The Illusive Man's enhancement surgery had once been the pinnacle of Dr Lanore's career; she had cut her teeth, like many others that worked with her now, on Miranda Lawson's Lazarus project some five years ago, and had learned a vast amount in a relatively short time. His four day surgery had been stressful, intensive, but also liberating - she and her team had created a work of art, the perfect amalgamation of man and machine that would serve as a symbol of humanity's intent in the ages to come. When the last stitch had been sown through the last incision in his hybrid flesh, a finely woven mesh of titanium, silicon and biology, she stood back and looked in awe at her creation. They all did; they were standing at the frontier of the new age of man, a human with a silver sheen and fine wires that glowed a weak, glacial blue in the darkness. There would still be improvements to make in the future, naturally, but that was evolution after all – and it was in their hands. The driving force of the galaxy, of all organic life, finally under their complete control.
She didn't sleep a wink that night; the stars glittered with possibility through the window in her quarters, reaching for her attention. She watched, waited, wondered – what would be next?
The answer came soon enough. The Illusive Man always planned ten steps ahead of the rest of them, and as soon as he woke he explained his plans for the rest of Cerberus, the existing forces and those he would recruit, flexing his joints with smooth, graceful movements, like a limbless man given a new life. Solidarity, he said, was of the utmost importance; to lose that would be to lose everything. He spoke like a convert, evangelical about his philosophies for human dominance, for conquest over any who would oppose us, for ultimate control and the benefits of singular executive power over trillions of others. To anyone else he would have sounded like a madman, and it seemed at times that his logic was not his own – he had moved so far beyond even their reasoning – but instead of questioning it, they accepted it. He had always been an eccentric, their maverick leader doing the undoable, saying the unsayable, and they trusted him implicitly. No-one really knew him enough to suspect his mind wasn't his own.
When she had realised the truth, she felt as though the floor had dropped from beneath her – but rather than falling, she floundered, stuck between thought and deed, loyalty and truth, and things moved from bad to worse. Her work had already robbed hundreds, maybe even thousands of minds from willing subjects, people who believed they were doing the right thing. People who, in their most vulnerable states of being, trusted her to make them better than they already were. Their trust had been utterly betrayed, and no matter how much time she spent trying to subtly undermine her own work, destroying her own creations, there was nothing she could do to repay the lives she had taken. The pinnacle of success had been inverted; the deep gulf of guilt was her life now, and she would never let herself forget it, even if she refused to relive the events themselves that catalysed her eventual awakening.
The indoctrination process, the so-called 'Human Advancement Program', was irreversible. Once rewired, the subjects' brains couldn't be restored to their original state; she had tried, used every branch of medicine she could think of to undo the damage, but every time the patient lost their minds even more completely. The few who died were fortunate.
And now, the situation had complicated itself further. The reapers were defeated and the Illusive Man dead, which left her vulnerable on a ship with a mostly indoctrinated crew. Having deduced the source of their leader's increasingly inhuman sensibilities, she limited her exposure to the various pieces of exotic tech that had found their way onboard, leaving the others to pore over the finer, fascinating details. Even before their indoctrination, they would never have sided with her – leaving them to the degradation of their own free will had been a necessary, and not much dwelled upon, evil. Her own mind would unravel soon enough, she knew that – every second she was in control of her own mental faculties was important. Even with the reapers gone, the long-term effects of indoctrination were nothing but a dark uncertainty; her own investigations had shown too many variables for even the most flexible of predictive models.
The computer blinked in front of her, bright orange cutting through the tired haze of her mind – all incoming and outgoing comms traffic was monitored through her terminal. As head of the Azrael cell, she had to authorise all use of their QEC, Long-Distance Comm Buoy Channels and secure extranet messaging terminals, which she did carefully; it would only take one security leak to put all their lives at risk, as well as the lives they supported through the project. The Long-Distance Comms permissions screen appeared momentarily, requesting authorisation for use. She leaned forward to read the request, irritated – the timing couldn't be less appropriate, given the near-disintegration of Cerberus in its entirety – and half considered instantly rejecting the request regardless of reason.
The option was never given. A message popped up across the screen: "Authorised". Without hesitation, she tapped into the feed, feeling somewhere between mildly impressed and incredibly angry – no-one had been able to hack anything personal of hers, never mind bypassing Cerberus' paranoid tech security protocols. It was a fantastic feat that would be severely punished.
"...been some time since you checked in. What do you have for me?"
"The Illusive Man messaged Lanore and the senior doctors - well, they got a recorded message anyway. You should have it now."
Only one voice was obviously disguised, incredibly distorted yet clearly enunciated, a rolling growl breathing carefully constructed sentences between the walls of latent noise. The other was one she knew well – Micah, the prodigal hacker headhunted by Cerberus, with tech skills that eclipsed them all. Her assistant. Her confidant. Hadn't life already taught her that to trust is to fail?
"I have it," the low voice rumbled, empty of emotion. "What's happening with the project?"
"The station is unsustainable – we can't just roll into the nearest system and grab supplies, so they're shutting down what they don't need. If we even tried to get somewhere viable for solar energy, the Alliance would blow us up within minutes. The doctors can't decide who to save, and there's been some discussion over project Lazarus. I tried to find out what it was, but I couldn't get anywhere near it – I think it's only Lanore and her lieutenant that knows who or what it is. It might be - "
"I know what Lazarus is. I want details about their future plans, which you will provide if you are still of value to me."
"Well, we've got enough power for now. When the time comes, they'll disconnect the soldiers one battalion at a time, what's left of them anyway. Once the foot soldiers are gone, the real fights will break out." He paused, breathed a heavy sigh. "They'll probably all die before Lazarus does, but even that won't last forever."
"How long, Hades?"
"They're saying a couple of years. I'd give it eight months, at the latest." He laughed, dismissive. "They're idiots, it's completely unsustainable – finest minds in the galaxy, and they can't even do math. I've sent the numbers to you, so you know I'm not making it up. What is Lazarus, anyway?"
"I don't pay you to ask me questions. I'll have an extraction scenario prepared within five solar days; my forces will take Lazarus. Wait for my signal. Shadow Broker out."
Lanore stared, stunned into silence and inaction by a simple, yet extensive betrayal, searching her mind for the cause of her blindness – it was unlike her to miss anything, that's why she held the position she did. It wasn't paranoia, but vigilance that had been her guide, a lesson learned through a hard life that had sculpted her into the figure she was today. Time had worn her down, eroding the supple layers of her life to leave a hard, unbreakable core, and yet here was a softness in her steely nature that surprised and angered her – she was not in the habit of feeling anything but the sharp stick of guilt in her ribs, a knife she willingly twisted to remind her of her necessary penance. She flicked to the camera feeds of the comms room, mind almost absent in its shock and disappointment, to find an empty room. She checked Micah's room and saw him sleeping peacefully in the dark, the faint but steady light of a thousand stars dappled across the dark features of his face. She had woken with him, once. Everything she had known, or thought – or, god forbid, felt for him – had been based on a lie.
The picture on the screen flicked to a slightly different scene, which she supposed would have been nigh-on imperceptible had she not been watching her lover sleep, a night from a more peaceful time. He now sat at the edge of the small bed, undressed, honest in appearance at least, reading a datapad with his usual sweet concentration. He sighed, shoulders heaving with exhaustion, and lay down, face to the window, staring through the thick glass separating them from the deadly, cold expanse outside. She had done the same thing, night after night, gazing beyond her tepid reflection into empty space, searching for redemption in a swathe of stars.
She was beyond redemption – she understood that now. A sharp tiredness roused itself above her eyes, leaving a stinging pain in its wake which she was forced to ignore as she reached for the shining, unused pistol gleaming in wait. Lazarus was too important to fall into the wrong hands, to be with anyone but her, and she would do what she knew she had to. Micah's redemption would be simply, and instantly, provided.
Liara's footsteps echoed, hollow and loud in the cool, empty room she paced as Glyph hummed quietly from the corner, indexing the intelligence on Cerberus and their operations. She already knew a lot about them – Operative Hades had been embedded in the Azrael cell for only two years, yet had provided a wealth of information about their projects, aims and methods that had helped Shepard defeat them, once and for all.
She did not know about Lazarus, and the name brought about memories of another life, one filled with innocent mourning and terrible grief, a long, dark night of utter despair. Now, this knowledge had boosted her cause – if, somehow, Shepard was linked to Azrael, they would know where to find her. They would know if she had survived, possibly even how she'd lived through such complete destruction. It was good news, wrapped in uncomfortable questions; what role had they played in Shepard's life? What control, if any, did they have over her?
What did they know that she didn't?
Her hands clasped around her skull, as if she could crush the dizzying insecurity between her palms, regaining control; Shepard was her own woman. There had been changes, naturally – death was something that probably could change a person's perspective, after all – but she still had the same convictions, the same drive and beliefs that pushed her through situations that would break many others. The love they felt for each other was as strong as it always had been, often stronger than she remembered; every time they went their separate ways, it's strength felt more pronounced, the bonds becoming harder and harder to break. If it had all been a lie, innocent a lie though it was…that was too difficult a conclusion to consider. Instead, she hardened her resolve, striding out of the ever more enclosing walls of her cabin, and headed for the bridge.
The corridors were busier than usual: crewmen scurried to and fro, consulting datapads as they hurried along, narrowly avoiding each others' paths as they attended to their tasks, all of which left Liara with the unsettling feeling of being left out of the loop, a feeling that was bad for business. She tapped a passing soldier on the arm as he brushed past, gently tugging his wrist as he almost walked straight past her.
"What is it?" he barked as he turned to face her, cheeks turning a light shade of pink as he realised who had demanded his attention. "Oh, Dr T'Soni – my apologies."
"No problem. What's going on? Are we going somewhere?"
"The Alliance has repaired the relay - it's a couple of systems away, but we've been mining for materials since we crashed. Joker thinks we've got just enough fuel to make it, and that's good enough for me."
"So we're headed to Earth then?"
He looked briefly at the ground before meeting her inquisitive look. "Yeah, if there's anything left. Excuse me."
When she reached the CIC, she found the same feeling of urgency which, channelled into a smaller space, seemed more potent – full of expectation, nerves, fear and uncertainty. Their focus was unshakeable, embodied in Traynor's furious typing and swiping at her own terminal, glancing up and down with quick, intelligent precision. At the centre of it all, the calm, still figure in the eye of the storm, was Ashley Williams; she stood at the galaxy map, staring into the white swirl of stars before her, looking the part of the commander in stature, if not in demeanour.
It felt too soon – Ashley had only just come to terms with her Spectre status, having finally emerged from her Commander's shadow only to find herself in Shepard's imposing silhouette. The crew had been polite, showing deference, carrying out her orders without question, but there was no passion left – the zeal they were known for had seeped from them, leaving them exhausted, adrift. How much of that was specifically to do with Shepard, she wasn't sure; they were only now coming up for air, breaking the icy water's surface to witness the destruction that surrounded them, to dream of a world that looked worse than they could imagine.
She knew what it looked like. She had watched Thessia fall, had fought in London's fires and rubble and seen legions of the innocent dead, civilians turned to ash as they slept – empty beds where couples lay together, lives destroyed, their legacy nothing but an oily stain on linen sheets. They had no idea, none of them; she held it all in her eyes, a world of horror and bloodshed, but they never looked. Hope was a powerful concept and, while they feared the worst, they hoped for the best.
"Ashley, are we going somewhere?" The sight of someone else, someone other, in Shepard's place clenched an angry fist somewhere deep inside Liara's chest, despite the respectful voice that flowed from her lips. The pain was as unbearable as it was eventually numbing, and a cold, emotional necrosis spread quickly underneath her skin as Ashley turned to face her.
"Yeah, we're headed back to Earth. Relay's all patched up and ready to go, so..." She forced herself to look into the asari's blank, dead stare, and knew instantly what she was thinking. "Look, I don't like this either, but someone's got to take us home. Nobody else would do it."
"You're the second in command, I know how it works. Shepard always said you'd get your own ship one day."
She shook her head. "I never wanted it to be like this. This isn't my ship, it's Shepard's – always will be, no matter what. Death can't change that."
"Yes, I suppose it can't. If we make it back to Earth, I'll need to ask you a favour. For Shepard. I could use your help."
The lines in Ashley's face softened a little; a shadow of a sympathetic smile appeared. "Sure, whatever you need, but we've got to get there first – you need to get yourself strapped in. The inertia dampeners are screwed, so it's going to be an old-school shit-storm of uncomfortable up here."
The engines roared for the first time in what had felt like weeks, chasing away the peaceful, ambient hums and hisses of machinery with a steady, rumbling growl. Liara watched as Ashley jogged swiftly towards the bridge closing the door behind them as a flurry of flight engineers hurried to their seats and firmly strapped themselves in. She followed suit, seating herself at a vacant station next to a nervous-looking Traynor, and fastened the thick belts tightly around her.
"Have you ever flown this way before?" Traynor ventured, feeling a little sick with anticipation.
Liara stared at the flickering orange displays before her. "The asari became proficient in leisurely, comfortable spaceflight thousands of years before I was born. This is...new. And a little disconcerting."
"It's fine, really – I mean, there will be a few G forces, quite a lot of shaking...it'll mess with your head a bit when we go through the relay, lots of smaller, really bumpy movements followed by a massive jolt that'll make you think your brain's squashed against your forehead. Oh, and on re-entry –"
Traynor gave the asari a sympathetic smile as the floor began to violently shake. "I'm not helping, am I?"
