Siha
~Thane~
I slip into the memory often – the scintillating electric glow of the Tantalus drive core melting into indistinct smudges as my sight travels inward.
Tension rises in the consuming darkness. Muscles taut like coiled serpents. The disabled vessel is cavernous, grotesque. It drifts through the void of space. No sound in the airless vacuum. Impending danger settles in my chest. We are not alone.
A small figure holds point. Clad in black. Heavily armoured. A stripe of bright red framed in white runs up her right arm. Emblazoned on the right breast, characters in Earth English: N7. Straight, slender back nearly obscured by weapons.
On her left flank, a human landscape of images inked in flesh. Tattoos twisted through angry scars, welts, burns. Sinewy muscle moves beneath them, undisciplined, eager. Brown eyes traitorously gentle above full lips, petulant behind a transparent oxygen mask.
I slip along in shadows, watching, eyes in constant motion.
Corridors wind on and on. Haphazard. Here, as if dug from clay by burrowing insects; there, luminous, intricate designs wrought of polished, smooth metal.
I can still feel the claustrophobia, how the walls had closed in around us as we delved further into the derelict.
A pile of broken bodies. Tossed aside, carelessly as a child's toys. Humans.
Dark and dangerous as the ocean, her eyes close behind clear, polished plasteel.
"These poor souls." The words slip from my mouth, unbidden. She circles, restless, omni-tool extended. Searching for some sign of life among the dead.
Jack's face is drawn, subdued. "Oh fuck me..."
A grim realization dawns. "Test subjects, discarded at the end of the experiment," my voice cracks.
Shepard looks up at me. My expression stolen away by the infrared glow of my recon hood's oculus. She cannot read the sickness in my eyes.
"They didn't deserve this..." her voice soft.
I offer a platitude I already know is insufficient. "Too few in life ever get what they deserve."
A curt nod, her mouth a thin, hard line. Unwavering. She abandons her search, moves on. We follow.
These are her people. Bloodied, dismembered, men, women...children...
Not for the first time, I wonder how she bears it.
Silence. The airless vacuum is deafening. Eerie. We follow her, deeper.
She spots it first. A laboratory. Monstrous. Fused organics, metals. A computer terminal flanked by stasis pods. Shepard approaches, fearless. Her stern face bathed orange in the glow of her omni-tool. The console flares to life. Incomprehensible characters scroll across a screen. Shepard's fingers dance upon her omni-tool, establishing an uplink with EDI.
Jack's shaved head bows over one of the pods. "Holy shit – there's a Collector in this thing. They run psycho experiments on their own kind, too? Hey, Shepard, maybe the Collectors and that holographic fuck you call 'boss' can all sit down together, swap data over cocktails and hors d'oeuvres..."
"I suspect such a meeting would go disastrously for the Illusive Man." My mouth twitches.
"You fucking nerd," Jack laughs, her voice hard. Her eyes...almost affectionate.
"Shut it, both of you!" Shepard thunders. She strains, listening to the A.I.'s disembodied musings,
"...only one race is known to have a genetic structure matching that of the Collectors, Shepard: the protheans." Disbelief contorts Shepard's face. She steps back from the terminal.
"My god," her voice soft. Tinged with horror. "The protheans didn't vanish. They've been genetically modified...enslaved by the Reapers..."
Outrage sharpens Shepard's every gesture. "This is an atrocity. We have to stop it."
"No species should have to experience this," I turn away, feeling ill.
Shepard orders us forward. Her voice is steel.
Even now, my mind drifts to my people and our hanar saviours. I envision the Reapers transforming us with their horrible experiments; mindless, reptilian-synthetic drell soldiers spurred along by glowing, twisted hanar ghouls. Alone in the cool stillness of the life support bay, I shudder. I take little solace in knowing I may not live to see it happen.
My right eye catches a familiar symbol. Human Systems Alliance. A military locker. Riddled with bullets, scorch marks. Lodged in a pile of debris.
"Shepard!" I call to her. Pry open the damaged metal cabinet. "The Collectors must have brought this aboard at Horizon."
Jack shoulders in beside me. Rummages through the locker. She finds a shotgun. Compact, brutal like her. She growls her approval, low in her throat. Lusty. Near the back, I spot an intact weapon case. Massive. A scarred metal inscription on the container. M-98: Widow.
"A sniper rifle," I require both hands to extract it from the locker. "Or judging from its bulk, a small cannon."
Shepard approaches. Leans over me to read. Armoured hand rests on my arm. "Nice. Thane, can you use it?"
I shake my head. "Its size would be burdensome. I...prefer a more graceful dance partner."
While it is true that my heavily modified Mantis has, after years of companionship, become more an extension of my body than a separate object, I'd opted not to admit that I would likely dislocate my shoulder attempting to fire the Widow.
Brown eyes roll, a snicker of contempt. "Wimp." I turn, face Jack in response. Proffer the case. "Don't look at me!" she backs up. Palms in the air. "I like it up close and personal."
Her bombast is unconvincing.
Shepard considers a moment. Her eyes sparkling, mischievous. She retrieves the case from me. Catches flip open. She lifts out components. Tests their weight as she assembles the rifle. "It's not so heavy." Palm-slaps a spare thermal clip into the loading chamber.
Jack's shoulders shake. Raucous laughter. "Shit, Commander, that thing weighs more than you do! The fucking recoil will send you sprawling..."
"Jack's doubts are valid, Shepard. This rifle is intended to target shuttles and aircraft. Observe the bracing tripod – it is designed to be mounted on a vehicle."
She stares us down. Defiant. "I can handle it." Slings the Widow into a spare holster.
Something long asleep had stirred in me as I watched Shepard heft that enormous rifle across her back. It awakens again at the memory, sinuous, a delicious thrill in the pit of my stomach.
"Move out."
An open chamber, meters away. Looming above, I spot them.
"Look – Shepard, on the ceiling. More containment pods. These appear to be sealed."
"There are hundreds up there," Jack attempts to count. "I wonder how many have people in them..."
"Too many," Shepard's face is raised upward. Searching.
Feminine, crisp tones cut in over the comm channel. EDI. "I detect no signs of life in the pods, Shepard. It is probable the victims died when the ship lost primary power."
Shepard's shoulders sink. Along with them, her hopes of recovering any surviving colonists from Horizon.
Instinctive, I step toward her. Wanting to...
I'm uncertain what my body intended. To pat my grieving commander on the arm? To utter a meaningless platitude? To attempt to lift away some of the enormous metaphysical weight she must carry?
She has already moved on.
A steep ramp ahead. We ascend, pass into the ship's central chamber. Cavernous, massive beyond comprehension. Stretching out beyond the limit of my eyesight, both directions. Walls and ceiling lined with empty, waiting pods.
Millions of them.
I come to a halt. Plant my feet, combating a wave of vertigo. "Well...I suppose we should have expected this."
Should have, certainly...assuming we had been thinking with the cold machine logic of the Reapers. Otherwise, the implications of those endless clusters of pods are monstrous, unfathomable.
"They couldn't fill all those pods..." Jack's stubbled head shakes. Disbelief. "Even if they took every colonist in the Terminus."
"The Terminus system is only the beginning." My fists clench. I look out over the dizzying vista. There is only one way the Collectors can obtain enough human bodies to fill their apparent quota.
"They are going to target Earth."
"Not if we stop them," Shepard snarls, stubborn jaw set. Her eyes gleam furious ebony.
We follow along a raised walkway. Search for the command centre. A long march, then a clearing. Pentagonal platforms, interlocked. Polished, mirror-bright metal. A large computer terminal set in the centre. Shepard approaches. I trail on her right flank.
Jack pauses. Her face confused. "This is the bridge. The Illusive Man said the turian military wasted this ship. There should be dead Collectors everywhere..." Dark eyes flash. "Something's very fucking wrong here..."
My skin crawls. The platform deserted. The ship's bridge empty. A flare of orange as Shepard's arm passes across the console. EDI's euphonious voice over the comm: "Uplink established."
High-pitched ringing shakes me to my teeth. Deep vibrations in the metal, thrumming up my legs. Joker and EDI's confused voices over the comm, crackling with distortions. A sharp lurch and my stomach drops. The platform beneath us soars upward. I crouch down. Plant a hand firmly on cold metal. Shepard pinwheels. Sprawls across the console. Jack staggers backward, limbs flailing. Struggles back up, face twisted with rage.
"Commander!" Joker's voice. Frantic.
"Everyone's all right, Joker. What just happened?" Gives her helmeted head a sharp shake. Armoured gauntlet clutches the console. She rises to her feet.
EDI responds, mellifluous, eerily calm. Normandy's systems dark. A Collector virus embedded in the uplink. "Shepard, it was not a malfunction. This was a trap."
My left eye catches motion. Two pentagonal platforms rise in the distance. Vague shapes move upon them. A harsh rasp explodes from my chest, "Look out – we've got company." My lungs burn. I fill them against their protest, dragging stale oxygen through my recon hood's breather. The Mantis rests along my right arm. Cool, reassuring. Holographic readouts flare to life. Mods activating at my touch. I spot an elevated ridge. Leap upon it. Dashing into cover. Left fingers find the Shuriken at my hip. Disengage the safety.
Platforms draw nearer. Shapes come into sharper relief. Looming alien figures. Several massive, bowed triangular heads. Others multi-headed, misshapen. Preparing for attack.
She stands in the centre of the platform. Time stands still. Shoulders dropped, limbs loose at her sides. A composer, poised, waiting for the curtain to rise. Her head moves slowly, scanning the field. Marking every foe's position, size, defenses, offenses. A strategy unfurling in her mind's eye as music to a virtuoso.
As I have seen her in battlefields across the galaxy, and over again in my memory, every instant magnified, dilated, as treasured now as the oxygen my body can yet draw from my nearly-ruined lungs.
An enormous figure shudders upon the right platform. Glowing veins erupt. Light bursting like magma through cracked, blistering skin. The Collector writhes. Face and body wracked with pain. Harbinger has claimed his puppet.
"You cannot escape your destiny, Shepard." The ancient Reaper's sonorous booming resonates inside our skulls, "Submit now."
"Fuck you," Shepard's low velvet curse sends icy fingers down my spine.
A blur of tattooed flesh, sweat, and raw anger flashes across the platform. Jack halts, crouching feline near the computer console. The metal floor rocks with a sharp impact. The approaching platform collides with ours.
Collector drones launch toward Jack. Assault rifles raised. Small, hard fists burst into livid blue flames. Shields flashing to absorb particle gun fire. Brown eyes burn with fury.
"I will destroy you!" Glowing fists smash into polished metal. A biotic shockwave bursts forth, tearing through the oncoming drones.
Shepard dips a shoulder downward. A heavy clatter as the Widow hits the floor. An armoured boot sends it flying beneath the computer console. She slides in behind it. Her Mattock springs to her hands. Black helmet ducks down. Silver-violet, a particle beam sears the air where her head was a moment before. She rises. Serpentine. A Collector drone to the right catches a round from her Mattock, collapses. Her every motion is seamless. Harmonic counterpoint. Her voice rings in my tympana.
"Thane – assassin on the right platform! Jack, wear down the Scion and watch out for more drones."
Throughout the onslaught I do not pause, do not miss a step watching Shepard with my lungs tight and my heart pounding. In my solitary reflections aboard the Normandy it is safe to permit myself such foolishness. But as I do battle my body is her vessel, her instrument. As my Mantis to my eyes and arms, I am hers.
My left arm prickles hot, electric blue. Mantis cradled at my right shoulder. I spot the assassin bowed behind an enormous particle rifle. Meticulous, intent. He fixes Jack in his scope. She rages across the platform. Firing shotgun blasts and profanities at a twisted, lurking Scion.
Left arm whips outward. Haloed in distorted air. My warp field hurtles toward the unsuspecting assassin. I raise my scope, watch slanting rows of glowing yellow eyes blink in startled unison. The biotic charge wracks his poised form, disrupting his energy barrier. Angular face whips about. Trying to locate me. He fails.
I place the scope's crosshairs in the center of those alien eyes. Brace hard against the kickback. Pull the trigger. Eject the thermal clip. A fluid series of movements more familiar and intuitive to me than the rise and fall of a lover's body. His head snaps back, yellow eyes extinguished.
"Spread your matter to the sea," I pray for the release of his tormented prothean soul. Palm slap a replacement clip into the chamber.
"Jack, on your six! Thane, give her cover!" The platform shakes. Another colliding against us. Depositing more drones. They descend on Jack. Her colourful form tense. Shaking with adrenaline. She is stranded in the open. Jumps at the alarm in Shepard's voice. Wheels around, backing away from the drones. Teeth bared.
"Krios! Light 'em up!" Jack's voice grates over the comm. Tattooed arms fly upward in a nimbus of blue. The approaching figures rise, flailing, into the air. Azure fire builds in my flesh. I send it soaring toward the floating drones. Mass effect fields collide in a burst of blue-violet, throwing the wretched airborne humanoids beyond the perilous edge of the platform. Jack shrieks with exhilaration as the blast blows her backwards. Like a child in a thunderstorm. She seizes a metal ledge to halt her slide. Leaps, triumphant, to her feet. "WHOOOoooooo! That was awesome you glorious scaly fuck!"
"Amonkira be praised," I agree. The drones' souls depart their genetically-modified prisons. I watch through the scope. Shepard dispatches another drone. Slides deep into cover. Reaches for the Widow.
"Chey'aula burn me," I curse. Certain the monstrous rifle will be as little use to her as a butcher's blade to a surgeon. I swing the Mantis left. Slay two additional Collectors in quick succession before they can train their rifles on her.
Harbinger's puppet closes on her position. Steps down before the command console.
"Thane! Get his barrier down!" she roars. Plants the butt of the massive Widow between glossy black greaves. Her hands fumble with the unfamiliar ejection chamber. Frantic, my breath ragged, I summon an immense biotic field. My body trembles with the effort. Element zero stings beneath my flesh. Searing white-hot. My cells singing with the urge to release. I launch the charge toward Harbinger's puppet. Battering down his barrier.
Jack pauses her assault on a grotesque Scion. Fused humanoid forms writhe at her in
asynchronous fury. She ignores it. Empties glowing blue shotgun rounds into the cracked, erupting form lumbering toward the commander. The Scion's shockwave tears into her. Knocks her off her feet. "Motherfucker!" she screams. Leaps at the hideous aberration.
A deep, cavernous vocalization shakes through me. "You will know pain, Shepard," the synthetic titan sneers. Descends on Shepard's position. A lazy biotic charge floats toward her. I watch, horrified. The bolt somehow penetrates her cover. Pulls her over the console. She flails in midair, sprawls into the open. Struggles to get her legs beneath her. A crackling stasis field hurtles toward her as she rises.
Pitched high with alarm, her voice reaches me. "I'm pinned! No shields."
A cold feeling rises in my throat. Harbinger's glowing avatar advances on Shepard. I level the Mantis. Fix my mark. Harbinger is unaware of my concealed perch, but Shepard knows precisely where I will be. Facing me, frozen in place by the stasis field, she sees my barrel pointed right at her. My mark just above and right of her helmet. Only a centimetre to spare.
She has no shields.
Only once before have I hesitated to take a shot I know to be true.
"Thane," her voice fills my senses.
This is the moment.
In the scope, and forever, Shepard locks eyes with me.
"Do it!"
"Siha," I whisper.
I pull the trigger.
The instant stretches into infinity. I watch with agony as the slug cuts a path through the vacuum. An eternity later, it sails clear of Shepard. A few bare millimetres beyond her right temple. Pent-up breath explodes from my lungs.
Harbinger staggers back. The slug shatters his right cheekbone. Glowing plasma erupts from the wound. He lurches forward. Relentless. Yet I have bought Shepard the delay she requires.
Free of the biotic stasis field, black N7 armour blurs. She lashes like a whip upon Harbinger. She pauses. Barely a moment. Steadies the Widow at her shoulder. Fixes Harbinger in her crosshairs.
Pulls the trigger.
A silent explosion rocks the platform. A flaming slug issues from the Widow's barrel. The butt slams into her chest. Limp as a rag doll, Shepard is thrown onto her back. Winded. Gasping for air. The slug connects under her target's chin. The Collector's brain matter spews from his skull. Shepard rolls onto her side. Rifle's silver-gray barrel clutched under her right arm. She fumbles. Ejects a steaming, depleted thermal clip. Slaps another in place.
Siha. Even in Shepard's clumsy dance with the Widow I see the goddess Arashu flowing through her, an unstoppable current.
Harbinger's voice a flat echo. "This body does not matter." He abandons his fallen slave. I raise the Mantis. Lock onto a stray Collector drone lingering on the right. I pull the trigger before Harbinger can claim him. Relief and gratitude flicker in the Collector's dying yellow eyes. "Go now to the sea," I whisper to his soul.
A fist blazes. Jack smashes the last Scion to the ground. It ceases its writhing. Motionless beneath her. She growls high in her throat. Sweat gleams on her bare torso. Eyes burn with what I can only describe as furious joy. Panting, she stands. A smile spreads across her face. Beautiful, radiant.
In my youth, before Irikah woke me from my battle sleep, my body was moved by different predilections. One such as Jack would have set my blood aflame. Even now, I must admit an echo of that desire as I reflect upon her battle prowess. Jack is a warrior like Shepard, magnificent in her ferocity.
But she is not siha.
Stillness settles around us. I scan the chamber, extending my awareness into the void. "Only we remain."
Shepard rises. Shakes the tension from her limbs. Re-shoulders the Widow and the Mattock. Her gaze captures me like an insect trapped beneath glass. Penetrating. Deep as Kahje's storm-swept oceans."'Siha?'" she inquires, raising a curious eyebrow.
I thank Arashu that my face and neck had been concealed by my recon hood. Shepard could not see the incriminating, furious blush upon my frills, the flutter of my inner eyelids. Two of my species' involuntary physiological "tells," the hanar were not successful in eradicating them in me.
I feel the heat again in recalling the moment. In my throat and...elsewhere.
"Perhaps I shall explain when we are in less pressing circumstances," I evade.
"Thane? Is this a bad time?"
My reverie shatters at the intrusion of Tali'Zorah vas Neema's resonant lilt rising from my activated omni-tool. Startled, I rise, hurrying across the alcove to deactivate my auto-lock. The door hisses open, and I blink against the harsh light outlining the lithe quarian in my doorway.
"Tali. Forgive me. I was...lost in a memory." I beckon her to follow me inside.
"A good one, I hope," Tali approaches the table, sitting across from me. Her curiosity – as with all her emotions – is most evident in her voice.
"Perhaps not so much good as profound." I hesitate, considering whether I wish to elaborate. "Do your people believe in angels?"
Tali lowers her head, apologetic. "Modern quarian beliefs are more focused on social cohesion, on the integrity of the flotilla. Aren't angels a human concept?"
"The term angel evokes a spiritual archetype common to many species' religious traditions. Agents of deities' will, sent to protect the innocent, to conquer evil, to bring justice...to heal."
I reach for my cup of tea, discover it has gone cold and set it back down. "My ancestors had different titles for the angels of each of our deities. For example, warrior-angels of the goddess Arashu are called siha. They are remarkable beings. Beautiful, brilliant, and fearless."
"You've met a...siha?" Tali asks in the same careful tone a psychiatrist might ask a patient.
After some deliberation, I choose to answer her question.
"I had the privilege of knowing one long ago. Now, I believe I have found another."
Tali pauses, shuffling her avian feet in discomfort. I offer no further explanation, though she appears to be waiting for one.
At last, she blurts out, "Krios, are you hitting on me?"
I blink at her in surprise. "My apologies – that was not at all my intention."
"Good! Oh, uh, I mean..." Tali's voice rises by an octave, "don't get me wrong. You have very nice eyes and – ah – scales," Tali rambles in the endearing manner of a flustered adolescent, "but Mordin pulled me aside after you agreed to join Shepard's squad. Apparently 'unprotected contact' with your venom would kill me."
I stifle a smile. "Yes, I know – it's among a long list of substances fatal to your species."
"I – oh, this is awkward," Tali groans. "I'm sorry, Thane. I should let you get back to your reflections." She rises to leave.
"Tali – was there something you needed?" I prompt, knowing her visit was unlikely to be a social call. To date, the Normandy's crew has given me a wide berth, with none but Shepard making regular visits to my alcove in the life support bay. They are not unkind. As with most beings I encounter, the crew have interpreted my reticent manner as a desire for solitude.
"Oh keelah – right! Garrus and I were talking with EDI and Dr. Chakwas earlier, and Garrus thinks we can calibrate the heat sink on the O2 recycling unit. If he's right, it would decrease the humidity in the life support bay by 9.8%. We wondered if it might help with your..."
I center my cup on the table. "Kepral's syndrome. Tali'Zorah, I am moved by the thought. Such an adjustment would provide a good deal of relief."
"It's the least we can do to help you settle in."
"On the contrary – it is beyond what I expected, and very much appreciated."
Tali shuffles her feet again. "Well...Shepard suggested that you were worth getting to know."
This time there is no mask to hide the flush rising upon my neck or the fluttering of my eyelids. "That was...kind of her," I manage. I sense that behind her mask of purple fog, Tali is watching me very closely.
"Well, she was right. I've enjoyed this conversation. You know – the parts where I wasn't making a fool of myself."
"Likewise, Tali," I say with a wry twist of my mouth.
"Hey," she protests. "You're supposed to say: 'Oh no, Tali, you haven't made a fool of yourself at all!'" She does a fair, if somewhat falsetto, impression of my voice.
I cede her point with an amused nod. "It seems I've missed my cue. My apologies."
Tali settles herself back into the chair. "So...you've met two of your angels – siha, right?"
"The first was my wife – Irikah," I offer.
"Was?" Tali cocks her head.
"She was murdered many years ago."
"Urgh... I'm so sorry, Thane," Tali's sprightly curiosity evaporates, her violet-clad, embroidered shoulders sagging.
"You know the other," I relent at last.
Her head snaps up with realization, "Shepard!"
"You must not–"
"Of course I won't tell anyone," Tali cuts me off. "Though you should probably tell her."
"She would hardly welcome such a discussion. Dealing with the sentimental admiration of those under her command presumably ranks low among her priorities."
"Don't be so sure," Tali counters. "When I thought you were talking about me...well, just don't be so sure," she rises to leave, embarrassed again.
"Tali," I stop her. Feeling a curious surge of affection and gratitude toward the young quarian, I wish to diminish her discomfort. "It was correct of you to recognize yourself in my description of siha, even though my thoughts were of another. Shepard has gathered remarkable beings about her – fierce, loyal, intelligent, courageous. I have fought most of my battles alone. Even when I was with my wife and son, I never believed myself to be capable of excelling as part of a whole. I am discovering now – to my fortune, and my regret – that I was incorrect."
"Thank you, Thane," her voice is thick with pride, and a subharmonic hint of sadness. "I'll tell Garrus and EDI we should get started with those calibrations."
I turn back to my window. "I am much obliged."