the comforting rumble of ship engines.
"'m fine," he grunted. "Put m' down."
"Shepard?" Garrus made a quick sliding twist, slinging him down in a seated position. "You all right?"
Shepard coughed. His throat felt bruised, which it probably was. "Will live. Squads?"
"Tearing the geth a new one, almost all on board."
"Soon as they are," Shepard tapped his earpiece. "Pressley. Y'there?"
"Aye sir. Orders?" The man's crisp voice was like a balm after the chaos.
"Wait for the rest, then get us out of here. Drop a present for Saren's base. Make it a big one."
"Understood. Targeting solution is locked in. Permission to fire spinal cannon on planetary target, sir?"
"Granted." Shepard coughed again. The saliva was tinted red. "Authorization Shepard Gamma Three Seven Five. Execute at optimal point."
"Yes sir." The Navigator's voice took a grim tone, dark satisfaction evident. "We'll take care of them for you, sir."
Finished, Shepard collapsed against the wall, watching the rest of the squads leap aboard. Alenko was on the edge, sending orbs of biotic power to accelerate the climbing speed of the stragglers, keeping an eye out for threats on the ground. One more salarian came aboard, tracking mud on the already slippery deck plate.
He watched as Alenko held a hand by his ear, scanning frequencies. Then the Canadian biotic pumped a fist high, gesturing at the still firing marines.
Reluctant, the soldiers backed from the edge. Their shots grew infrequent, then stopped altogether. When they reached a safe enough distance, the boarding ramp rose, blocking their sight. As it rose Shepard glimpsed Saren on his flying device, speeding away.
A presence loomed next to Shepard, thick legs attached to a body built like a Mako's chassis. Wrex stared down at him, red eyes focused with intent. When he spoke, it was in a low growl, inaudible more than a foot away. "I'm trusting you, Shepard. It might've been cloning, but it would've given my people time."
Shepard managed a nod, and part of a smile. "Already … sent … orders."
"Good." The krogan reached down and helped Shepard to his feet. "Squishy humans. A good headbutt woulda taken care of that pyjack. Hey. Turian."
Garrus ambled into range. "Yeah krogan?"
The krogan Warlord looked him up and down. "Might not be so bad, for a turian. Good fight."
"Back at you, big guy," Garrus made his way to Shepard's other side. "As the two non-humans of Shepard's personal squad, shall we escort him to medical bay? The good Commander owes me a weapon or two, and I don't want him hurting his throat before he acknowledges my victory."
Shepard rolled his eyes. As he approached the elevator, he looked back at the soldiers. Some lay on the floor, chests rising and falling. Others were worryingly still, medics kneeling by their side. But a few were looking his way. He raised a hand, giving a thumbs up to them.
A couple started clapping, joined by the others into applause, growing to fill the hanger. It was an odd feeling, receiving accolades … but he could feel the camaraderie. Something deep inside uncurled, trembling and fearful. Its soft whimpers went unheard by anyone other than Shepard; the agony from years of holding things together through force of will. 'Maybe Saren's right,' the elevator doors slid shut, cutting the now whistling and cheering soldiers into a quiet patter. 'Maybe it'll be all right now.'
A/N: New Year, new chapter! Teaching is going well, and I can still get in some writing now and again. Still job hunting for full-time, but I believe there's a lot of folks in that boat.
Special thanks to Nightstride for beta work, and to reviewers with great insight! This chapter ties a lot of loose ends together, just the Citadel and Iilos left ... then the Citadel? Looking forward to that. This story shall be finished!
Excelsior!
