Petri - Petrin plural. Female turian under the age of 15
Buratrum - The realm of the spirits of dishonourable association.
Ungentira - A large warm blooded, cat-like predator native to the high mountains of Palaven. It is neither mammal or reptile, but has aspects of both, featuring a heavy, plated hide along its back, and a rich, luxurious pelt along their underside. They are ferocious predators.
Moruvesin - Winged insect analogues native to Palaven that grow to approximately 2 cms in length. Covered in articulated armour, they are very difficult to kill and have a sting that might not kill you, but it will make you wish it had.
Siligur - a grain grown and harvested on many dextro worlds. It has a high protein count and is used as a primary ingredient in dextro meal bars. Ground more finely, it is used as baking flour.
Vastator - The turian version of the bogeyman. In ancient mythology, the vastator crept through sleeping armies, threatening or tempting the soldiers to see who would turn their back on honour and their brothers/sisters. Anyone who gave in to the Vastator was immediately consumed.
Morumplacus - Restless spirit, undead, ghoul. From ancient turian folklore. The souls of those slain by dishonourable means were believed to wander after death to exact justice. They were believed to torment the living by taking the form of whatever the victim feared most.
Praela(s) - The name for ancient warrior spirits who were believed to ride great beasts (or forces of nature) into war at the head of their tribe's legions. Spirits of great bravery, tenacity, and a fearsome beauty.
26 Days ASR
Muted thumps echoed around his head, and for a moment, as they tossed him back and forth, he almost barked at his assailant to stop treating his head like a drum kit. Almost, but he didn't possess the energy to force the words from his throat. Then the seal on his helmet clicked and he realized that his mugger moved with purpose. Someone hit the retractor button, and lifted it free. He gagged at the stench that rolled in, replacing the air conditioned pleasantness with hot and fetid air, heavy with the reek of excrement, urine, charred flesh, decay, and burned out heat sinks.
"Give me back my helmet," he muttered, blindly groping for it. His talons bumped off his armour and the table beside him, numb and clumsy. "Can't breathe."
A blurry, white shape moved in front of him and gave him a gentle push toward a chair. "Sit, you're far too tall, and you'll crush me if you fall over on me."
He did as he was told, his limbs numb and wooden, folding like rusty hinges until his ass hit the seat of the chair. A slow gurgle of agony trickled out through his second larynx when his calf muscles and the ones along the inside of his thighs seized solid as stone the moment his weight released them. He needed to make it stop. Pushing through the fog, he tried to puzzle out how to do that.
"You've been wielding a firearm like this?" A foul curse and rummaging sounds followed. "Are you experiencing muscle spasms?" Chakwas shoved her face into his line of sight. He nodded, his focus lazy as it slid over to meet her concern. She didn't wait for an answer before she gave him a shot. "This will help with that."
He winced back and threw a hand up to ward off the sun she shone straight into his eyes. "Spirits, Doc. I can't fight blind." Tears rolled out of his seared and branded eyeballs as she shoved his hand out of the way.
"Stay focused on the end of my nose." Blinding him once again, she flicked it up and down, then left and right. At no point did he see even the slightest sign of her nose. A soft sigh-grunt preceded her next order. "Now, follow it."
He did his best to follow the light up and down then side to side, but his eyes kept drifting closed, shield doors dropping to ward off the laser-sharp brilliance.
"You're blind because your pupils are reacting too sluggishly. You need to sleep for at least a couple of hours." She took him by the shoulders and shook him. "General! Eyes front, soldier. You're exhausted to the point of collapse. I'm ordering you to lie down."
It took mental crowbars to force his eyelids open, but her face slowly drew into focus before him. "I just need stims, Doc. I'm fine." He smacked his mouth a couple of times, not sure if she'd understood any of the slur that had tangling around his teeth and tongue on its way out. Spirits, did he ever. He'd been up longer, fought harder, surely. How long had it been since he last slept? Surely not more than twenty-four hours. "How long has it been since the attack started?"
Chakwas stepped back, leaning on one hip, her arms crossed in her patented concern pose. "Twenty-eight hours." A slight shake of her head closed his mouth, although he couldn't recall what he intended to say. She leaned forward a little. "I have a reliable source that says you haven't left your post that entire time except to run to provide support on the ground floor. Step back for a few minutes, Garrus." Chakwas laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're dangerously dehydrated, you haven't eaten in over a day, and you've taken too many stims. If I give you another, you're going to start hallucinating, maybe even have seizures."
The general tried to form an argument, but after twenty-eight hours of fighting, and being up hours ahead of that going over reports, he conceded the doctor her point. Turning to the interior of the room, he hollered, "Need replacement on sniper blind."
The young drell in the repainted Suns' armour ran up, a shiny new Mantis in his hands. "Cadet Krios reporting for duty, sir." His sea-blue skin flushed pink at all the lighter spots, his entire body trembling. Some combination of nerves and eagerness, Garrus felt certain. Spirits, had any of them ever been that young?
"You're a sniper?" Garrus cocked a brow plate at the kid. The old, familiar claws sank into his gut. No. The kid was too young, too eager. He'd just get himself killed.
"Yes, sir, General." He gestured toward his armour. "Good enough that when I got here from the Citadel, the Suns recruited me." Excitement transmogrified into fury and disgust in a heartbeat. "Then Tarak said that when we got in here, we were supposed to kill everyone, even the civilians and the families … kids … mothers." His jaw set and his eyes flashed as he nodded. "First chance, I sneaked across the bridge. I want to help, General, and I can shoot."
"Thank you," Chakwas said, her voice soft. "You'll do fine, young man, just stay behind cover." The doc gave Garrus another injection. "This one is electrolytes, absorption enhancers, and a mild, short-acting sedative. By the time you eat, it'll start hitting you hard, so move." She backed up a step, then shook her head.
"What?" Glancing around nervously, trying to place the reason for her sudden misgivings.
"If I send you downstairs, you're going to end up sleeping next to Nihlus and Zaeed at the dinner table. Marcie has been trying to wake them up and move them to beds for two hours." She stepped up and started popping seals on his armour.
The general bristled and reached up to push her hands away. He could sleep in armour, he'd done it plenty of times before. If the gangs attacked, he needed to be able to react instantly. The doctor just brushed aside his pathetic attempts and continued.
"I'm just removing your pauldrons and yoke. You'll sleep better without them." She set the offending bits of armour under the table, then slid a hand under his arm. "Come on." Despite her words and posture, she didn't lift, but looked away, her gaze scanning the busy room. "I need a courier here!" she bellowed, then turned back and helped him stand.
His legs felt as though they belonged to someone else as she guided him to a cot and sat him down. "Shouldn't you be helping the wounded instead of nurse maiding me?" he asked, pulling loose of her grip. He sorted himself, mostly just out of pique.
She let out an almost turian chuff. "General Victus called me. He said you were doing your best to make sure you died somewhere close to the head of the line during this siege. I'm not going to stand before Jane Shepard in the afterlife and explain how I allowed that to happen. So shut up, eat your food, and get three hours of sleep. No less." She glared into his eyes, the very model of stubborn self righteousness, until he nodded, relenting.
"Courier, Dr. Chakwas?" a young petri called, running over.
"Get the general some hot food and a big glass of that wretched juice he likes," the doctor ordered without turning away. "And quickly, before he falls asleep." She laid a hand on the top of Garrus's head. "Make sure you eat before you sleep. Your body needs to spend that time rebuilding, not eating itself alive."
When he nodded, too weary to argue, she turned and hurried from the room, her hand lifting to her radio … no doubt getting a call to help with someone who really needed medical attention. Garrus groaned as he settled back a little further on the cot. He must be getting old.
When the courier brought him his meal, he smiled thanks at the youngster, taking note of the dull cast to her eyes. "How long have you been running?" he asked.
"Ten hours or so, sir," she gave him a wide, proud grin. "I'm good for another couple. My mari always says I have too much energy for my own good."
His stomach growled as he inhaled the glorious scent of whatever she'd given him … some sort of spicy stew by the look of it … then nodded. "My filiam always did too. What's your name?" Spirits, she reminded him of Sol … the bright spark of life, the body in constant motion … the sweetness.
"Neetara." She looked down, her mandibles spreading a little in a bashful smile. "My mari works in the gardens, and my pari is down below with the others. They said we needed to help you protect everyone." She bobbed her head a little. "Thank you, sir."
He held up his bowl and smiled. "Thank you, Neetara." After eating a ladleful, he nodded toward the balcony. "You stay safe and keep back from the windows."
Grin widening, she nodded again and backed away a few steps. "I will, sir. You stay safe too." She stared into his eyes for a moment, then turned, hurrying off toward another call for a courier.
After the first couple of bites, Garrus's body clicked over into starving ungentira mode, and he finished off the rest of the stew so quickly that he barely tasted it. Belly full, he drank down his juice then fell over onto the cot, the doctor's 'mild' sedative hitting him like a runaway freighter. He sorted himself then fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chaos dragged Garrus from sleep and into a heavy, blurred fog. For a moment, he laid there, his entire body fighting to return down the dark tunnel into sleep. Just another hour and—
Shouts, screaming, explosions, gunfire.
He leapt off the cot and ran over, sliding the last few metres across the floor to take cover next to Nihlus. "What's going on? Are they attacking again?" Easing himself up off the floor, he peered over the balcony. Other than a few mercs at the top of the barricade milling around, shouting back and forth, he saw no sign of attack.
Then explosions … three more, flames erupting from the far end of the street. Gun fire broke out, people screaming in fear and pain … CO's bellowing. What in the name of buratrum … ?
"It's an attack all right," Nihlus said, a faint chuckle chasing the words out. "But they're attacking one another." His head bobbed. "Looks like they couldn't stand being in such close quarters."
Garrus nodded and rolled over, crawling over to his armour. Once away from the open expanse of balcony, he stood and retrieved his armour from under his blind. Once he had it all sealed in place, helmet back on, cool air flowing over his face once more, he lifted his gun from the rack next to the table and looked up at the drell youngster.
"Cadet Krios, you are relieved. Go get yourself a drink and some food." Garrus stepped back to give the kid room to hop down.
"Thank you, sir, I was getting a little hungry." Krios stood, and turned, a weary grin on his face.
"No! Kid, stay behind the—" Garrus lunged forward and grabbed the drell's armour to drag him down, but before he could, the all too familiar report of a sniper rifle cracked across the deserted bridge.
Blood bloomed red and bright, an obscene display of colour against the white paint covering the front of the blue armour. Krios tumbled forward, but Garrus caught him on his way to the floor. Dark eyes latched onto the general, wide and terrified, seeking solace and hope, searching for a face behind the blank faceplate of Garrus's helmet.
"How bad is it?" the drell gasped, his heavily flanged voice thick and wet. He coughed, spraying a mist of red speckles across the blue-greens of his face.
Unable to force either the truth or a lie to answer the question, Garrus crouched and laid the youth down, using his thigh as a backrest. "Let's get a medic over here," he said, wishing a smile showed through the faceplate to make up for exhaustion and shock draining all the inflection from his voice. "Medic!"
The geth hurried over to crouch next to them and ran a scanner over the drell. A single shake of its head told Garrus what he already knew. Still, the general hit the kid's medigel control, it would provide pain relief if nothing else. When it dinged, he hit it again.
The kid laughed, just a harsh cough that sprayed more blood. "That bad, huh?" Garrus tried to get up. He needed to get the young sniper moved upstairs. Who knew, maybe the docs could save him. "Transport! I need transport for wounded here!" He slid his leg out from behind the kid's back, preparing to lift him into a cradle carry.
"Please … " The drell coughed again, his slender form trembling hard from shock and pain. "... don't leave me?" One slender hand gripped the cowl of Garrus's armour, a grip weak with blood loss—the general could lift it away without the slightest effort—but its tenacity … the sheer will to live behind it, made it impossible to budge.
Garrus glanced toward the balcony. Things seemed to have calmed, the attack inside the merc camps diverting their attention for the time being. His people slumped against the wall, taking the chance to rest. Kitchen crew proved their ingenuity, rolling through the room, lying face down on their antigrav lifts, pushing coolers of water and food ahead of them. The young drell just had the bad luck to be the last casualty of the first wave. "How are we doing up there?" he called, finding his fratrin still standing guard behind the opposite blind.
Nihlus glanced over and shrugged. "No one near the bridge or barrier, the last of them took off after their command tents exploded."
The general nodded and reached up to remove his helmet. He set it up on the table and glanced around. All the transports had wounded or bodies on them already, their bearers pushing them toward the stairs. Regret surged through Garrus's veins, his heart slowing a beat for every body being dragged up to the makeshift morgues. Soon, this … child's would join them, his name just one of hundreds. Garrus crouched and slid his arms under the wounded child. "What's your name, Cadet Krios?"
The drell leaned into the general's chest. "Kolyat Krios."
Garrus lifted him off the floor, wincing at the lad's bellow of pain. "Come on, Kolyat, let's get you up to the hospital." As he walked to the door, Garrus looked back over to see Nihlus watching him. "I'll be back down in a few minutes. Call me if anything changes."
The Spectre just nodded, his expression inscrutable behind the tinted faceplate, but his entire posture screaming exhaustion and sorrow. Careful of his burden, Garrus pushed through the flow of bodies coming and going, just managing to squeeze into the elevator before the doors closed.
"Hospital, sir?" a voice asked out of the crush. Garrus just nodded. Where else would he be going?
Kolyat curled into Garrus, his head resting between the general's upper arm and chest. "I wish I'd had a chance to see my father again," he whispered. He opened his mouth to speak again, but only thick, blood-soaked coughs escaped. When they eased around the tenth floor, he sighed. "He left me after my mother died." Those black, fathomless eyes latched onto Garrus's again. "I tried to to find him. Found out he was some sort of assassin."
Garrus just took a deep breath and nodded. "He wanted to protect you from his life," he replied. "Didn't want you to follow his path. He'd be proud you came here to defend innocent lives." The numbers on the control passed slowly … too slowly.
"Why didn't he love me, General?" the kid whispered, his focus drifting toward the ceiling. His breaths slowed, blood whispering from the corner of his lips and bubbling from the wound. Damn it, they were moving too slowly.
Garrus forced the frustration aside and leaned close, his voice a harsh whisper. "He did, Kolyat. He does. I know he does."
"How?" The black eyes drifted closed, tears smearing the blood into pale rivers across the child's face.
The control for the hospital level lit up. Finally. "Did you stop loving him?" the general asked, shifting toward the doors. Open! Spirits, why were they taking so long?
Kolyat tugged weakly at Garrus's cowl. "Never. I adored him. Wanted to be just like him."
Garrus answered that with a decisive nod. "There you go. No matter how far apart and how angry we get, fathers and sons … we still always love one another." The doors opened to a hallway jammed with people and transports, beds, and chairs, all full of wounded. "Hold on, kid, we're almost there."
Garrus shoved his way out less carefully than he'd pushed into the carriage. "Make way!" he shouted, pushing his way into the throng. "Come on, make a path, people."
"Kalahira ... mistress of inscrutable depths ... I ask forgiveness," the kid whispered then laughed, a faint, sorrowful panting sound. "Sorry, Dad … that's all I … remember." He let out a short, soft exhale, and Garrus knew he didn't need to hurry.
Letting his head sag, Garrus slowed, weaving through the press rather than pushing. He nodded, beckoning to the first free transport bearer, laying out the kid's body on the stretcher. "Sorry about that, kid." Laying a hand on the scaled brow, he bowed his head. "I hope your mother is waiting."
"Garrus," Nihlus called, dragging Garrus from his half-formed prayer, "they're starting to mass behind the barrier for the second wave."
"On my way," Garrus answered and straightened, turning his back on the child he'd barely known, but who had somehow managed to gut him in five minutes flat. Maybe it was the father issues … maybe … maybe it was such a senseless, stupid death coming after not nearly enough sleep. He stepped into the elevator and leaned against the railing, the trip down seeming to take a quarter of the time it took to go up.
"Did the lad make it?" Adrien asked, meeting Garrus halfway across the floor of what had been the upstairs lounge, but looked more like an abattoir.
Fury and sick, helpless frustration snapped and snarled, lunging at the end of its leash. Garrus just shook his head, not trusting that his hostility wouldn't break free and attack the other general.
Victus laid a hand on his shoulder, the weight supportive but pressure-free. "Did you know him?"
Garrus twisted away, his words coming out snarling, his sub-vocals heavy with a volatile combination of sorrow, fury, and betrayal as he replied, "No, but it doesn't matter, does it? They're all the same. Too young, too inexperienced, too innocent to even realize why they're dying." He swept furious talons toward the balcony. "They lured away all the fighters, left us here with the rawest." Spinning a slow circle, Garrus looked around, his gaze slipping over the smeared and puddled blood, the wounds bleeding so many colours on so many faces … the empty places where friends should be … friends now lined up under tarps.
"Everyone left here is either an old friend," he snapped, "or kids too young to realize that the fucking universe doesn't give a shit about any of this." Turning his back on his people, he stumbled over to pick up his helmet.
Victus grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around, pressing his face in tight against Garrus's. "Yes, it hurts every time, and yes, let it make you good and damned angry, but don't let it strip the heart out of you. Never let them get that far in, Garrus." He reached up, his hand wrapping around the back of Garrus's neck, just below the fringe. "Never let them that far in. You keep your heart locked up for this part, so that when it's over, you unlock it and still remember how to live."
"How many have died in your arms, crying for their fathers?" Garrus demanded, both hands gripping Victus's cowl.
The other general let out a soft, low keen. "Too damned many. Too many, General. But I'm still here, twenty cycles later, and I'll still be here twenty cycles from now, because I know how hard I fight for every one of them." Victus pressed his brow to Garrus's. "I don't trust anyone else to fight as hard or to care as much. Do you?"
Sucking in a long and shaky, but bracing, breath, Garrus pulled back. He shook his head, clearing away the last of the rage with another long breath. He patted the cowl of Adrien's armour then released him. "No, I don't. Thank you."
The torin nodded, his mandibles flicking in a quick smile. "That's why I'm here," he replied, keeping his voice low and mostly sub-vocals to keep the words between the two of them. "This is the shit, and the guts, and the grind of command that no one tells you about." He slapped his hand against the armour over Garrus's heart. "Lock it up for the fight, and the second you put the guns down, open it back up. Don't let it get hard. That doesn't honour anyone."
The general patted the back of Garrus's neck a couple of times. "I'm going to go grab some food. If they're getting ready for another wave, it's going to be a while before I get another chance." He turned toward the door to the stairs. "Want anything?"
"No. Thanks." Garrus walked over to the puddle of Kolyat Krios's blood and lifted Ingrid off the floor. "Clean up by the west blind!" he called, then hopped up onto the table.
Garrus lifted Ingrid into the slit at the top of the blind and settled her stock into the space between armour sections. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he settled himself, letting all thought and worry drift out of his head. He needed calm, he needed emptiness, to become a creature of action and reaction, pure skill-driven reflex.
Chaos still ruled in the Blue Suns and Eclipse camps. Humans, asari, batarians, salarians, and turians milled about, the fighting over, but the smoke and dust choked air still crackled with hostility. Behind the barricade, he spotted movement: mercs slinking into position to start the second wave. Garrus pulled a long breath of cold, clean air in through his nostrils. At least they culled their own numbers before the attack. The gangs had come at them fairly easy the first time, mostly testing defenses, getting a read on where they could strike hardest. The second wave would most likely sweep Archangel right off Omega.
Garrus alerted to movement at his end of the barricade. Someone peeking over the top, doing a little recon. He scowled, watching them … no, her. Definitely a her as she popped up, head and shoulders above the top of the barricade, her posture almost comical, like a preteril popping out of its burrow to stand on its hind legs.
He reached up to tweak the focus—damn Shepard and her insistence on manual focus—the side of the human woman's head appearing sharp and distinct in the crosshairs as she looked down, speaking to someone. His talon tightened on the trigger. She turned to look up at the balcony, then dropped down, disappearing behind the barricade.
Ingrid sank slowly from his shoulder, his brain frozen on the image of that face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Too little sleep. Taking a long, ragged breath, he realized that he'd been holding it. Spirits. She looked just like … . An ancient, poisoned dagger slipped between his plates, the edge so sharp it barely hurt as it pierced his heart … at least until he tried to take another breath.
A keen erupted from his throat, so piercing that every eye on the floor turned to look at him and so loud that it echoed out into Omega's eternal twilight.
"Why now?" he whispered. Thoughts spun, tumbling over one another, trying to find an explanation that didn't include losing his mind.
Hallucinations … Dr. Chakwas said something about stims giving him hallucinations. Grabbing onto that simple explanation—and his sanity—with both hands, he closed his eyes and took another breath. He wasn't seeing Shepard. His Kahri was dead, and he knew that to be true. That face amounted to nothing more than the stims messing with his mind.
"Here they come. Big mechs rolling in," Nihlus called. "Everyone to the lines. Repeat, all guns to the lines. Support crews and second line, stand by."
Garrus glanced toward his fratrin, wondering what Nihlus had seen and why he hadn't taken the shot. The woman had been standing in plain view … an easy shot. Why hadn't Nihlus taken it?
He lifted Ingrid to his shoulder, clenched his teeth, and steeled himself. The next time that head appeared in his scope, it dropped.
Droning like a swarm of huge moruvesin, the merc's antigrav lifts soared over the barricade, dropping their deadly burdens on the bridge. Three … six … nine … twelve … fifteen. Spirits. As his heart stopped in recognition of their imminent deaths, he glanced toward Nihlus only to see his fratrin staring back at him.
Nihlus took a deep breath and nodded. Garrus replied in kind, a grim sort of smile passing between them as the Spectre reached for his helmet and put it on, sealing it in place. If it was their time, it was their time. They'd done what they could, put together a force that really could have given the Reapers a fight had they been given a little longer to prepare. A little more support couldn't have hurt either.
He faced front and brought Ingrid to his shoulder, settling her comfortably … an old friend … a last connection to his reason for being there in the first place. Cold, grim smile softening a little, he cracked his neck and sighted down the scope, ready to give them hell. Dying wasn't the worst outcome for the day. Kahri would be there waiting. He grinned, a soft keen rolling through his subvocals. Maybe that was what he'd seen … his love coming to escort him home. Spirits, he hoped that was what he'd seen.
The YMIRs unfolded, their arms locking into firing positions. Garrus put two bullets in the head of one of the lead ones before the Eclipse began to leap over the barricade. No, not Eclipse … none of them wore uniforms. Meat sent to soak up bullets and keep Archangel pinned down so the mechs could move in. Innocent blood still wetting the front of his armour, Garrus focused his fire on the mechs, taking down one of the lead rank and the three unfortunate freelancers who happened to be running into cover next to it as it exploded.
"The mechs aren't firing," someone yelled. "Why aren't they firing?"
"How did I miss that?" he whispered. And then he saw her. Draped over the top of the barricade, several others at her side, she worked away on her omnitool. She lifted her head, a wide grin spreading across her face. Before he could even wonder about it, the mechs all turned, their guns lifting, but facing toward the barricade.
A stunned sort of silence dropped over the bridge as the freelancers suddenly faced five lines of twin mass accelerator cannons. For one second, they froze, then the YMIRs opened fire, shredding the mercs hirelings like a thresher harvesting siligur.
"Oh shit!" The woman's yelp carried even over the mech fire, drawing his scope back to her. She was leaping down from the barricade, a small squad on her six, the lot of them diving for cover. The woman's head popped up, looking around, then she shoved one of her people out, sending them to the next cover forward. Eclipse behind her, pouring over the barricade in force … the mechs and Archangel in front of her, she raced from cover to cover. She dashed behind a tall crate, then leaned out, the N7 patch on her armour as clear as day.
Short, red hair flashing in the light … the sharp, pixie face with its busted up nose … it was Shepard's face. But how? Clone? Doppelganger created through surgery?
Then the connection clicked inside Garrus's head and all expression drained from his face. Ice crackling through his heart, he finally put together the pieces. Dammit. Anderson and Nihlus … the silences … the hesitations in their communications … . She was the reason.
Garrus lifted Ingrid out of the slot in the sniper blind and spun. Still crouched, he dropped down off the table and stormed across the balcony. Although aware of the bullets hitting his shields, he didn't let them get in the way of his anger as he bulled in behind Nihlus's blind.
Garrus shoved Ingrid into the Spectre's hands. "Explain this to me, Nihlus." He waited, a brow plate raised. Rage and terror and horror all launched weapons of mass destruction at one another as that tiny impossibility raced to new cover, dodging a rocket from one of the mechs. He grabbed Nihlus by the yoke and spun him around to face the phantom working her way closer and closer to base.
The Spectre just handed the rifle back. "She saved us on Freedom's Progress," he replied, simply. He took a deep breath that exaggerated his exhaustion rather than lifting it. "She's the reason Ashley called me after the Collectors attacked the Cerberus base. The chief saw her evacuating a group of people."
Fury won the initial salvo, and Garrus lunged toward his fratrin. "And no one thought to tell me that Cerberus had created this fake Shepard before she showed up at my door?" His throat closed as the sound of her voice echoed up from below as she called to her people, moving them in on the base. "What is she?"
Nihlus stepped into him, gripping his shoulders. His mandibles dropped and spread, his subvocals thrumming comfort and understanding. "Would you have thanked me for telling you about her while you were on Tuchanka? Or while you were on your way back here?" Ignoring the rigid spines that Garrus threw between them, Nihlus leaned in to rest the brow of his helmet against his fratrin's. "I don't know who or what she is, but … " He pulled away and gestured toward the devastated camps … the mechs cutting down Eclipse and Blue Suns faster than they could run. "... she's saving us again, Garrus."
Horror launched a second sortee, beating the others to the punch and Garrus reeled back. "You don't believe it's Shepard." Forgetting he was wearing it, he lifted his hand, raking his talons along his helmet. "You know she's dead, Nihlus." He stumbled back another couple of steps, stopping when his thigh hit the table he'd been sitting on moments before. "You know that Shepard … our Shepard is dead."
Nihlus nodded and turned to stand against the wall at the end of the balcony, peering out around the cover. "I know, but Garrus … she called Alenko by his nickname without the slightest hesitation, and she was hailing the Enkindlers and spouting sweet baby Jesus … ." Nihlus leaned out a little. "And look at her. The way she moves … the decisions she makes." He glanced Garrus's way, his expression unreadable through the heavily tinted faceplate. "She insisted on getting us clear before taking on the mechs, even though the dark-haired woman was yelling at her to leave us."
Garrus glanced out past his cover. The pretender had almost all of her people behind the closest cover. True, she looked like Shepard, and she moved like Shepard … the aura and flavour of her command was Shepard … . No. It amounted to the worst sort of madness: him lying to himself, tricking himself. He shook his head hard enough that pain flared behind his eyes and made him feel as though his nose bled. No, he wouldn't let himself get sucked into Nihlus's delusion. He held Kahri as she died. He held her hand for three days. Dead was dead.
The enemy had more than proven their dedication to destroying Archangel over the past week, this woman merely the next shot in a battle that wouldn't end until either the Reapers or Archangel lie in ruins. It was a strange ploy, unless she was some sort of sleeper agent … an assassin or some sort of bomb meant to take them out. He lifted Ingrid to his shoulder and sighted down the tiny, redheaded doppelganger. She activated her omnitool, and he zoomed in to see the interface. Mech controls.
She'd bought their reprieve, and more than likely turned the gangs on one another as well. Okay, so she wasn't working for the council. He couldn't see them unleashing a sleeper agent who obliterated most of their attack force. Cerberus, then … trying to get back inside Archangel, but to take control of it. That would not happen. He'd burn the whole thing down and throw himself into the pits of buratrum first.
The fake Shepard alerted to something on the other side of the barricade the moment before he registered the sudden quiet. The mechs and Eclipse had stopped firing at one another. He watched her, frantically tapping away at the interface glowing on her forearm.
"What is it, Shepard?" a dark-haired human woman shouted from the next cover. He glanced her way as her shout carried. "We need to keep moving in!"
"They're going to blow the barricade," the fake Shepard hollered back. "Damn it. I don't think Miss Goto made it through. Her presents should have gone off already. I've got to trigger the mechs in the camp and get these bastards into a holding line."
As she spoke, the remaining YMIRs stomped down the bridge, shoving aside the obstacles in their path. They lined up shoulder to shoulder across the center of the bridge. She—the redheaded commander gave the darkhaired woman a wave, ordering her and a second individual in strange-looking armour into the last piece of cover a few metres in front of the building.
"They're blowing the barricade," the fake Shepard hollered, looking up. After searching for a moment, she locked onto Garrus's sniper blind. "I've sabotaged about half their LOKI and FENRIS mechs, but they're probably covering for a heavy Blood Pack push in the tunnels." She glanced behind her as the barricade at the far end of the bridge exploded, tearing a huge hole through the center. She launched herself over her cover and took up a firing position, her Mattock aimed toward the breach.
"One of your people, a Kasumi Goto took four pretty massive bombs into enemy territory, but I don't know if she got through," she called, glancing back toward the balcony again. "She was going to try to take out their varren."
Garrus lifted a leg up onto the table and turned his back to lean against the wall, unable to look at her any more. Whoever … whatever that was … it was an insult … an abomination. He took a deep breath, clenched his teeth and reached up to his radio. "East balcony, sitrep."
"We're holding over here, General. Getting a chance to take a fucking breather," Zaeed barked back, his voice even more coarse than usual from shouting orders. "Goddamn mechs are keeping the Suns back, and now there … are … . Just a goddamned second." Garrus heard banging and then running footsteps. "What the bloody hell is that?" Muffled shouts reported back. Zaeed sniffed, deep enough to have sucked his brain out through his sinuses, hawked, and spat. Garrus winced, but then the merc was shouting in his ear again.
"Hundreds of the little mechs marching through the Suns' camp, shooting the shit out of them. The merc bastards are massing in the small park space at the end of the bridge, forming a line to hold them off. What the hell is going on out there, General? Did our fucking ships make it back? Is it our people?" He hawked again. "Keep the line solid. Don't let the fucking mechs do all the work, goddammit. Keep an eye on those Suns … they're starting to push in on the bridge!"
Garrus nearly choked on his desire to just say Shepard's name … to shout from the roof of the building that his love had come back to save them all. Instead he swallowed hard, managing to force words past the morass of betrayal and disgust. "Small outside squad. Looks like Cerberus. Keep your eyes open. Vakarian out."
He glanced over at Nihlus, unable to make himself look out. "What's going on?"
The Spectre didn't look away from the scene below. "The YMIRs and her squad are holding back the Eclipse and the unfriendly mechs." He chuckled as a sniper rifle cracked the air, the echo snapping back and forth off the buildings. "She sure shoots like Shepard."
"It's not Shepard. For fuck's sake, Nihlus." He opened a channel to the west balcony, where Butler reported the same situation. The big mechs protecting the building, Blue Suns setting up lines just beyond the end of the bridge to hold off the hundreds of renegade mechs.
"Martin, sitrep," he called, changing channels and doing his best to ignore the consistent bark of the sniper rifle below … and the running commentary from one of the members of the forgery's squad.
"All right, this time you're definitely going to fucking miss," the young woman crowed. "No way anyone gets that many fucking headshots in a row."
Garrus closed his eyes and focused on blocking it out. The channel opened, quick, ragged breaths blowing hard. Footsteps. Underneath that, the constant chatter and cough of rifles.
"Martin? Weaver, do you read me? Respond."
"Yeah, I hear you." Martin coughed a couple of times. "Just give me a second." A pause. "Cover me!" More running steps, gunshots. "Son-of-a-bitch!" Roaring … flame throwers. "What fucking part of cover me … ." A heavy thump and long breath. "Okay. Fuck." Another sigh and the sound of water being chugged down. Coughing, wet and full of phlegm … desperate and hacking. Smoke inhalation.
Finally … . "We're holding, General. Mostly by our fingernails, but we're holding. Just drove back another wave of vorcha and varren." He lapsed into a choking fit. "They have flame throwers, set fire to … fucking everything. Then sent the varren in." He coughed for a good thirty seconds, then took another drink. "How are things up there? Can you spare anyone?"
"We've caught a reprieve up here. Someone coming in from the outside. Small squad … six people, but they hacked some of the Eclipse mechs." Garrus didn't have to focus on blocking out the outside, the pain and exhaustion in every one of Martin's breaths latched meathooks into his guts, pulling him down into that burning hell. "I'll send you who I can. The Blood Pack might be making a heavy push here in a few minutes. Can you hold for a half hour or so until we see if the lull up here is going to take?"
Martin grunted. Scrambling and metal scraping against metal, the ceramic ring of armour accompanied the kid shoving himself back to his feet. He started coughing again. "Where's the fucking medic?" he called. "I need stims and something for my lungs." More scuffling. "Yeah, General, we can hold that long, but we could sure use a few miracles. Wrex's krogan are down to half. The ornery old bastard is still up, but both Mierin and Grundan are dead. We all would be if that crazy bastard of a salarian didn't run those explosives down the tunnel." More choking.
Then. "Where the hell have you been? We've got dozens of smoke inhalation cases in the tunnel. Get down there … give them shots, and tell them to get their fucking helmets on."
Garrus heard the kid's breathing smooth out a little, a little banging and clattering as he put his helmet on. It sealed. Garrus cleared his throat. "If anything changes, let me know immediately," he ordered. "And kid … take care of yourself."
"Yes, sir. Weaver, out."
A sharp ache stabbed through Garrus's teeth as the channel closed. Forcing his jaw open, he stretched out the muscles. His people were dying down there, he couldn't just sit around with his mouth hanging open while waiting to see what that fake Shepard had in store.
"Friendlies incoming!" that voice bellowed from below. "Please, hold your fire."
Garrus's radio signaled an incoming transmission on the command channel. "General? Nihlus? Either of you there?" Nyreen called. "We've got someone saying she's Jane Shepard at the front door asking permission to come in." She paused. "Do you want me to shoot whoever the hell this is?"
For long seconds, the order rattled around between his front teeth and the tip of his tongue. One bullet to the head, and he wouldn't have to deal with her. He'd never have to look into her eyes and see someone else looking back from the face … . He swallowed and slammed his talons into his helmet again trying to rake his fringe.
Spirits, the universe just never seemed to run out of sadistic ways to play with him. One bullet and that sick joke would end before it got a chance to tear his guts out and strew them across Omega. He opened his mouth to give the order, but no sound came out.
"She saved us, Garrus," Nihlus said, cutting into the channel, his voice soft and expressionless, even his subvocals dead and flat. "More than once. She doesn't deserve to just be gunned down regardless of who she is."
Garrus grunted and jerked his head in a single nod, but couldn't grind the order past his teeth. He could no more just let her in than he could give the order to execute her in cold blood.
"Let them in, Instructor Kandros," Nihlus replied. "Escort them up here, please." The Spectre looked back out over the bridge, his rifle couched securely into his shoulder. "Bridge is still clear. The big mechs are holding them back."
Turning toward the stairs, Garrus stumbled backward until his thighs ran into the edge of his blind. It wasn't Shepard. He could face down this golem, get some answers, and then … . He chuffed. And then what? Send her on her way? Shoot her? What did he do with her?
He heard her speaking to her people, warning one of them to leave his gun on his back and reassuring another that everything would be fine.
"We're here to find allies, Jack, if not friends, and shockwaving the lot of them probably not going to help with that process," she was saying as she appeared over the interior balcony's low wall, climbing the stairs.
Garrus lifted Ingrid to get a close up look at the woman … no not a woman … she was a thing … a vastator sent to tempt and consume him. She turned his way for a half second, his gut clenching when he saw the web of deep wounds, her flesh cracked like mud flats in a drought. What in the pits of buratrum … ? Try as he might to keep a wall of ice erected between them, those wounds … .
Agony must hunt her like a pack of deranged klixen. He focused in on the glow that escaped through the horrible fissures in her flesh. Cybernetics. She wasn't a VI. Too much independent thought and action. Maybe an AI? But the body … ? Liquid nitrogen flushed through his veins. Dear spirits, please not that. Damn the human navy and their burial at sea. His beautiful, fierce little praela being twisted into some sort of morumplacus … . He'd kill them all.
At least, if they constructed a monster, the cybernetics and lack of true brain function would preclude the vastator feeling the pain of the wounds that covered her face and neck. However, as he watched her move, he saw a careful edge to the casual swagger … the minute winces that she tried to hide when she turned or bent. No, not some undead robot. Torment was that woman's closest and most constant companion.
"Trust me," the tiny redheaded doppelganger said as the small part entered the lounge. She turned to look behind her. "I own these buildings. Aria gave them to me … " She turned to face front, her words dropping off as she scanned the room. "... when I saved … "
Garrus kept Ingrid held tight to his shoulder even as he moved his eye away from the scope as the vastator's gaze landed on him and froze. Mouth hanging slack, she just gawked at him for long seconds before finishing her sentence.
"... her daughter."
How did she know about that? Garrus's head reeled, his heart racing so quickly that he swayed, dizziness hitting him hard and fast. Damn it! Giving his neck a vicious crack to pull himself back together, he focused … the reason for the imposter's apparent memories bringing up the rear of the small group. For a second, his finger twitched next to the trigger as the traitorous blue face stared into his scope, going pale with recognition. His finger twitched again, and in his mind's eye, Garrus saw the bullet leave Ingrid's muzzle, the crack as she fired, glorious and final … then violet blood erupted out the back of the asari's head, splattering the walls. The body dropped.
Garrus slammed his eyes shut against the vision, horror sending a surge of vomit rolling up his throat. Swallowing hard, he managed to keep it down, the burn shaming him as he reopened his eyes.
You're not a cold-blooded murderer. You've been down the road that ends in rage and blood, and you swore you'd never go back.
Liara opened her mouth, no sound came out, but she shook her head, her expression pleading with him not to make any hasty decisions.
"Sweet baby Jesus," the vastator gasped, taking a step toward him.
Garrus snapped Ingrid around so her crosshairs rested between the forgery's eyes. Instead of showing fear at having a gun trained on her brow, the fake Shepard grinned, her face lighting up with an expression of almost painfully intense joy.
"Blessed Enkindlers, there you are!" She lunged forward a step. "I never thought I'd see you again." She laughed, high and bright, a sound of sheer delight, and she rushed toward him. "I've been so worried about you."
For a half second, Garrus slipped his talon over the trigger, but then the rifle disappeared from his hands. He stumbled back, his armour scraping along the edge of the table, as she cradled the weapon in her arms.
"Ingrid! Oh man, I've been so worried about you. But … where's the old man?" The fake Shepard looked up at him, her eyes filled with hope. Those eyes. His heart contracted around the dagger as she asked, "Do you have Roger too?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned a slow circle, looking over the room, the joy fading from her brutalized face, melting into suspicion and uncertainty.
"You have my gun," she whispered, backing away from him a step, one hand drawing an arc around her to indicate the room. "You've built my dream in the buildings I own … ." She turned another slow circle, stopping when she spotted Nihlus standing behind the sniper blind. Moving toward him a couple of steps, she cocked her head. "You were on Freedom's Progress," she said, her tone hard and commanding. "Are you the one in charge?"
"He's not," Garrus replied, finding his voice at last. Taking a deep breath, he took Adrien's advice, locking away his emotions the best he could. It wasn't Shepard. He'd foiled the rest of the enemy's plans to take him out. The vastator in front of him was no different. "I am, and since we aren't the ones wearing a dead woman's face, we aren't the ones who owe anyone an explanation."
She spun around, stumbling backwards as she faced him, the soles of her boots grinding through the thick layer of grit that covered the tiles. One hand floated up to press against her temple, her expressions flipping through emotions so quickly that he scarcely recognized one before another pushed it aside. "Wha … ?"
She pressed her eyes closed, her entire face seeming to collapse around them. Ingrid slipped from her hand to clatter on the floor. "Why can't I drive you away?" she whispered, the words coming out slowly, each seeming to hesitate inside her mouth, as if she needed to taste them, to verify their authenticity.
Opening her eyes, the fake Shepard reached out a hand, her fingers trembling so hard that it took all his rage and horror to keep his hands at his side. Those impossibly tiny, nimble little hands. Sliding one foot a hand's span toward him, she searched the blank faceplate of his helmet. "Garrus?" A palsy even worse than the one in her hand rattled through her voice.
"Shepard … ," the black-haired woman called, stepping up behind the forgery, her omnitool glowing on her arm. "... you need to calm down. Getting upset will just make it more painful."
The doppelganger spun on the woman, her voice still shrill, the words travelling on the scream as she cried, "You said we were coming here to get help. You knew didn't you? I come in here … and I own these damned buildings." She lunged forward, grabbed Ingrid off the floor. Staggering to her feet, she threw the rifle into the woman's face hard enough to clip her in the chin. "My gun! You knew all along what I'd find here, didn't you? How much more have you lied to me about?"
Garrus stepped forward, closing in on the two women. "What the hell is going on? Who are you?" He directed the last at the black-haired woman. "Are you responsible for … this … " He stabbed a talon at the forgery. His gorge rose, and for a second, as he stared at the abomination … the living insult to the bright center of his universe, it took his entire will to keep from vomiting. "... this … thing?"
Shepard spun to face him. "Thing?" Her face contorting with agony, she stumbled backwards, going down on one knee, another scream cutting its way out between clenched teeth. Hands clutching at the sides of her head, she curled into a ball.
"My name is Miranda Lawson, General." The black-haired woman tossed the words at him as if she did him a favour even acknowledging them. Leaping forward, she crouched, reaching out to help the fake Shepard, who rewarded her with a shove hard enough to stagger her. "Shepard! Calm yourself." The omnitool flared to life again, the woman's fingers flying over the interface.
"What is this?" Garrus tore off his helmet and threw it onto the nearby couch. Releasing his grip on the storm, he let it roar, feeling as though lightning sizzled along the inside of his armour and thunder rumbled through his bones. "Is this your sleeper programming kicking in? Is she going to explode? Try to kill me?" Talons shaking with deadly promise, he grabbed Lawson's wrist as she tried to escape backward. Shoving his face into hers, he snarled through his second larynx, his demand barely verbal. "Why have you created this … profanity?"
"General?"
Garrus's heart stopped at the soft call. Releasing the Cerberus operative, he spun around to see the forgery unfold, her hands dropping away from her head … the rictus fading from her face. After a second, she clambered to her feet, clutching one of the planters. Meeting his eyes, she smiled, a soft, almost wistful smile. "General Garrus Vakarian." Pressing her lips together, she nodded. "I like it." A long sigh accompanied a faint head shake. "But, I'm not a weapon."
"They're retreating onto the bridge!" Nihlus called, interrupting. "I could use a little less theatre and a lot more help on the—"
A massive explosion rocked the building. Next to Garrus, fake-Shepard whooped and pushed past him, running to the balcony. She laughed, high and a little maniacal, then hollered, "Oh, Kasumi Goto, you beauty! Yes!" A fist punched the air as she laughed.
Garrus hit the wall at her side, able to see nothing beyond where the barricade once stood except for a massive wall of churning smoke and dust roaring toward the building. "Blast shields down!" Even before he called, he knew it was too late. "Helmets on! Get down! Everyone in cover!" He ducked down and covered his head, glancing under his arm at the helmet half a room away as the blast wave washed over them.
When he looked up, his vastator had Nihlus by the cowl, her brow resting against his. He could hear them speaking, but just the tone, not words. She pulled back and slapped the Spectre's shoulder companionably.
Garrus opened his mouth, but then the world pitched hard once more, and then again before he could regain his balance from the first. Clawing at the low wall, he kept himself on his talons, but just barely. A fourth explosion followed a few seconds later, that one not as close … probably several levels down in the Blood Pack's camp.
Fake-Shepard stood, grinning ear to ear as she faced him. "That's some infiltration team you've got there, General. She waited until they were packed together. If we have a hundred Eclipse and Blue Suns to take out I'll be surprised." The fake Shepard alerted, looking out into the impossibly thick cloud that choked the air. "Gunships. They must have repaired the ones Miss Goto didn't destroy." She yanked a kerchief up over her nose and mouth, then turned and ran for his helmet.
Garrus just watched her, stunned. They'd completely programmed her to believe she was Jane Shepard. The whine of gunship thrusters pulled him away from her. Between the dust and the echo off the buildings, he couldn't place them. "Thermal scopes!" he called. "Everyone behind cover, use your scopes. Everyone else, wait for them to—"
A flash drew his eye. He spun and threw himself backward, knowing even before he did, it was too late. The impact threw him back, lifting his feet right off the floor as the world exploded into a supernova of fire and thunder.
A-N: So ... we are in the same space, although one of them is wearing the very fashionable rocket damage headdress. Yay! On a personal note of thanks ... FI passed 200K views yesterday. Amazing. I am blown away. Thank you so much ... even the people who read a few chapters and went ... mmeeehhhh, not for me. For those of you who are still here 104 chapters later ... I can't even express how much joy and gratitude I feel. Thank you, so so much. *hugs*