A/N:
Welcome to the Third Arc, or my rendition of Lair of the Shadow Broker.
This chapter started out as two BDSM references, Dragunov fighting off naked asari, and a coffee cannon testing shot. The Editing Gang deserves all the credit for anything cool you may find in this chapter. Thanks to them again for their efforts, corrections, clarifications and fixes.
THE THIRD ARC : AND WITH STRANGE EONS EVEN DEATH MAY DIE
'There is a certain power in truly righteous anger, but it is one that more often that not leads one down a shadowed path, full of regrets and over-reactions. It is all well and good to want justice served, but one cannot bring justice to the ocean if it drowns your lover, or to the earth if they die from a fall. Some evils are not evil at all... they merely are, and fighting them only leads to anguish and ultimately despair.'
- Benezia T'Soni, No Single Raindrop Blames Itself For The Flood
Trellani kept her breathing slow and rhythmic as she ran through the last steps of the blade dance, moving through each of the six hundred and seventeen aspects that she knew, finishing with a blindingly fast Waves-Returning-to-Shore motion, leaving herself extended into the lunging motion in which it ended.
She held the posture for a second, and then let it drop, exhaling deeply and letting her biotics fade. Age, the great leveler of even the asari, was faintly beginning to encroach upon her. It had snuck up on her in the chaos and sorrows of the past few decades, but like every other natural force, it was both patient and inevitable.
Still, she thought, while she ran a fine cloth over her warp sword and placed it back into its case, there was time. Time enough to help along Jack's little schemes while seeing if they couldn't aid a few of her own. The time was coming close to when she would need to use the confusion and chaos of the coming catastrophe of the Reapers to lay the groundwork for the destruction of the Thirty, and she needed tools for that.
If, in the fullness of time, the Reapers destroyed everyone in the near future… then that solved her problem for her, although in a fashion that didn't exactly have much meaning. But if they survived, or if the Reapers were not to arrive for decades or even centuries hence, then she had to act now.
Indeed, getting the damnable Thirty out of the way might be what would allow the asari people to unify and actually aid in stopping the Reapers. Trellani smiled widely at that thought as she swept out of the practice area and into the rest of Jack's latest base.
As she walked along the main access corridor, she considered the curving armaglass screens at the fields of bubbling magma, streaked with impurities of magnetized iron, that formed a sort of moat around the base. On a planetoid with a haywire magnetic field and constant cloud cover, as well as storms that blew magmatic mist through the air at one hundred fifty-five kilometers an hour most of the day, everything contributed to make the base almost impossible to detect.
Jack had learned a lesson or two from Edolus.
Yes, casting my lot with these people was a wise choice, the poor manners of a few somewhat useful imbeciles notwithstanding.
She passed a security scanner and entered the main command center, gleaming in shades of white and gold. General Petrovsky stood at the massive command map as usual, speaking to one of his Centurion leaders, and dismissed the heavily armored trooper as she approached.
He arched an eyebrow even as he spoke. "Unusual to see you in the command center, Matriarch. May I be of service?"
Trellani felt her lips quirk. For a member of Cerberus, something was dreadfully off about Petrovsky. He wasn't a racist like many of the group, nor was he driven by revenge, rage, stung pride, or frustrated denial. Of course, not everyone in Cerberus was a racist – Jack merely hated turians for what they did, not what they were, Miranda merely disdained asari, and that dreadful Chambers woman adored her alien lovers – but almost all of Cerberus held alien leaders and governments in sneering disdain.
Petrovsky, on the other hand, was fascinated by them, and spent long hours studying their arts, cultures, and decisions. She often wondered if the man was entirely sane, but given her own state of mind these days, set that aside to incline her head.
"I will be traveling to Ilium, to scout the planet and hopefully locate the Sisters of Vengeance. Dearest Jack does not exactly like this idea, and wants me to take along some security." She shrugged. "With Brooks in Alliance R&D, Rasa tied up at the Citadel, and the slapstick comedy twins off murdering someone in predictably appalling fashion, there's little help to be found. I suppose I could ask Shepard for security, but given that she probably considers me a risk and a liability…"
He narrowed his eyes and nodded. "I see. I can certainly provide help, although Ilium is not exactly the sort of place most of my men would fit in, is it?"
Trellani let her smirk widen a bit. "Oh, I am not sure… many asari would no doubt find great enjoyment in helping your men to relax. I think their attitudes towards such things might cause more visibility than security, however." She shook her head. "No, I doubt I'll need bodyguards. However, I might just need a recovery team if my cover is blown."
Petrovsky stroked his chin. "How strong?"
Trellani took a few steps to the side, leaning her slender frame against the wall. "There is every possibility of having to fight multiple justicars, Broker kill teams, and possibly the Sisters themselves, if they are… disagreeable. While the first would be an irritant and the second laughable, the third could prove to be a handful."
He frowned. "You think the Sisters are more dangerous than justicars and Broker mercenaries?"
Trellani shrugged. "I think the Sisters do not offer open battle, announce themselves loudly, or wear bright red body armor to make them easy to spot. I can match blades with any of those self-righteous justicar tramps and beat them. Likewise, the Broker's kill teams are military specialists, and he has never had many biotics."
She tilted her head. "Jack has no doubt instructed you to send me assistance, but I do trust you realize how badly matched up a group of gunmen is against a war priestess?"
He grunted, giving a grudging sort of nod. "In that case… three Centurion drop teams will be on hot backup. That should engender enough chaos to cover your escape, although acting openly as Cerberus will raise eyebrows."
She gave a droll smile. "My dear General, Shepard is going to be fighting Tetrimus on that world – your drop teams could go in stark naked with a full marching band and no one would notice them against that backdrop."
She sighed. "All the same, however – I would recommend having your men wear something less conspicuous than white-and-gold Cerberus armor. No need to involve more risk than we have already introduced to the equation… and to be practical, no amount of armor is going to help your men survive against a justicar war priestess."
She left him there, returning to the quarters she shared with Jack. As usual, everything was elegant and opulent. She mused on the scars left on his mind from his upbringing, the privation and near starvation he endured as a child. His bitter hate and jealousy of the rich of San Angeles, his ruthless desire to succeed tempered only by his friends – all of these were goads that prodded him toward the man he'd become.
He once quoted some bit of Earth literature at her, calling himself 'a man of wealth and taste'.
Their brutal murder at the hands of Desolas Arterius had shattered Jack Harper, and she wasn't sure the resulting debris was any more stable than her own mind. She picked through her closet, laying out the ballistic cloth undersuit and picking a trio of respectable but not overly rich looking clothing – all in blacks, grays, and oranges, of course.
If one was going to commit racial treason, after all, it should be done with a touch of style and daring. She packed away a light fragmentation pistol, a pair of ribbon-knives, and moved her warp sword into a plain, battered nexa-skin scabbard rather than the elaborate black leather one Jack had given her.
She entered the docking bay after packing, pleased to find the requested pinnace was fueled and prepared. She was less than pleased to see the figure of Jason Dunn there, however. "Mr. Dunn."
The human gave her a wry smile. "TIM still isn't sold on this idea, but he would feel better if you had at least some kind of backup. And since I'm not much use around here at the moment, and I can pilot, he decided an ex-N7 would do."
She pursed her lips briefly. "This is a delicate assignment, Mr. Dunn. And Ilium is not necessarily safe for those unprepared for its vicissitudes."
He shrugged, the servos in his cybernetic arms giving off a faint whine as he did so. "Maybe. Look, ma'am. I know I'm not the sharpest tack in the pack. I can probably be outsmarted by the shit on Ilium." He smiled. "However, I have yet to see an enemy that can outsmart a bullet. Killing's my job. If things go well, I'll stay on the pinnace. If not… then you'll probably need the backup."
She gave a sigh and nodded. "Very well, Mr. Dunn. Given the chaos there, I suppose it will do no harm. I trust we are prepared to go?"
He gestured. "Yep. Take about nine hours to get there."
She merely picked up her valise and walked onto the loading ramp.
O-TWCD-O
Tela Vasir was a reasonable person.
She was, even in her own admittedly biased opinion, level-headed and logical. If there were times that she felt depressed and spent, there was also the countervailing fact that she was equally unlikely to take an action based on whims. She prized chains of evidence, logical progression, and most of all, forward planning.
Aunt Aethyta, on the other hand, had a tendency to throw all that kind of shit into the surf and plunge right in. Which is probably why Tela was a little surprised at how organized Aethyta's trip seemed to be.
After a fitful night of very little actual rest and a lot of worrying, wondering, and confusion, she'd woken up, bathed and dressed, and spent a good thirty minutes at the Spectre headquarters, recording a message that – hopefully – might entice the Butcher to make open contact, assuming the Butcher was actually Shepard. The Council was unsure how well this would work, and she'd heard rumblings from the salarian Spectres tight with STG that the humans were planning something of their own.
Tela could only smile grimly at her own predicament. If the Butcher claimed allegiance with the Sisters of Vengeance and the Archangel – and given that she'd rescued the turian, that seemed to be the case – then it was likely she was out for the Broker too. And if that was the case, and it really was Shepard, then Tela knew, all too well, why she wanted the Broker dead.
When it came out that Tela had been the one who set up Shepard and got her killed, Tela didn't expect Shepard to take it very well. The fact that her death had ultimately led to the deaths of her wife and friends would only make that worse. In a fight against Shepard, as she was before her death, Tela would have been slightly concerned, but confident she'd come out the winner.
Against the Butcher? She didn't fool herself; the odds of coming out of that fight in a state fit to bury, much less alive, was pretty goddess-damned low. Anybody that could throw down in single combat with fucking Okeer, and win, wasn't going to be killed by a tired old matron ready to give up and die.
She made her video message and left it with Bau, who said he'd get in contact with Ahern. After stopping quickly to eat a vhorn-pastry from a little volus café, she took her aircar cross-ring and down, and met Aethyta in a rundown sector of the Tayseri Ward docks. The Tayseri Ward had been hit hard in the invasion of the Citadel, both by geth and krogan mercenaries that had started killing everything in their path.
As a result, the lower docks of Tayseri were, in many cases, little more than carefully repaired shells. The Keepers had done a good job of putting everything back into place, but many of the docks stood empty of cranes, clamps, and fuel system connections, never rebuilt after the invasion due to a lack of interest. Poorer people now lived in some of the buildings, and there was talk about further development – but no money for such, given the cost of the Geth War.
As she walked down the docks, most of the slips were empty, or held bulk cargo carriers and other long-term ported ships. She checked her gear – her modified Spectre armor, her Spear of Athame rifle, her hunting spear, and her SMGs – and then took a deep breath as she came to the dock slip she'd been told to.
Aethyta's ship turned out to be a sleek, older model, asari gun cutter, a sort of bulked-up system patrol police boat that was very common almost two centuries back. As she walked toward the dock, she could make out that it had been pretty heavily modified, including the engines, which looked more modern. A slender array of heavy missile bays were inserted into an armor arch just above the main hull.
Given that she half-expected her aunt to need some form of transport, seeing her have a ship ready to go was somewhat surprising. More than that, though, were the dozen asari in battered black combat armor, packing heavy weapons and looking suspiciously like a bunch of former Eclipse girls. The fact that all twelve of them had either high-riding armor or scarves around the area of the neck and throat where an Eclipse tattoo would be pretty much confirmed her suspicions.
The fact that all twelve were nearly her age and bore long, waved, black warp swords made her wonder exactly what she was getting into alongside her aunt.
Unless she was badly mistaken, these were some of Aethyta's old students – the Black Blades. Poisoners, assassins, seductress-spies, and thrill-killers, the Black Blades had been exiled from Asari Space long before Aethyta's own fall from grace. Notorious for both extreme stealth and creating 'collateral damage' far in excess of what was needed to take out a target, the group had mostly disbanded in recent decades, and most of them were thought to be dead.
Tela had seen brutal combat, of course, and all manner of atrocity in the centuries of her life as a Spectre. It would take more than a pack of professional killers to scare her. But it certainly implied Aethyta wasn't fucking around.
What really surprised her was the heavy crate being loaded into the ship's small cargo hold. Combat mechs of some kind, she could make that much out based on the size, shape, and embossed inspection codes on the crates. Her aunt had never been much for using mechs, and didn't often change her methods.
Aethyta herself was standing in front of the dock's maintenance arm, speaking with a small knot of salarians – one of them held up an omni-tool, and a glowing screen was apparently the focus of the conversation. Aethyta herself was wearing battered but clearly serviceable powered combat armor, painted a dark blood-red with the intricate asari glyph of the Grand Blademistress on the oversized shoulder pauldron.
Tela recognized that armor, she'd styled her own suit after it. Aethyta had not worn full battle gear in over a century, and to see her kitted out in such set her aback. Aethyta's warp sword hung by her side, a sniper rifle was clamped to her back, and a heavy SIU shotgun was slung at the other hip in a swivel-holster.
As Tela approached, the salarian holding the omni-tool shut it off and bowed to Aethyta. "All is in preparation, Saelsar. The Commander will let you land, although we cannot be sure of what the conditions are like on the ground." He paused, glancing at Tela. "And you have company."
Aethyta turned to glance over her shoulder, and smiled at Tela. "Hey, kiddo. Get any rest?"
Tela shook her head as she walked to the side of her aunt, glancing aside at the salarians. They were very well-dressed in armored slick-suits under tailored and expensive looking long coats, and two of them had top of the line cybernetic eye replacement bands. Probably salarian gangsters. "Not much. Handled my own business. Ship's going to be laid up for a month and I have nothing outstanding. We ready to go?"
Aethyta held up a hand. "Almost." She turned back to one of the salarians. "Tell Edat I owe him… and that if I find out anything about his people, I'll TTL him."
The lead salarian bowed again. "Of course, Saelsar Vasir. The Ginnister will be pleased. May you follow the smoothest imprint of the Wheel."
The little group of salarians turned and walked away slowly, and Tela gave them a curious look before moving to stand in front of Aethyta. "So… you said you had some answers."
Aethyta's smile was grim. "Once we're on board." She looked over her shoulder. "Siela, get the girls inside. We space in fifteen."
The oldest of the asari standing around the ship nodded, and the pack of them headed toward the main ramp leading into the cutter. Tela pursed her lips. "Ex-Eclipse, I presume, among other things?"
Aethyta shrugged. "Most of 'em. One's ex-Blue Suns, another one got shitcanned from one of the Ilium bounty services and knows the planet pretty well. But yes – all of them were my girls in the good old days." She lowered her voice. "I don't trust anybody else with this. Except you."
Tela was going to ask another question, but Aethyta shook her head. "Like I said… when we're on board." She glanced around, finally folding her arms as an older turian, dressed in a patched black jumpsuit and with a clunky, older-style augmetic arm, clambered out from the front of the ship's access gantry.
"She'll fly, Eth, but by the spirits, girl, don't get into a fight in this relic." The turian slapped the hull lightly with one hand. "Nimble, yes. Quick, yes. Military grade kinetics, no."
Aethyta shrugged. "Vashan, as long as she flies and can handle the junk in orbit around a world, that's all I need."
The turian folded his arms, glanced at Tela, and flicked a mandible. "Right. That's why you loaded a crate of assassin droids, a pack of Eclipse thrill-killers, and are bringing along the most powerful Spectre in the entire fucking galaxy. Because no danger is involved."
Aethyta gave a truly feral grin, and kissed his cheek lightly. "I'll be fine, old friend. Tell that fool Xarvi if I don't come back, she can have my shit."
The turian sighed. "Whatever. I made the mods you wanted in the med-bay area – four top of the line medical support tubes with stasis capability. I had to cannibalize the power feeds to the underbelly mass accelerator to do that, so the only punch you have is those missiles. The salarians stuck some kinda ECM crap in there too, but I don't know how it works."
He handed her an OSD and wiped his hands on his jumpsuit. "You can send the payments to Xarvi. Spirits know I'm not the master of my own nest."
Aethyta snorted. "Told you that when you married her, idiot. Alright, get out of here before C-Sec shows up." She watched him turn to go, then turned back to Tela. "Let's get a move on, girl."
Tela followed her into the ship. The corridors had been savagely stripped of the usual curved asari paneling, instead fitted with storage racks full of weapons and charging slots for mechs. The asari in the cargo hold were unpacking the mechs and hooking them up, or checking weapons. Six skycycles were held in cargo clamps on the ceiling.
Turning to the right, Tela followed Aethyta past several small, comfortable bunkrooms, a sickbay, and a cozy looking eating nook, into the main bridge. Three chairs – pilot, sensors, and gunner – were arrayed around a central chair.
Aethyta sat in the pilot's chair, cracking her neck. "Hop on sensors and comms, would you?"
Tela nodded numbly, sitting in the padded chair and watching the panel come alive. The layout was old-style asari haptics, clearly designed to be used by the less technical types. She flicked through several menus, and nodded to herself. "Sensors are online. Comms online. Board shows clear."
Aehtyta's own aged hands were moving through motions at the piloting station, before she tapped her omni. "Citadel Tayseri Control, this is ITV Relli's Bite. Requesting permission to clear the docks, fueling lines are clear and plans are filed in CTV-444, code one-eight-nine-two."
There was a pause, and then a crisp human voice answered. "Acknowledged, this is CTC. Maintain course two-two-seven-dash-four-tac-nineteen. You are cleared for departure… and the issue requested has been handled."
Aethyta grinned. "Thank you, Control." She clicked off.
Tela bit her lip. "Auntie, how much of what you're doing is against Citadel law? Just so I can figure out how much trouble I'm now in."
Aethyta tapped several controls, and the ship vibrated as the engines powered up. "Aside from the fact that I'm legally dead, that the ship itself is technically stolen, that the girls in the back are all wanted, that most of the weapons are mil-spec and bought from Omega, that I have some, ah, 'acquired' restricted volus missiles, and that I bribed Citadel inspectors and a fleet commander at Ilium… we're all clean."
Tela nodded, then shook her head. "Well… this is more organized than you usually are."
Aethtya's expression hardened as the ship lifted away, the curve of the docks falling rapidly away to be replaced by the purple glow of the Widow Nebula. "This is serious, Tela, the most serious thing I've probably ever done in my life since I nearly died at Omega." She smirked. "Then again, I was in a lift chair for most of the time since then…"
Tela watched the sensors with half an eye, long practiced at keeping watch for incoming ships or debris. "Cute. Now, since we're here, can you tell me what's going on now?"
Aethyta nodded tightly. "Short version… I wasn't the only one who survived that clusterfuck with Tetrimus." She set the autopilot and turned to face Tela squarely. "The Sisters of Vengeance were sent to Ilium by Aria. The Sisters are actually Liara, and the bondmate of Garrus Vakarian, Telanya. And Aria's written them off, even as the Broker is sending a damned army of killers along with Tetrimus to take them out."
Tela was literally without speech for a full five seconds, and Aethyta continued. "They're… lost, Tela. They were never meant for the life you and I lead, and between being thrust into it and bond-shock and loss and everything else, they've almost gone crazy. They're in bad shape, and I'm not going to let them die if I can help it."
She glanced at the floor. "Although getting them to want to live without their bondmates is going to be… tricky. Worst-case, we all die taking down Tetrimus. But the bastard has to go, Tela. Aria says her people have seen the Broker's men meeting with the Collectors… and the Goddess only knows why."
Tela swallowed. "Auntie… I think… I think there's something you need to know." She took a deep breath. "About the Butcher."
Aethyta turned to face her. "What's that?"
Tela licked her lips nervously. "Admiral Ahern did some analysis of the footage we have. He thinks there's a possibility that the Butcher is Shepard, rescued by Cerberus."
She was expecting Aethyta to show surprise. She didn't expect for her to laugh bitterly. "Well, well, well. The Illusive Man wasn't lying after all."
Tela blinked. "What?"
Aethyta tapped some controls on the pilot console and turned to face Tela fully. "Jack Harper met Liara and I at Shepard's funeral. He told us Shepard's armor and stasis fields might have kept her alive from the crash and that she could be medically revived if that was the case. It's why her friends joined with me and some Cerberus goons to try and get her body from P. on Omega."
Tela frowned. "The stasis module on Spectre armor isn't really intended to save lives, more to preserve a body for forensics and analysis if a Spectre is killed."
Aethyta shrugged. "Don't know all the details. What I do know is Liara's been dreaming of Shepard's death for over a year now. An imprint from the bond. That clan doctor they had did a Mind Binding on Liara, but it didn't hold… and now bond-shock is killing her by inches."
Tela worried at her lower lip with her teeth. "But if Shepard's alive, and we get them back together, they'll be alright?"
Aethyta's expression was sad. "Kiddo… if Shepard is alive and is the Butcher, she's changed a lot. So has Liara. Given the people they were and are, getting them together may not even work." She shrugged. "I'll try to talk to Liara about it when we get to Ilium – maybe I can use it to keep her going a bit longer."
She turned back to face the control panel as the mass relay came up. "But the bottom line is that it may not matter much. Tetrimus is going to be hunting them both, and I don't think I can convince Liara that Shepard is alive strongly enough to get her to let this thing go."
Tela nodded. "So… we'll probably end up fighting Tetrimus." She glanced around the small ship, and gave a tiny smile. "You think what you've brought along will help?"
Aethyta snorted. "Deeps of the Abyss, no. The mechs and my girls are coming along to keep the Broker's goons off of us long enough to take out Tetrimus." She squared her jaw. "Between you, me, Liara, and Telanya… we don't have a good shot. But we're not going in utterly exhausted and half-dead from a fight, and if I can get Liara to pull herself together and get some food and a few good nights of sleep…"
Tela gave a flat laugh. "Our chances are shit. I'm worn out. You were worn out before you… before I thought you were dead. Those two are nearly insane, according to you. This isn't going to be a very long fight, Auntie."
Aethyta's voice was soft. "I know, kiddo." She glanced at Tela, her eyes filled with bitter, old sadness. "If you had… if things had been different. If I'd been a stronger person." She paused, and then shook her head. "But things aren't different, so I'm just an old fool mouthing what-ifs."
She lifted her head, the light from the Widow Nebula casting her features with a purple sheen as they came up on the mass relay. "I wouldn't have brought you along if you were living your life, you know. I'd have stolen back my sword and been clear out and gone before you even got back. I know what you're going through."
Tela blinked, but nodded her acceptance. "I'm glad you do. I don't. Nothing… matters the way I wanted it to."
Aethyta's rough voice was wry. "Life is a lot like a vehna pie recipe. Some people can pull it off with no problem, but some of us can't, and it usually turns to shit on you just when you think you have it figured out." Her hands tapped at the controls once more. "But if we get through this… we're going to talk about a few things you need to know."
Tela almost didn't like the sound of that, but after all the pain in the past, a little more wouldn't be that hard to carry. "Whatever you say, Auntie. You're more of a mother to me than that bitch who birthed me, and if I die next to you, at least I can be proud I'm doing it for the right reasons instead of just money."
She didn't understand why her aunt flinched, but then they were at the relay and she had to focus as the ship was flung into the depths of space. And when they came out of the relay jump, Aethyta's expression was as bored and smooth as ever.
O-TWCD-O
Ashley Williams didn't usually waste time on self-reflection.
She knew she was a small gear in a bigger machine, the Alliance Military. Spending lots of time figuring out the why behind her orders wouldn't change them. But Horizon left her with a number of questions that kept popping up in her head.
In the days after the destruction of both Horizon and Battle Group Chiron, she found herself asking lots of questions with no answers. Some of that was due to the fact that the Alliance was, as usual, playing its cards close to the chest, but the rest of it was that for every answer she got, only more questions popped up.
The evacuation of Horizon had been more nightmarish than she'd ever imagined, with hundreds of thousands left to die in solar fire. She vaguely remembered that Jones, one of her corporals in the 212, had been from there. Given how badly the poor bastard had been shot up on Eden Prime, he'd been forced to take a medical discharge and went back home – she sorely hoped he'd gotten off-world.
The days after had been no easier. They burned almost a full day after the battle in debriefing aboard medical-frigates hauling everyone back. To her consternation, the Alliance was more worried about the Butcher than the Collectors, from the trend of the questions.
She'd told them what she saw and, with what tattered bits of the once proud task force under Delacor remained, had been dumped unceremoniously onto the Citadel. Much of the Marine team was in the hospital, along with a good fifth of the crews, and Delacor was still being held basically incommunicado by the Commissariat. Orders were to go on leave, but stand by for additional debriefings.
She'd been given another debriefing by a pair of AIS goons – this time, at least, they were interested in the Collectors – once she got to the Citadel, and then dismissed yet again, this time put on leave for a week. She'd gone home, to her apartment in the upper Bachjret Ward, and to her family. Her sister Sarah, with little to do at home, had moved all the way out to the Citadel to help her raise Kaisen, something she always appreciated.
Pay for an Alliance Lieutenant was hardly great, but it was way more than a Senior Chief, and the apartments in the Upper Wards weren't too pricey. Even so, Sarah had used her own money to help out – even in dishonored ruin, the Williams family had a little wealth left to them.
So, she'd gone on leave. Gone out to her favorite bar. Bought a book of poetry by Keats. She'd spent a few hours at the Armax Range, bantering with the various cops and military types that used the facility. While she still didn't trust most aliens as far as you could throw them, she wasn't a bigot or blind enough to think they were all bad.
Kaiden's words still rang in her mind. Just like us, sinners and saints.
She found herself thinking more and more often of him as the years since his death rolled past. A lot of tears, what-ifs, and what could have beens… and a quiet thank you to Commander Shepard, who'd never actually reported the fraternization that could have killed her career.
She rested. She ate a good meal. She'd had a good day of just being a young mother instead of a soldier, watching her son play with a pack of Crayolas and the other children on the floor. She'd caught up on the news from Earth and was relaxing with a beer, talking to her father, when Sarah came into the back room.
"Ash… there are Commissars at the door. They want you."
And there goes the fucking day.
Ashley felt her mouth go dry, but shook it off. She quickly said goodbye to her father, and left quick instructions with her sister to watch Kaisen, before heading out into the front room and to the front door.
A trio of Commissariat Lancers – big, burly types in black armor – flanked an almost ascetic looking Commissar. The man was lean and pale, dark brown eyes and slender features giving a delicate aspect to his handsome Slavic features. He doffed his cap and smiled amiably, his voice almost aural chocolate and his expression somewhat wry.
"Lieutenant Williams. Please do not be alarmed, neither you nor your family are in any trouble. My name is Commissar-Colonel Vilhan Kreish. Your presence is required at an Alliance military service briefing… immediately."
He glanced at the heavy steel chrono on his wrist. "You have fifteen minutes to get ready. I have an aircar waiting." Despite his calm voice, there was no give in that demand, and she merely nodded.
"I'll need five. Will I be deploying off-station?"
The Commissar shook his head. "No, ma'am. With any luck, you'll be back in time for dinner. This is a… formality, so to speak."
She nodded and dashed back in. Explaining the situation in a quick series of sentences as she stripped out of her civvies and put on her 'dress' BDUs, she gave herself a fast once-over in the mirror and fiddled with her hair before kissing her boy and telling him to be good.
The trip into the Presidium was done mostly in silence, one of the bully boys driving, the other two flanking them on air bikes while the Commissar sat in the back of the luxuriant black aircar. She only asked one question, as they touched down near the Citadel Tower itself.
"…Is this related to Horizon, sir?"
Commissar Kreish shook his head. "It is not, ma'am. It is very highly classified. Please be patient."
Landing and being escorted into the Citadel Tower, she was quietly led to a large presentation room on the second floor, one almost fifteen meters long and nearly as wide, dominated by the huge central table and a high-quality holo-projection unit. Sitting around the table was a literal galaxy of brass.
Admiral Dragunov sat next to Admiral Yonis Chu, the AIS Director. Flanking them was General von Grath, Lord General Kristen Dularis, Admiral Ahern, two more admirals she didn't know, and the High Commandant, Jaquin de la Muerte. A few AIS types sat down the table from him, along with an asari in a silvery-gray robe and exotic markings on her face.
Ash didn't know why a damned alien was sitting a table full of Alliance admirals and generals, and her gut told her it wasn't a good thing. The fact that the room was ringed by Commissars didn't help that impression.
Also present was Commissar Jiong, sitting next to a blond Commissar. He looked drawn and tired, with a tight, unhappy expression on his face, while the blonde had on an oddly serene smile. Across from them were a pair of N7 lieutenant commanders, Doctor Chakwas von Grath, and the Normandy's old Chief Engineer, Adams. Next to him was Anderson, looking tired and drawn.
She wondered what the hell was going on, and the sinking feeling in her stomach only increased as she walked in. She had her ID scanned and was pointed sternly to a chair by one of the Commissars standing nearby.
Ahern glanced up as she entered, giving her a brief nod before glancing at Dragunov. "I believe Lt. Williams is the last person we expect to arrive."
Dragunov's voice was icy, crisp, and yet thick with his Russian accent. "And we have not located the last three members of Neutron?"
One of the AIS goons spoke, his features a mix of Japanese and something else. "Our best intelligence posits that Commander Beatrice Shields is dead. Captain Jason Dunn is… well, Cerberus – he vanished off the grid after Shepard destroyed their HQ. And Master Chief Jackson is still on Tuchanka and technically wanted for desertion… and unlikely to respond to our request and offer of—"
The door hissed open, revealing a pair of turians in the black and gold armor of the CDEM, flanking a very tall, gaunt human male. His features were weathered and wind-blasted, his long blond hair nearly bleached white, and scars covered his face and lower arms. He wore a slightly out-of-date but otherwise high-quality set of dress clothes with the sleeves rolled up. "David Jackson… former SA Marine, 2 RRU. Here as politely requested."
His voice was deep but had a mocking, exhausted quality to it, and his expression was one of weary amusement. Williams didn't know who he was, but the reaction of the other brass in the room was interesting. Most of them seemed to know who he was. Given that they were just talking about Shepard's old N7 team, she figured this guy was one of them.
That was a little concerning to Ash. What did this meeting have to do with Shepard, dead for more than two years now?
The AIS man shut his jaw with a snap, and von Grath leveled an icy look at the man before disgustedly gesturing him to a chair at the far end. To the turians he said, "We will be providing Mr. Jackson transportation back to Tuchanka, gentle-beings."
The leftmost CDEM soldier flicked a mandible. "Please do that. Wrex is bad enough to deal with, but Sederis likes this human and we really don't need her any more agitated if we can help it."
The two exited, a Commissar closing the doors behind them and then setting up a static field, as several others did the same thing in each corner of the room. The High Commandant waited until they were done to speak, his voice cool and deep.
"Thank you for your cooperation. This briefing is classed as designation Thaumiel. This is not a normal classification on the NOVA scale. It is a special state that transcends SUPERNOVA and BLACKFLASH and is only used for threats to the survival of the entire Systems Alliance. It is a deployed classification, not a guaranteed level – your clearance only allows you to learn of what we speak of today, not other Thaumiel-level intelligence."
He gave a thin, almost cynical smile. "I should not, I trust, have to explain the likely outcomes of sharing what you hear in this meeting with anyone, for any reason. But I will anyway – death, and not a quick one." He gestured to the asari. "The priestess here has already sworn an oath of Sublimation to the same effect."
The deep voice took on a lighter tone. "Most of you are probably familiar with each other. However, in the interest of brevity, I will make a few introductions before we begin. The N7s are Lieutenant Commanders Jason Thorus and Zhong Hui. Both are biotic Fury specialists with a focus on countering biotic CQB tactics. I have Major Victor Sontagi from the AIS along with his staff, specialists in digital tracking and forensics. Mr. Jackson was once Master Chief Jackson, N7 heavy weapons specialist for Team Neutron in the 2 RRU. Lieutenant Williams was the executioner of Saren, and on Shepard's team. She, along with Commissar Jiong, are eyewitnesses to what we will be discussing."
He listed off several more brass Ash didn't recognize, but it was immediately apparent that everyone in this room either worked with Shepard, knew her closely, or was skilled in intelligence work. She had even less clue of why she was in here than earlier, and gave up on wondering when de la Muerte finished his recital.
The High Commissar tented his fingers together and glanced at Ahern. "Admiral? You may begin."
Ahern exhaled sharply. "As you all know, the past few months have been chaotic due to the actions of what we had initially assumed to be a rogue member of the Asari Thirty Families, styling herself as the Butcher in some kind of sick homage to Baroness Sara Shepard. Initial eyewitness reports and blurred video, along with first-hand evidence recovered at the sites of her attacks on pirates and slavers, seemed to confirm this. There's no need to rehash her actions, but her appearance and ultimate goals are concerning, and the reason for this gathering."
He placed his hands on the table. "I won't waste time rehashing why Command is concerned – some of it is above your need to know and most of it is irrelevant to the task at hand. To get to the fucking point, though, the bottom line is that our intel – AIS, STG, and other sources – indicates two things."
He lifted one hand, and one finger. "First, she's working for Cerberus. Given how deep Cerberus was into evil shit, that's not a good combination. We don't know much, but from what evidence we've picked up after her rampages, we know she has access to technology more advanced than even the most cutting-edge salarian tech, war robots of an unknown make that have regenerative properties, and – as seen clearly on Horizon in the hands of that giant krogan – particle beam weapons beyond our understanding. On top of that, it is pretty much confirmed the Inusannon VI Vigil that had vanished from the Citadel some time ago is in her possession."
Williams kept a carefully neutral expression her face, but inside her thoughts were whirling. The idea of asari, turians, and quarians working for Cerberus didn't exactly compute for her, but she knew that the Illusive Man had cleaned house – including her uncle Richard – due to what he claimed were excesses on the part of Cerberus. She remembered that tense conversation in the faked-up command center on Edolus, at how confident the Illusive Man had seemed.
If Cerberus was coming back, fronted by aliens… she shook her head as she realized Ahern had kept talking, focusing on his words more closely.
"…and of course, many people like what the Butcher has done so far. Certainly, taking down fucking pirates," he paused to glare hard at the AIS agents, "and killing that sick bastard Okeer is hardly cause for alarm. But the Alliance does not know what the Butcher's motives are, or those of Cerberus – and until we do, we must assume she may turn out to be hostile."
Anderson frowned. "Being that she is an asari, maybe she has no interest in us. Why is the SA so concerned?" He looked at other faces in the room, and his frown deepened. "And what, exactly, has changed in the past few days to result in this meeting?"
Ahern's jaw tensed for a moment before he spoke. "It's a number of factors, David. We were originally just concerned due to the Cerberus angle. As we have gathered additional intelligence, video, and forensic evidence, however, the other issues I mentioned – the technology, fleet size, and Vigil – caused more consternation."
He exhaled. "Which brings me to the second reason you are all here. A recent physio-kinesthetic analysis of the battle footage indicated that whatever the flying fuck the Butcher is, she's not an asari."
He tapped a haptic control, and video of the assault on Horizon was shown, with the Butcher ducking under a backhand from a misshapen black creature and pivoting as she twisted to slash off its arm. More images of the Butcher fighting played on the screen, as Ahern turned to face the assembled parties.
His voice was sarcastic. "Anyone see a problem with these goddamned images?"
Williams frowned as she watched the moves, and she admitted to herself they looked impressive. There was something vaguely familiar about the duck-spin-boom stick to the face routine one series of images showed, but nothing she could put her finger on. She glanced around at the other faces – Jiong looked troubled, Anderson looked concerned and confused, and both Jackson and the N7s suddenly leaned forward, eyes narrowed.
Doctor Chakwas von Grath was the one who spoke first, as she frowned. "Asari can't move their arms like that… or twist their spine that way."
Ahern gave her a grim nod. "Correct, doctor. Asari have a double spine… thing. I don't know or care about the exact verbiage, what I do know is they can't play Twister worth a damn and they can't make that kind of move. Nor do their arm and shoulder muscles work in such a fashion to allow that counterstrike."
Admiral Chu frowned. "But only an asari can utilize a warp sword. And the Butcher has used several asari-specific biotic evocations. How is it that the Butcher can do these things if she isn't asari?"
The asari at the table smiled gently and spoke in a soft, almost lilting voice. "You are technically correct, Admiral." She inclined her head. "I am Sethia Vakassa, currently the Stellarch – the Priestess of the Stars in the Church of Athame, Keeper of Secrets. The High Solarch dispatched me after a request from Admiral Ahern."
Ashley looked at her more closely. Unlike most of the asari she'd seen, this one wasn't dressed like a slut. The silvery-gray robe she had on was thick and rich looking, and her expression was one of serenity. She didn't know why a big-shot asari priestess would be at this meeting, but then again, no one had explained what the fuck the meeting was about, so that was no big deal.
The asari woman tapped a haptic control, showing images of the Butcher using a singularity to destroy some kind of Collector abomination on Horizon, the video grainy and jumpy. "While the Butcher does use several Temple-specific invocations and evocations, her applique is – at best – sloppy. While there is certainly enough power to rival a war priestess, there is a very telling lack of finesse and control. Bluntly put, no asari who mastered these skills would be so sloppy and excessive in using them."
The asari made a sign of siari frustration. "Likewise, there is nothing that states only an asari can use a warp sword – assuming they could spend a century learning the techniques needed to control it. While it has never been done – bladedancing is not something other races seem very interested in – with the proper blueware monitoring software, such a thing could be accomplished – in theory."
Lord General Dularis coughed politely, her sternly Germanic features set in perplexity. "With all due respect, that does not seem to answer the question. Just because it might be possible doesn't explain how this Butcher could have gained access to them."
The Stellarch's smile flickered. "That is why I am here. It is very likely that the only way a non-asari could hope to master our invocations or use a warp sword would be through the intervention of a very high-ranking priestess of Athame. For those high in our church's orders, we have methods of direct memory transfer. This would allow, in theory, for the skill to fight with the sword – and to use restricted invocations – to be gifted to the recipient."
The priestess paused. "I must point out that using these… memory transfers for such a purpose would be both illegal and blasphemous. It also leaves open the possibility of shaping the subject's memories in fashions that the Church of Athame finds distasteful."
Ashley shuddered at the idea, making her wonder just why in the fuck the Church of Athame even needed the capability of doing something like that to a person's mind. She shook her head to clear it and forced herself to listen.
The asari leaned back. "We know for a fact the Butcher is associated with a group the Council of Matriarchs believes to be remains of Cerberus. And that the former Stellarch, Matriarch Trellani, is associated with them. Trellani was the first asari not of the Thirty to rise to this rank, and her skills at both invocation and bladedancing were very formidable. She would have no problems in committing this abomination and giving away our holy skills – in fact, she's probably found some technical reason why it wasn't illegal."
Chu narrowed his eyes. "If this is the case, then the style of fighting this asari is using…?"
She nodded. "The sword moves match Trellani's known sets exactly. So do most of the demonstrated biotic abilities normally not available to humans."
Chu glanced back at Ahern. "So… if not asari, what is she?"
Ahern folded his hands. "After stumbling through the entire mess the Stellarch described, we wondered if the Butcher was some kind of asari cyborg. Due to various reasons – biotic power levels and a bunch of other biotic technical mumbo-jumbo – that's also out. Combined with the video analysis, we've come to an ugly conclusion."
Jason von Grath tugged at his handlebar mustache. "And that would be why we are here, yes? That you think this person is—"
Dragunov's voice was like iron as it cut von Grath off. "The being known as the Butcher exhibits the range of motions expected from a human combatant. Clearly it is some form of bionetic being or cyborg. The AIS has managed to determine Cerberus appears to have abducted several medical experts in a range of cybernetic related fields, as well as memory management."
The Admiral took a deep breath. "The fact that this being fights exactly in a manner matching a known human profile while demonstrating such asari-specific skills means it's likely this Butcher is something Cerberus… created. As for its nature…" He paused and turned to glance at Ahern.
Ahern tapped a haptic control, and wireframe images flickered in a number of poses. "We had deep analysis done on all of the Butcher footage we had. After hours of analysis… we came up with a nearly exact match for who moves and fights in this manner, using all the same moves and weapons skills."
The wireframe split into two screens. One overlaid the Butcher ducking under a diving husk and rolling to the side, coming up in a side-motion crouch and firing a heavy shotgun.
The other had Sara Shepard doing the same thing to a geth on Eden Prime. Ashley felt something in her stomach lurch as she realized the wireframes were exact matches.
Ahern's grimace grew. "There are only two possibilities. One, someone has cloned Sara Shepard and done extremely heavy gene-sculpting to enhance the copy's biotic abilities. The Butcher moves in exactly the same way Shepard does – not 90% or even 99% but 99.998%. Such a thing might have her fighting reflexes if they used greenboxes and neural shunts, but not her personality."
Ahern glanced at Anderson. "Shepard didn't use a graybox, did she?"
The Commodore shook his head. "No, she didn't have any cybernetics at all that I was aware of." He glanced meaningfully at Karin Chakwas von Grath, who also shook her head and spoke.
"No, Shepard didn't have any cybernetics beyond her standard biotic implant site."
Ahern nodded. "After some additional modeling of the chances, we think the first possibility isn't very likely. That leaves us with the other outcome, one that we feel we have confirmed." He exhaled.
"Sara Shepard never died, and has been working with Cerberus. They've done something to her to increase her power, probably using alien genetics or experimental cybernetics. We know they did something, because the body given to LTCs Moreau and Zorah after Omega was a carefully prepared flash-clone."
Ashley blinked, then frowned. The idea that the Skipper would have been able to survive being blown out of the sky never occurred to her. She'd been broken up already over Kaiden's death, and learning about Shepard's had just piled onto her misery at the time.
Anderson looked confused. "A flash-clone? But… why?"
Admiral Vandefar, an older woman with gray in her hair wearing the green-tabs of a non-command officer, made a small exhalation of breath, her voice precise. "There is the possibility – however slight – that the survival, medical, and stasis features of her Spectre armor could have enabled her to survive… albeit with extreme medical issues. As the only thing we know of her recovery was third-hand at best… it is difficult to say that she was dead when recovered."
The Admiral turned to glance down the table at General von Grath. "I presume efforts have been made to clarify the issue?"
Dragunov snorted. "That is… difficult at best. The only people we are aware of who were there and survived were Lieutenant Commanders Moreau and Zorah. As you are well aware they were cashiered out of the Service and returned to the Quarian Flotilla, where we understand they were exiled from shortly after arrival. We do not have current locations for either of them… and in their deputations to the court they stated Shepard was dead."
Vandefar arched an eyebrow. "How… convenient. Are there no other sources of data?" Her gaze at von Grath hardened. "General, you have been very reticent to detail exactly what the hell happened on Omega."
Jason von Grath sneered. "I had no reason to do otherwise, madam, especially after the discommendation I suffered."
Dragunov grunted. "That is in the past. Along with your reinstatement, you've been granted a full pardon for any crimes or… irregularities you may have committed. If you know something, now would be a good time to share."
The General was silent for several seconds, the silence filling the room. Just as Dragunov's mouth opened, von Grath sighed. "Shortly after the funeral of the Baroness… I was contacted by a figure who said they were in the employ of Cerberus. This person made wild, baseless allegations I shall not repeat here, save for one – that Shepard's death was a setup, one perpetrated by the Shadow Broker for unknown clients… some of them in the Alliance itself."
There was a sharp intake of breath across the table, and Williams had a sour taste in her mouth. She'd seen enough shady shit rolling with Shepard to open her eyes more than a little bit, and found herself not all that surprised at what von Grath said.
The High Commandant gave a chillingly polite smile. "And should we ever find evidence of that, General, I will let you throw the switch as we lower any such criminals into molten brass a half centimeter at a time. But we need to know everything now."
Jason shared the story – or what he knew of it – of the events leading to the fight on Omega and the aftermath, and then sighed. "I did what I thought was best. But I did not protest my discharge, because I aided a pack of terrorist thugs… and feared to trust my own government."
Dragunov stared. "Yes, General. You chose to cover for Cerberus rather than bring this to, say, the Commissars. Might I ask why?"
Von Grath's expression hardened. "Because they had blackmail against Family von Grath, of course. I would never willingly associate with such cretins, and I direly regret my father made the choices he did. Unfortunately, it wasn't my choice… and in my way of thinking, my soldier was dead. It did not matter." He paused. "And given the ugliness surrounding the fall of Saracino and the fact that he was the one who recommended Shepard go on that wild goose chase, I was leery of being exposed and then betrayed."
Von Grath shrugged. "Cerberus, for all their vileness, had the decency to do what the SA did not – to bring back her body. To tell the truth would only have ruined my House, my father arrested, and gotten Moreau and Zorah imprisoned and interrogated. Better to be thought of as impulsive, hot-headed fools."
Ahern rubbed his jaw, and one of the admirals Ashley didn't know spoke up. "Admiral Ahern, I can't say I knew Sara Shepard well, only in passing. Yet it does not strike me as likely that she would be willing to fake her own death – not to mention abandon her wife who was the only thing keeping her from losing her sanity to the Beacon Visions – to join a group of alien murdering thugs."
Ahern smiled grimly at that. "I don't think she faked her own death, Admiral Okuda. I think that Shepard may have managed to survive the crash, like Admiral Vandefar suggested, but fell into the hands of Cerberus and may have now been brainwashed. That is the reason all of you are here." He glanced around the room. "Each of you has unparalleled insight into Shepard, how she thinks, how she fights, and how she reacts."
Dragunov spoke. "Let me refocus this point. If Sara Shepard is the Butcher, and if she is working for Cerberus, the Systems Alliance faces a disaster of unimaginable proportions. Due to the PR campaigns of the Alliance, she has been made into a literal saint by the media. Her murder led directly to the SA's participation in the Geth War. If she was to go public with her identity and supports Cerberus, the results could be catastrophic."
His cold eyes flicked across the faces in the room. "Additionally, she was in possession of the very highest security clearances possible… as well as extremely sensitive, highly classified information about other threats to galactic security that, if widely disseminated, could lead to mass anarchy. Any connection with Cerberus is bad news, but the Stellarch here says this Matriarch Trellani is completely insane and, if she did any kind of mental transfer to Shepard, might have passed that on."
The High Commandant's voice rang out. "You have all been gathered here under the aegis of a Sigil, directly from the High Lords. You've now heard what little we know. The worry we have is simple: Shepard is an extremely visible and potent symbol, in command of forces of unknown power and clearly advanced technology. She is in the service of a group that was widely known for committing horrible atrocities against both humans and aliens."
De la Muerte's dark eyes swept the room. "While I and the High Lords both agree she has, to this point, been helpful in dealing with the Collector menace, we simply cannot trust her motives – or that she is acting of her own free will. Any actions she takes may accrue diplomatic difficulties with other Citadel races – indeed, we are already dealing with fallout from her handling of Okeer."
He straightened in his seat. "Thus, the purpose of this gathering is threefold. We have confirmed that this is either Shepard… or some nightmare Cerberus-created thing that fights exactly like her. The first task we have is verifying the being is either Shepard… or a fake."
His expressive features tightened. "Second, in the unfortunate event that Shepard has been brainwashed, we need to determine why Cerberus did so and what their ultimate goal is. They have taken pains to ensure most people think she is an asari, so, clearly, exposing her identity is not something they want done. We cannot act against her until we're sure we understand the ramifications."
He exhaled, dark eyes sweeping across the people in the room. "Finally, should she be a threat to the Systems Alliance, we need to define tactics and personnel capable of eliminating her."
The room was silent for several long seconds. Ashley found herself considering her feelings, and didn't know quite how to sort them all out. Upset that her Skipper wasn't dead and was working with slime? Or was Cerberus not the bad guys now? Shepard didn't tell anyone she'd survived, but maybe she'd been incapacitated.
The idea that the Alliance wanted her dead was more than a little upsetting too, and she wasn't the only one feeling that. The big man at the end of the table, Shepard's old teammate, spoke up, his voice dry and almost cracked sounding.
"I realize that I'm not exactly in good graces with the Alliance. But I have to ask, sirs – is this a wise idea, this decision to kill Shepard? We don't know what happened."
Ahern rolled his eyes, then glared at Jackson. "You were one of her N7 squadmates right? The ones who cut out on her after Torfan?"
Jackson's pale blue eyes glanced down. "…Yes, sir. I was."
Ahern nodded. "Then you should understand exactly why this concerns us. Shepard had every reason to be upset with the Alliance… and to be fair, has always had some links with Cerberus." He traded a dark look with Anderson, who flinched, and then continued in a calmer tone. "No one likes to plan to kill their friends, or worse, go through with it. But it may not be her – just her body with God only knows what in fuck Cerberus did to her mind, and even if they did nothing, with her wife dead her mind might have shattered anyway."
Jackson shook his head. "A brainwashed or crazy Shepard would be bad, yeah. But those of us who knew her would pick up on that. Once it came out that Cerberus did that to her, the entire Alliance would unify in fury to have Cerberus destroyed. I don't see much upside for Cerberus there… so what if she isn't brainwashed?"
Dragunov gave a grim smile. "Does that matter when it comes to planning on how we are going to kill her?" He shook his head. "This is not something that will be anything kulturny in execution or reasons, Mr. Jackson. If she is a danger to the SA, she dies."
The big man sighed. "I understand that. But it does matter, because like you said – we don't know why Cerberus is using her. If she's brainwashed, she's a danger and suffering and we take her out. But… I can't help but wonder if she's not brainwashed. Because everything I see from this Butcher is exactly how Sara would have acted if you gave her the power to do so."
His voice took on a quiet urgency and speed. "She hated slavers. Pirates. She tore the shit out of a bunch of them when she first came out as the Butcher, and then went after the Umlor – home base of the slavers who were involved with her own past. She hated criminals that took advantage and abused the helpless more than anything, and – based on what I'm hearing now on the extranet – the Collectors were stealing humans for some time before anyone caught on and doing God knows what to them."
He met Ahern's gaze directly. "Shepard wouldn't want innocent people kidnapped. Or experimented on. And everything she's done so far – well, except for Okeer – has been to expose and confront them. What if she's not brainwashed?"
Ahern's mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. "Jackson, you should know her pretty well. Yet you think she would willingly serve the organization – Cerberus – that she herself destroyed?"
Jackson shook his head. "You don't know her. I doubt anyone else in this room, with the exception of Captain Anderson, does."
Anderson stirred. "It's Commodore now, David."
Jackson gave a laugh. "Sorry, Bossman." He glanced back at Ahern. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying if she's not brainwashed, you have a bigger problem if you want to kill her. You've seen her fight, you've seen her doing military shit, but you haven't seen her angry. If Cerberus is involved, then that tells me they've either changed, or she's so goddamned angry she doesn't care."
He smiled sadly. "If she's that far gone, you cannot imagine what she might do. I can say this though – killing her in that state is going to be ugly. You've seen the shit she's pulled off as the Butcher – and from the footage I've seen that looked like Sara on her cheery days, not anywhere near angry."
Ashley Williams bit her lip. She remembered quite vividly what happened on Edolus when Liara had been shot. The memory of Shepard tossing a huge door aside like it was nothing, the bloody corridors filled with bits of what had been human beings crushed into paste.
She was probably the low girl on the totem pole here, but she spoke up. "I have to agree, sirs. I can't speak to the rest of this – the evidence, or if Shepard is working with Cerberus freely or is coerced. But I have seen her when she gets into that state. It's… very frightening."
Dragunov eyed her with a barely concealed distaste, but both the Lord High General and General von Grath were nodding. General Dularis spoke first. "I would agree. I had the… experience of watching her on Dirth, and the only thing comparable was Kyle's charge on Mindoir." She tilted her head. "You served and fought with Shepard – how would you take her out?"
Ashley licked her lips nervously, cursing herself for opening her mouth. She took a deep breath and spoke. "Ma'am, sirs, Shepard was always very mobile with biotics and more dangerous the closer you got. Taking her out in some kind of infantry fight with her charging all over the place won't end well for anyone. With her capabilities now, the only way to kill her would be things that can take her firepower – armored battle-suits, using heavy anti-tank weapons."
Ahern gazed at her a long moment with narrowed eyes. "That's a bit much."
Williams kept her voice firm. "No, sir. I saw her enraged once and she biotically flung away a security door that had to weigh two hundred kilos, and killed sixty-plus armored and armed soldiers singlehandedly, along with four JOTUN mechs."
Jackson smiled. "Wrex told me about that. He was impressed, and it takes a lot to impress a krogan."
Ahern's narrow gaze sharpened. "You two are talking about what happened on Edolus when she completely lost her goddamned mind?"
Jackson shrugged. "And on Dirth. Horizon. Even way back on Vansha." He grimaced and took a deep breath. "It might be that we could talk this out with her, rather than going in to try to kill her, and probably getting a lot of the people doing it turned to paste."
Ahern opened his mouth, but was cut off by Dragunov, his expression was one of almost weary amusement. "You are an intelligent man, Mr. Jackson. But I fear you do not grasp the issue as clearly as you think. It is ultimately irrelevant if she is brainwashed or not, if she is not responding to us due to anger or her own agenda. What does matter is what others will see. Cerberus is behind her, and their motives have never been and will never be beneficial to humanity, despite the misguided beliefs of the Illusive Man."
His lips thinned. "From our latest reports, the Council plans on letting her 'deal' with the Collector issue for them. They believe in the course of that action she will be killed, and that will solve the issue. The High Lords of Sol disagree. It is not for you – or I – to challenge that command."
Jackson shrugged tiredly. "If you go in hostile against her, Fleet Master – she's going to respond in kind. I'm just asking if you have given any thought to talking to her?"
Ahern glanced at Dragunov. "We have, actually. Tela Vasir is recording a message to that end. Some of you will be asked to do so as well. We don't know what happened or why, and if we can work that out, great."
His voice grew stern. "But our initial projections – based on what we've seen and know of Cerberus – say there's one in ten chance she's going to want to talk with us. As for her being brainwashed or not… it doesn't really matter, son." He gave a thin smile. "Unless she's willing to let us examine her medically and do a full neural scan – or better yet, link with an asari Commissar – we have no way of knowing."
Anderson sighed. "Alright, Tradius. I know we need to move fast, so let's move onto the first point you mentioned: is this Shepard, or something using her shape and body and maybe memories?"
Ahern looked down the table. "We've only had a few direct contacts. One of them recently. Commissar Jiong. You spoke with the Butcher on Horizon?"
Alfred made a gesture of agreement. His voice sounded tired and bitter to Williams. "Yes, I did. It was… strange. There was a haunting sense of familiarity about her, and she knew my first name."
Ahern's eyes narrowed. "In your earlier report, you said the asari took her as one of their own. How would that be possible if she seemed familiar?"
Jiong gave a small smile. "She spoke flawless high Asartic, with a Kennha accent, unless I miss my identification. I'm not the asari expert." He glanced to his right, at the blond woman, then continued. "But her manner of speech changed in the same way it did in her recordings on Freedom's Progress. It is possible she used a translator, but could hardly tell."
Ahern's eyes narrowed. "What the hell do you mean by her manner of speech?"
Jiong faint smile widened. "Her colorful language, for the most part. She shifted from a very formal and calm tone to one that was rather casual and profanity laden. Just like she did in the recording, where she was rather dismissive of the Salarian mech she took out."
One of the N7s spoke up. "I heard that, saying she'd taken harder shots in a bar. If that wasn't Shepard, I'll eat my omni-tool, sir. She used that same line back on Dirth after she beat the Glorious batarian."
Ashley listened to the discussions that followed as closely as she could. After viewing more footage, most people were convinced she wasn't brainwashed, but – despite going back and forth over everything for almost an hour – no one had a good idea of why she'd work for Cerberus, or what Cerberus was planning to do – or how they had known about the Collectors.
In Williams' mind, the whys of things were usually BS reasons people made up to justify doing something stupid, selfish, horny, or hateful. She had always held her belief in Jesus close to her heart in combat, making sure she fired her gun for the right reasons – and she'd never forgotten Shepard's fiery speech to her in the med-bay, about why she wore the uniform.
She cleared her thoughts, focusing on the discussion, which had pretty much finished up. Anderson had a sour, saddened expression on his face. "I think we are… forced to accept this is Shepard. What I don't understand is why she hasn't reached out to any of her old friends… or told anyone what's going on."
Dragunov gave a glance at the AIS analyst, who sighed. "We believe she has reached out to some people."
Anderson's face tightened, but he leaned back, his voice even. "Based on what, precisely?"
The AIS Major's voice was marred by a faint Terra Novan accent. "We've had issues contacting many people for this meeting. Her executive officer, Pressly, is missing. So is Doctor Sedanya, the majority of the Marines serving on the Normandy, and most of the engineers with the exception of Chief Engineer Adams here. Additionally, the last given address for Mr. Moreau and Ms. Zorah has been abandoned for over a year and a half according to Citadel records."
The High Commandant grunted. "We've caught several unusual infiltrators attempting to shadow Lieutenant Williams, Doctor Chakwas von Grath, Commissar Jiong, and several others. All of them committed suicide via ocular flashbangs when we pinned them down. Most of them were criminals – all of them were free of identifying marks. It's likely they've been taken by Cerberus… or, perhaps, willingly joined up, as there was no sign of struggle at any of the locations, and family members that were left behind said they'd been contracted to work for the Alliance."
Ashley didn't know what to make of stalkers looking for her, but now worried about Kaisen. She decided to speak up. "Sir, with all due respect, shouldn't we have been notified of people stalking us?"
The Spaniard shrugged. "It is of no moment now, Lieutenant. Be assured the Commissariat would look very dimly on any harm done to you… or your family." He glanced at Ahern. "But we now digress. The time has come to assess if she's a threat to the Alliance."
Von Grath folded his arms. "And how, precisely, are we to determine that, if we cannot contact her, and if such contact has been given over to the Council to oversee?"
Ahern smiled. "General, I don't think you get the whole picture here, so I'm going to be blunt."
Von Grath's patrician features twisted in distaste. "Hardly unexpected, Admiral. But by all means, proceed, sir. I am certainly interested in why the Alliance places so much importance on this."
Dragunov glanced meaningfully at the High Commandant, who grimly nodded and spoke. "The following information is… even further restricted than what we have discussed to this point."
He sent a look to the Stellarch, who inclined her head and rose, followed by a Commissar. After she exited the room and it was resealed, the High Commandant continued to speak.
"The AIS has strong reason to believe Shepard had certain information about certain morally troublesome projects the Alliance was working on. We also believe that Jack Harper knows of this information." He gave a thin, humorless smile. "While I won't be going into any details – to be exact, I don't know all of what she may have found out – I can confirm at least some of these projects were related to human experiments on biotics, L2s to be exact, and some were connected to certain events on Feros before its destruction."
Williams remembered all too well the plant zombies that had been people, and the huge, horrific chamber full of something where she and Garrus had found Shepard's beaten team after their first clash with Saren.
She also thought about Kaiden's headaches, his disorder that would have killed him if he'd not died in combat. The one, she suspected, that had broken through his hesitations about being involved with her. She clenched her fist under the table.
De la Muerte steepled his fingers together, elbows on the table. "There is a high probability that Harper might attempt to use this knowledge to blackmail the Alliance – to what purposes, we do not yet know. If the information was exposed, it could cause irreparable harm to our own standing – with the asari, with the turians, and with the Council itself – as well as rioting and general insurrection in our own territory."
Anderson grimaced in distaste. "The whole thing about the omni-tool that I went through is related to this?"
Dragunov nodded. "Yes. It is for this reason the High Lords are… concerned. And their mandate is clear – if we cannot be absolutely certain that Shepard is not compromised, that this is actually her, and that she intends no harm to the Alliance or its interests, she is to be killed."
Jackson was the first to speak into the silence that followed, his voice low and slow. "I don't find it hard to believe the Alliance did some dark shit. Nothing much would surprise me after the shit Command pulled on Torfan." He looked straight at the Fleet Master. "But I have to ask – if the information is that ugly, why are we here?"
Dragunov met his gaze evenly. "There is a good chance that we will only have one chance at taking her down. Despite the order from the High Lords, it is the intention of Alliance Command to attempt to reach out to Shepard and give her a chance to surrender herself into our custody. If, in the fullness of time and such investigations that may occur, it becomes apparent she is no threat to the Alliance, then she would be restored to her position."
Jackson's gaze didn't waver. "Uh huh. And if Sara doesn't play along?"
Dragunov's lips slowly formed into the single ugliest and most mocking smile Ash had ever seen, his accent thickening as he spoke. "Then we will be forced to take measures we do not wish to undertake, but will not flinch from. We are aware of the power Shepard now has. The Stellarch has agreed to lend her services in countering Shepard's biotic powers."
His voice hardened. "But in the worst-case scenario, we need an idea of what we are facing and how to best defeat her. Your insights would be required."
Jackson leaned back. "Ahhh." He glanced at Ahern, and then at Anderson. "You have the guys who trained her. Why am I here? Why is most of Shepard's team from the Normandy here?"
The High Commandant smiled. "That would be my doing, Master Chief. The High Lords have made their wishes clear. While I would hope very much that Shepard retains her loyalty to the SA, and her…" he paused, searching for a word, "…'work' with Cerberus is due to no one else acting on the Collector threat, we simply do not know. Sending in someone she has no connection with to talk to her may not yield the desired results."
He adjusted his sash. "When it comes time to make contact, I am hoping that some of you will be of use in convincing her to surrender peacefully. And if that fails, that some of you will engage her in combat alongside the N7s."
Jackson laughed, a loud explosion of hard sound. "You seriously expect me to try and kill her for the Alliance?"
De la Muerte gave him a look. "You? No. I understand your compromised nature in this discussion. I trust you and Lieutenant Williams and Commodore Anderson to handle the Alliance contact with Shepard and make her realize if she does not surrender then she dies, along with any who stand beside her." He gestured to Jiong. "But others of you will be required to perform your duty, as distasteful as that might be."
Williams looked down at the table before finding her own voice. "And if we can't convince her, but she turns out not be a threat to the Alliance, sir?"
Dragunov glanced at the High Commandant, then Ahern, before speaking. "Given that it is not we who will determine if she is a threat or not, Lieutenant… I would suggest very strongly that you make your best attempt at convincing her to surrender."
