Interlude - Visionaries
Feros
Liara T'Soni felt nauseous. Their crash after the explosion - abortion, her mind tried to insist - almost killed them, it was only the quick, reflexive reactions of the three conscious biotics to deploy and mesh their barriers together and cocooning themselves in a stasis field that made survival possible. Thanks to that, they only sported a sizable collection of bruises and sprains, instead of something more serious. However, the main reason for her nausea was the sight of her childhood mentor and friend.
The Shiala of her precious memories looked every image of the graceful, deadly asari commando, always seeming to dance rather than simply move, practically exuding an aura of danger and sensuality. Her voice was warm and low, caressing the young student's aural cavities, always soothing her troubled mind. She was vibrant, full of life, humor, and kindness. Now, she looked half-dissolved, bones visible where acid ate through - digested - her flesh, patches of her skin showing organic mass similar to the Thorian's, her eyes deep with sadness and pain, aware of what was done to her. Liara shuddered, turned towards Shepard, and tensed when she saw his expression.
This was not the usual calm, quietly amused face, or the grim, efficient soldier - she supposed that this was the face of Shepard that Wrex called the Butcher, the one she has read some very dark things about. The usually warm eyes stared at Shiala with an extremely clinical, cold gaze, the golden sparks within that gaze - she suspected they were somehow linked to the operative's unusual abilities - somehow seemingly boring into her very soul.
"Liara, she's lucid enough to give some answers. And we need those. If you can't stomach that, you might want to take a short walk." Liara closed her eyes for a short second, then shook her head, and sat down next to Shiala, fingers intertwining with those of the other asari. Wrex nodded approvingly, and Shepard shrugged.
"Fair enough. Now, Shiala, how did Saren know about the Thorian here?"
The asari's voice was feeble, low, filled with pain, her whole body trembling with the effort of speaking.
"Contact from some humans who dealt with Saren before. No idea who they were, but he knew and trusted them." Shepard's face turned into a mask of hatred and raw, seething fury for a moment, those golden sparks seemingly swirling in his vision.
"What was Saren after here? Why did he deal with the Thorian?"
"The message from the Beacon was garbled, unclear. Melding with Lady Benezia helped, but still they could not fully comprehend it. The Thorian was old enough to have consumed Protheans as well, and Lady Benezia decided that she'd risk melding with it through an intermediary, and try extracting a cipher, a Prothean thought-scheme..." Her voice trailed off into wet coughing, as Liara stared at her, horror in her eyes.
"And my mother forced you to take the full brunt of the Thorian's presence?" Shiala weakly shook her head.
"No, I volunteered. We all did." Three surprised gazes focused on the prone asari.
"That dedication is even beyond what asari commandoes or acolytes do, even after centuries of attachment." Wrex rumbled, frowning, his eyes blinking as he trawled his ancient memories. Shiala nodded weakly, another cough wracking her frame, mucus leaking from the corner of her mouth.
"True, but after spending time near Saren, near Sovereign...it becomes easier, clearer, their ideas and plans morph into inevitable facts and inviolable destinies. You want to follow them, help them - you simply have to. And if you do well, the voices stop, or at least quiet down." Her gaze was far away, voice distant, tired, defeated. Liara's face was creased with worry, apprehensiveness, while both Shepard and Wrex radiated sheer fury.
"Can that mindwashing be broken or prevented?" The human's voice was clipped, underlined with bottomless anger. Shiala chuckled bitterly, then convulsed in a coughing fit.
"Of course it can be broken, you just need to give yourself to a Thorian! You can't prevent it, the whispers are constant, draining your will, haunting your dreams, your waking moments, until you give in! And then you'll feel nothing but the importance of seeing through the tasks given to you, not even joy at obeying them..." Again, mucus leaked from Shiala's mouth, and Liara frowned. Were the spots of Thorian matter spreading? She made a slight gesture with her omnitool, just to confirm what her eyes saw. She noticed that Wrex had his oversized cannon pointed towards Shiala, the krogan's gaze sharp and wary.
"Shiala, we don't have much time. Is that Prothean thought-scheme, that cipher still in your mind?" The asari convulsed, choking, but managed to nod, even as her flesh started to undulate, the Thorian mass burrowing deeper. Liara looked at her teacher's pained face with tears in her eyes, shaking her head in denial. Shepard's hand closed on her shoulder, forcing her away as the operative knelt next to the older asari.
"Wrex, watch them." The human's hands grabbed Shiala's face, their gazes locked, and Liara could only stare in horrified fascination as Shiala's eyes became void-dark pools signalling the meld. Shepard hissed, the golden flecks in his eyes seemingly sparking across his vision as blood dripped from his eyes, ears, and mouth.
The ordeal lasted for an eternity, or simply a handful of seconds according to their chronos. Both Liara and Wrex monitored how the Thorian contagion seemed to spread over Shiala's body, the stench of unnatural fecundity familiar from the Precursor became faintly noticeable in the lifepod. With a gasp, Shiala convulsed again, her eyes swirling back to green, as Shepard fell back, choking and coughing up blood. Liara hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting to help both, then moved to Shepard's side with a sad, hesitant smile.
The operative was panting, eyes flickering madly, the golden sparks pulsed deep in those eyes, and Liara fell, unaware that her eyes swirled void-black.
Familiar humanoid shapes fighting against a shadowy self, exuding defiance, slowly being ground down, dragged away into the void. Pain, overwhelming senses, mechanical tendrils burrowing into flesh, seeking, altering, replacing - a vital something is leaking away, it cannot be defined exactly, only felt, the colours bleaching away, dulling, becoming simpler, a million voices whisper insane, ancient things, a void-dark, cold will pressing down on them. Beware those of the Void, do not turn to their science, their tools will betray you!
The metal lives, cold machine intelligence cannot be trusted, machines will betray you always, the Void-Machine will CONSUME ALL!
Dreams, visions of slender, humanoid shapes that greet and teach them, the alien voices melodious, protective, transmitting their warning, but the dreamers can sense their callous, selfish, calculating intent, the disdain felt towards mere pawns - the warnings and portents are disregarded, discarded. Dreams from the past, from the slender creatures cannot be trusted, dreams from the Void must not be trusted.
Vast, world-spanning presences contemplate the galaxy with glacial patience, pondering the message of the Different Ones, nervous systems burrowing through whole worlds are measuring their worth, their intent, before dismissing their clarity for calculated malicious intent, ridiculing the warning as false pretense tailored for gullible slaves.
The abyss yawns, a black gulf of time, stretching away, so far away, webbed with a crystalline lattice of intent and message - the theme is always the same, a warning of danger dreaming in the distant, cold outer void, mostly unheeded, always overwhelming. A vortex spreads, incomprehensibly wide, spanning worlds, spanning systems, clusters…
Coldly beautiful, hauntingly melodious, the siren song of creation echoes from the depth of the gulf across the vortex, unheeded, as it all ends in fire, immense black shapes descending from above, from outside, reaching down, consuming, gorging themselves, altering and forcing the universe to their needs, closing off something beautiful and vital, silencing the melodies, imprisoning the colours…
The connection is broken by a deafening shotgun blast as Wrex splatters the remains of the Shiala-thing over the floor of the lifepod. Shepard and Liara both flinch at the sudden, forced disruption of the meld, turning as one towards the ancient warlord, who grins at them.
"Don't mind me, kids, I know how intense first dates can be."
Nos Astra, Ilium
"You know, this looks like the lineup for a very entertaining joke." The slender woman with Asian features quipped, as she glided to the table with her escort. The salarian remained impassive, the turian's mandibles twitched in a wry grin, and the asari preened. The two humans sat down, and the salarian gestured with his omnitool, checked something, then nodded.
"Good, scrambling works. Nice of you to join us." The woman grinned at him, half-bitter, half-amused.
"When you receive an invitation to chat with three Spectres, one usually does not say no. I hear that's not good for one's health." The asari smiled, a lioness before pouncing on her prey. The woman glanced at her, then focused again on the salarian. "Let us not mince words and waste time. What do you want, Spectre Bau?"
The salarian flashed a quick grin, set a datapad on the table, then spoke.
"Require your particular talents for a job. In return, willing to give you chance to escape official pursuit."
The two humans shared a glance, then the man spoke.
"What if we decline?"
"You decline now, you walk out here. Will be caught in a month, two if going by pessimistic estimates. You decline after reading that datapad, I end you here and now." Bau's voice was dry, without a hint of emotion, his hands comfortably on the table, yet something in his posture shifted ever-so-slightly, and even his two colleagues shot him glances, before the asari quietly chuckled.
"Not much choice, then." The man's voice was bitter, his hand below the table gripping the woman's fingers.
"Afraid not. Too little time, too important issue. Need people with skills who are not involved with the Broker." The two humans stared at him in surprise. "Interested, Miss Goto, Mr. Okuda?"
"Let us see the datapad, then we can tell you more." Bau thought for a second, then nodded, and slid the datapad over. The two humans paged quickly skimmed through the files on the datapad: images of Precursor artifacts, the Temple of Athame on Thessia, Matriarch Benezia, reports about Irem, Leng, and Shanxi, a human building complex in a snowy mountain range, an N7 patch with a green triangle, a gold-black symbol of interlocking hexagons, an immense squidlike black ship. Goto laughed.
"You honestly want us to poke so many hornet's nests, Bau? The N7 Delta? University of Kathmandu? Why not ask your blue friend there for access to the Athame Temple?"
The asari snorted, bitter smile on her lips as she answered.
"Because even a Spectre with some centuries of community service under her belt is not a Matriarch." Her lips turned down, as if she swallowed something bitter. "And you two are better at this than I am."
Goto smiled at the obviously reluctant praise, before she turned to her partner, raising an eyebrow. Okuda focused on Bau, as he spoke.
"What exactly do you want us to do?"
"Information. Patterns. I do not have hard evidence, but what I can deduce makes me worried. Trouble is brewing, and is connected to these things. I need you to dig, and report back anything you may find."
"That black ship's the new geth dreadnought that Saren grabbed for his attack on Eden Prime, right?" Goto asked, eyes half-closed in thought.
"Geth irrelevant long-term. Can cause damage to Alliance, Council alike - cause too much damage, and we'll ally and stomp them flat. Source of black ship more worrying, projected and estimated tech advantage overwhelming. More worrying, absence of any precedence for tech that advanced." Bau saw Okuda tensing to say something, and raised his hand preemptively. "Do not believe it is geth tech. Too advanced to achieve in those few centuries. Relay logs do not have similar drive core emissions on record. Checked already, also for signs of tampering. None found."
"We also checked turian and Spectre archives, as well as some asari databanks." The turian's flanging voice was laced with suppressed fury and bitterness. "There are some seals not even Spectre credentials could open, not without causing too much uproar." The asari Spectre grimaced bitterly, laid a hand at the turian's shoulder, and the turian eased back.
"Why not involve the Broker?" Okuda asked, curiousity evident in his voice.
"You have standards and can be relied on to put overall survival above personal gains. Broker is exactly the opposite."
"How much support can you give us?" Goto's voice was resigned.
"Officially, none. Unofficially, will give you access to private accounts and contact methods if you need to reach us for assistance."
The two humans shared a glance, then nodded as one. Okuda spoke.
"Very well, Spectres, you got your agents."
The two humans finished their drinks, and took their leave.
"Are you sure this was wise, Jondum?" Tela Vasir's voice was pensive.
"Wise, maybe not. Necessary, almost surely." The salarian seemed to sag and age years before he went on. "Maybe jumping at shadows. Maybe too old. Dare not take the risk of ignoring it, however."
Jondum Bau, unofficial Spectre leader was stunned as one of his companions squeezed his shoulder in support as the other kissed him - for luck, if he heard the murmuring correctly.
"Anyway, I think we should also consider how to start gearing up the Council forces for a possible conflict...without alerting the governments." Nihlus sounded distinctly, bitterly amused. Tela pouted.
"More of the skulking conspiracy stuff, boys? Can't we have something nice and straightforward for a change? When you get to be my age, you start disliking the shadows, especially when forced to practically live in them. Besides, what do you think we could accomplish on that scale?"
The turian frowned thoughtfully, before he spoke, voice slow, halfway lost in thought.
"Point a few research institutes into other directions, maybe ask for cooperation with the humans on their laser tech. Build a number of stealthships like the Normandy. Improve encryption and communication tech, put some more effort into deploying and fine-tuning power armors. Eradicate troublesome warlords, cut a deal with Aria for eezo. And while it pains me to say, we seriously need to consider doing something about the krogan and the genophage."
The three Spectres contemplated the future, their plans, their drinks. Nihlus glanced at his companions, then at their drinks. The turian's mandibles widened into an evil grin as he turned to his friends, omnitool lighting up as he placed a drink order.
"I think we need to de-stress a bit. Tela, your shirt..."
"Not again, you bird-brained lecher. I'm too old and stiff for the stripper routine!"
The good-natured bickering only intensified, after the alcohol arrived, and the three Spectres put galactic-level conspiracies behind them for the night.
Anadius system, Horsehead Nebula
Jack Harper permitted himself a smile as he leaned back in his chair, watching the ever-shifting patterns of the surface of Anadius. The view of the star and the void was always calming to him, he felt at home, more ready to make plans, to orchestrate the fulfilment of his vision. Well, not exactly just his vision; the silent, bearded man beside him was likely even more involved - especially since he and another took the younger Jack Harper and his friends under their wings after the hell of Shanxi, and opened his eyes to some truths better left unknown.
He contemplated the multitude of holographic screens before them, eyes flitting over streams of data, looking for patterns, irregularities. He sighed, and lit his cigar, the smoke mingling with the pipesmoke of his companion. He tapped the controller, enlarged a screen, then waited a few seconds for the call to connect.
"Mr. Lawson, good evening. You indicated that we need to talk about your project?"
"We do, actually. I'm sure you have reviewed or will review the files I sent you, so I'll keep it brief. With the current tech we have, the best we can do is field improved bionic implants, replacement organs, some additions and improvements in the nervous system as well as the musculature and skeletal structure."
"I see. What is the rejection rate?"
Lawson looked disgusted, his voice bitter as he answered.
"Much higher than acceptable. The final results are impressive, but currently, I can guarantee only a single digit success percentage." He perked up, interested, focused, eager. "Though if you could give me more test subjects..."
"How much more, Mr. Lawson? Rough estimate of scale will do." The other man considered for a moment, frowned, nodded to himself before speaking.
"In the four-digit range, at the bare minimum. Five-digit range would be better."
Harper looked at his companion, raised an inquisitive eyebrow. The silent man half-closed his eyes, calculated for a moment, then seemed to sag, and shook his head.
"Unfortunately, that is currently not feasible, Mr. Lawson." Harper lifted a hand, forestalling Lawson's outburst. "I'm not questioning your requirements, results, or procedures, Henry, but I'm sure that once you consider the current galactic climate, you'll see why acquiring more test subjects is not feasible."
Lawson frowned, then reluctantly nodded.
"Very well, I see your point, Jack. Still, can you provide me with some subjects? Especially krogans would be welcome. You know how much of the work is based on them, and while robust, they do deteriorate as well, and we don't have nearly enough of them."
Again a glance between Harper and the silent man, a minuscule nod this time.
"We will get you some more krogan, Henry, as soon as possible. If there's nothing else?"
Lawson shook his head, and the connection was terminated. Harper turned towards his guest, and raised an eyebrow.
"So, what do you think?"
"The reports do not seem to be tampered with, and there certainly is progress. Unfortunately, it is much slower than what I hoped for."
"Come now, Professor - your main profile is close enough to genetic engineering, you of all people should know that what you want is not something that can be produced within a few years. And I still wonder why you insist on that implantable gene-template, instead of in utero modifications." A puff of smoke from the cigar. "And frankly, currently I see no point in throwing endless amounts of money into this fancy of yours."
The silent man motioned for him to continue, a professor watching a good student solve a serious problem.
"If what you told me is correct, we will never get the gene-work done in time to deploy en masse, to make a difference in the short-term conflict. I propose moving this endeavour to the back burner, as it were, and reallocate most of the funding to other, more immediately useful projects."
The silent man considered this for a few moments, face like a judge pondering the sentence, then nodded. Another screen was enlarged, displaying a middle-aged man with receding hair, stubble, wearing the uniform of an Alliance scientist. Harper's eyes flicked across the brief summary projected on the screen.
"Task Force Aurora? Hackett's doing some private, off-the-books digging, and into archeotech weaponry and xenoarcheology? Well, well, well..." His chuckle stopped when his companion stared at him, the seemingly universal gaze of a military commander reprimanding a civilian for meddling with things for which he had no proper authorization. Harper raised a hand, forestalling a protest.
"I'm not saying it to disparage him, far from it. I simply never thought that it would be Hackett who actually takes steps into this direction. Then again," another puff from the cigar, a sip of whisky "Hackett does have relevant experience, and he's far enough from Sol to get away with a bit of common sense and forethought. So I see no problems in providing funds and assistance to Doctor Bryson and Task Force Aurora. I'll ask Miranda to set up a convincing foundation whose profile would be inline with Bryson's public activity."
The silent man nodded, his face showing the subtle pride of a teacher at his student's creativity.
"Still, Professor - what if Bryson actually finds something? What if he gets results? Do you have any assets that can provide on-site, direct assitance?"
The silent man thought for a few seconds before he smiled - a sad, bitter smile of someone about to betray the trust of an old friend and comrade. Then he closed his eyes and nodded. Harper dismissed the screen, and the silent visitor turned to leave. Harper again touched the controller, and new screens sprang to life.
"One more thing, Professor. In light of Lawson's report and Hackett's efforts, can you reconsider the idea proposed by me and Chandana?"
The silent man turned, stared at the screens. The Great Rift of Klendagon, the Mars Archive, the Noctis Facility, Eingana. The pictures dissolved in static, the smell of ozone filled the air, the temperature dropped sharply. Jack saw his breath plume, and golden light illuminated the void, the power of distant thunderstorms rumbling in his companion's voice.
"Hear my words and mark me well, Jack Harper. I am not blind to the needs of humanity or what lies within the hearts of men. You tread on a dangerous path, where your quest for power will result in you succumbing to the dark temptations. The workings of the Precursors must be handled carefully, as the siren song of their science is as dangerous as the music of the spheres, as both will exact a terrible price from those who think themselves their master. You know some and suspect more of what I and my people have fought, so mark my words well: dwelling on these matters too deeply will destroy you and everything you bled to build up."
Impossibly, lightning seemed to flicker in the void-facing observation room, finding home in Professor Munir Yildirim's golden eyes.
+++ WOE BETIDE YOU AND YOURS IF YOU IGNORE MY WARNING. YOU WILL BECOME MY ENEMY AND I WILL PASS MY JUDGMENT UPON YOU FOR BETRAYING OUR CAUSE. +++