Walking into the Normandy's research lab was like taking a guided tour through the bizarre psyche of Dr. Mordin Solus. The smell of formaldehyde soured the air and bacterial samples grew colourful and hairy in glass containers, each marked with times, dates and cryptic symbols that seemed to represent Mordin's enthusiastic reactions to their progress. Another section of the room functioned as museum of curiosities, containing a collection of dried flowers and medicinal plants, tissue samples from a variety of species and some anatomical models, including a plastic human skeleton wearing one of Joker's ratty old baseball caps. Numerous inventions were scattered around the lab in various states of completion. Among the gadgets and gizmos, Shepard noted a cybernetic arm, a weapon that looked like a vacuum cleaner and a transparent ball that produced frenetic bursts of purple electricity. Resting her arm on the counter, she nearly stuck her elbow into a Petri dish of green ooze.
Mordin fidgeted and blinked his bugged eyes, barely tolerating this incursion into his sanctum sanctorum. "Careful. Delicate business. No room for mistakes."
Shepard gazed down at the slimy mess, her lips curling into a distasteful grimace. It smelled like the beach, salt-water and grimy sea-weed mingling with the faint reek of dead fish. "An experiment?"
"Breakfast, actually. Nutrient paste of own devising. All essential vitamins and minerals. Very high in fiber. Also quite tasty."
Mordin pulled a spoon from the pocket of his lab coat and started in on his meal. He ate quickly and delicately, gumming at his nutrient paste like a happy infant and smacking his lips together after every spoonful in the way.
"So, is your part of the presentation ready to go for the Primacy Council?" she asked. "We only have five more hours."
"All prepped," he said. "Will try to be concise."
"Rambling has never been a real issue for you, Mordin," she said, trying to contain her amusement. "But when you're presenting, do you think you could slow down a bit? Maybe try speaking in complete sentences? I think that might make things easier for them to understand."
Mordin's mouth narrowed with concentration. When he answered her, his voice came out lower as if he was on a slow-motion instant replay. "Yeessss...I...can...speak...moooore...deliiiberaaately...althooough...it...requires...immenssse...effooort. I...am...eeeveeen...capable...of...commencing...sssentences...with...aaa...subject...although...it...seems...unnecessary...when...the...subject...is...implied.I...suppooossse...that...this...allooows...other...sentients...to...have...more...time...to...processss...complex...ideas."
"Um, Mordin?"
"Whaat...iss...your...concern...Shepaard?"
It was hard to tell if he was just messing around or if this was a serious attempt to placate her. The salarian was eerily good at keeping a straight-face through the most awkward conversations imaginable, a skill he'd likely picked up from his medical practice. Shepared could only imagine the weird things he must've encountered, diagnosed or quite possibly, probed, while running a clinic on Omega, of all places.
"Just ignore what I said," she told him. "Speak like you normally do. It's fine."
"Am relieved. Slow speech inefficient. Also tedious. Salarian neural processing fast compared to other species. Oral communication cannot keep pace with mental activity. Culturally, lengthy statements associated with pretension. Is presumptuous to waste others' time with unnecessary formalities. Goal to disseminate ideas. Focus on content."
"I see," she said. "I'm going to need to take the parts from the Reaper device. Where are they?"
Mordin blinked at her as if this was a completely absurd request. He started to toy with the samples on the counter, rearranging them into groups. "Have been extraordinarily productive. Developed an approach to extending salarian lifespan by estimated five - ten years. Quite proud of it, actually. Cardio-regulatory implants. Use of electro-magnetic pulses to stimulate nerve endings. Diet calculated to reduce metabolic rate. Genetic modification possible and addition of telomerase to aid in cellular replication."
He opened the first three buttons of his lab coat, proudly displaying a network of wires running along his waxy chest. A small red device was suctioned over his heart, emitting a gentle vibration. She remembered his insistence on staying in the lab to complete his work and the way he'd referred to the briefness of salarian lives. Mordin was struggling with his mortality and no doubt, the mental stress caused by the Reaper indoctrination device wasn't helping matters. He'd been working with it more closely than many of the others had.
"Mordin, are you okay? I'm not sure that I like the idea of you using yourself as a test subject."
"Little to lose and much to gain. Am aging at rapid pace. Want to live to witness Reapers defeated. Still too many problems without solutions. Have not discovered proof to Merton-Heannor Conjecture. Have not found feasible resolution to genophage conflict. Have not -"
"Calm down. I understand. Where's the Reaper device?" Shepard was surprised by the intensity of her voice. She hadn't meant to speak so loudly. Swallowing to ease her dry throat, she tried to relax her shoulders and ease up on the aggressive posture her body had assumed without her awareness. Shit, why was this getting her so wound up? She was tempted to write it off as nerves related to the prospect of public speaking, but she knew it wasn't that simple or innocent.
Mordin shook his head, curtly dismissive. "Too early to dispose of it, Shepard."
"I'll decide that."
"Further intense study required," he insisted. "Influence of device is not without benefits. Provides insight into advanced technology. Could be utilized to improve ship and develop research facilities. Intriguing ramifications for understanding of neurology and psychiatry. Possible to find means of countering indoctrination or of harnessing tech to alleviate mental disorders. Help patients who were formerly institutionalized to lead happy, productive lives..."
"That's not an answer, Mordin. Where is it?"
"Must consider how we can help others. Enormous potential. Would be unwise to squander opportunity for more knowledge."
Ignoring this argument, Shepard began searching the lab, flinging open the cupboard door underneath his lab station. There were only flasks, beakers, a well-used microscope and several other machines too specialized for her to identify. Undeterred, she stalked over to his curio cabinets and started rummaging through them, coming across a number of pickled organs in jars, a stuffed bird of prey, a dozen different anatomical sketchbooks, an intricate genealogical history of the Solus family...
Mordin raced after her, grabbing at her arm. "Stop! No! Intrusion deplorable! Unprofessional!"
She shouldered him away and went for the next series of cabinets, opening each of the metal doors. The device parts were neatly stacked on the center shelf of the third cabinet. She clutched them to her chest and they radiated a comforting warmth into her skin, as if she were lying out on a beach, basking in the sun. Perhaps there was something to what Mordin said. Perhaps the machine was more precious than she'd realized...she'd have to think about it after the big presentation.
"Stop. Now."
She felt something hard-edged and narrow poking into the small of her back. It took a second before she identified it as the muzzle of Mordin's Carnifex Hand-cannon, his side-arm of choice. How crazy was it was that she could identity most weapons in the galaxy based on how they felt when pressed against her skin? It was useful talent, though, and had occasionally impressed those stupid enough to think they could hold her hostage.
"Am doing this only for scientific progress, Shepard. Not personal. Put down device, raise hands and step away. Remember that aim is good - although, at this distance, would not matter. Do not wish to harm you. Will not kill but will debilitate if necessary."
"This is a bad idea. The device has been messing with your head. You have to know that this is wrong..." She stooped down slowly, trying not to alarm him, and set the device parts on the floor. Lifting her hands to show that they were empty, she moved a few steps forward as he'd demanded.
"Am aware of the dangers tech poses. Can assure you that I am not indoctrinated to Reaper cause. Only wish to preserve knowledge for greater good."
She smirked. This little mutiny felt surreal and almost comic, although she knew she wasn't supposed to take these things lightly. "I'm one of your patients, Dr. Solus. This has got be a violation of the Hippocratic Oath."
"Ah, yes. Human code of ethics for medical practitioners. Laudable. Have not done you harm, Shepard. Only threat of harm. A fine distinction perhaps, but technically correct."
"This isn't you, Mordin. It's the device. It's been playing on your fears. You used to be at peace with the idea of death. You spoke about a wheel of lives, remember? Each life you get another chance to be better, to correct past mistakes."
"Not afraid. Am now able to confront issue of mortality and resolve. No longer rely on spiritual platitudes for solace."
"You know that this is how it starts. EDI warned us that this might happen. You have to rely on your reason now. The device alters people's moods, changes their perspectives. Remember the symptoms?"
Mordin rattled them off with remarkable speed and precision. "Increased interest in cybernetic implants, erratic behaviour, antisocial tendencies, restlessness, unusual dreams, insomnia, mania or depressive episodes, repetitive or obsessive thought patterns, paranoia, delusions, hallucinations, marked increase or decrease in desire to eat, to take intoxicants or copulate, increased affinity for machines and technology..."
"Now diagnose yourself, doctor."
"Some indicators present. Potentially...problematic."
The pistol was no longer wedged into the space between her fifth and sixth vertebrae. She turned slowly, keeping her hands open and within Mordin's sight.
The doctor moved back a step, his finger still on the trigger, although he pointed the barrel at the floor. His eyes were even wider than usual, with a glassy sheen. He chewed on his narrow lips and the spidery creases along his cheekbones carved themselves deeper into his papery skin.
"That's why I need to take this thing away," she said. "Because if we keep it around too long, the effects will get worse. It's going to the Council session today and then it's gone. I promise you that you'll feel better."
He pondered this, cradling his gun in his hands. "I...yes, I see. You are...correct. Went too far. Blind arrogance. Belief in ability to counteract. Underestimated power of machine."
"I did too. Let's just hope it's been worth the risk."
"May be best that I do not present the material today. Will give you the device and my omni-tool slides. Should be sufficient to make case."
She watched as Mordin shuffled over to his lab table, returning with a data file she could insert into her omni-tool. From the hunch in his slight shoulders, she could tell that his fight with the device's power had exhausted him. It was a reminder that despite his frenetic energy, time was creeping up on the doctor. Still, she was careful not to bend down and pick up the Reaper device until he was out of striking range. Old man or not, Mordin was still dangerous, more proficient in combat than most fighters half his age.
"My apologies, Shepard. Do not know what came over me. Will investigate."
She nodded, already moving towards the door. It was probably best just to bundle the device up, gather the rest of the group and get going towards the Nexus Tower. Loitering around the ship would only make the situation worse.
"Don't worry about it. You had a rough day. Hell, Grunt did a lot worse to me the first time we met and he only had the tank as an excuse."
"Nevertheless, expect more rationality in own behaviour. Unacceptable. Will monitor conduct and correct as necessary. No need for further concern."
"Just take care of yourself, okay?"
The pressurized doors slid shut behind her, giving off a faint breeze. She paced down the corridor and onto the command deck. Heat radiated from the device in her hands and it was surprising how light and easy she found it to carry, as if the metal were grafted onto her flesh.
The Chamber of the Primarchs was quieter than it had been the first time Shepard had visited. Many of the marble benches sat empty and the semi-circular table where the Primarchs would gather still only featured their gold nameplates.
Garrus leaned back, propping his weight on his hands, and cast a glance up at the ceiling with its holographic map of the Hierarchy and its colonies. He appeared eager to examine it in-depth but also seemed anxious to avoid being caught gawking at the architecture like an off-world tourist. He looked away and bent his head towards Shepard, peering at the omni-tool slides over her shoulder. This was even more distracting since she was trying to decipher Mordin's speaker's notes, which read like hieroglyphics, Prothean, net-speak or some bizarre combination of the three. She opted to just ignore his ploys to secure her attention, hoping that he'd take the hint that she didn't want to mess around right now.
He didn't get the message. "Studying? I didn't realize the good doctor was trying to give you an education."
"Trying to study anyway," she said. "It would be a whole lot easier if a certain someone wasn't shifting around in his seat and poking me with his elbows and reading over my shoulder all the damn time."
"I'm interested," he protested. "It makes me proud to see you being such a diligent student. Expanding your mind and all that."
"Yeah, laugh it up. Just so you know, I'm going to have to give a speech on this in thirty minutes. If I get up there and draw a complete blank, I'll be introducing you as an expert on intergalactic macro-economics. We'll see how amusing you find that."
"Oh, I'd handle it. Couldn't be any worse than you making me dance."
She grinned, shaking her head. "Turns out I'm a real tough-case. How do you ever put up with me?"
Feigning a martyred sigh, he draped an arm around her shoulders. His voice tickled against her ear. "Guess I've built up a lot of patience."
"C'mon now, stop being a pest and let me learn this. I'll admire you later." She landed a quick kiss on the side of his face and swivelled on the bench, presenting her back as a barrier.
She re-focussed on the presentation, although she could hear Garrus picking on Tali about the possibility of becoming an Admiral with the flotilla. He really seemed to enjoy goading the quarian, probably because she gave some of the most amusing reactions, usually delivered in a tone of utmost seriousness.
"Keelah! Don't you have something to go calibrate?"
"No, I wish I did. That would be diverting. I don't suppose you quarians calibrate a lot of stuff on the Flotilla?"
"No. Just no. We're not having this conversation."
"Aw, that's too bad," he said in a tone of mock sympathy. "So tell me, how do you guys have fun over there? What are the parties like? Do you ever get people mixed-up? That must be realllly embarrassing."
"Shotgun, Garrus. Still have it."
"Not in the immediate vicinity. I'll risk it. What's life without a little danger?"
A few more turians wandered into the hall but this last council session was surprisingly quiet, most of the petitioners having already presented their cases to the Primarchs. Shepard wasn't sure if she found the relative quiet comforting or unnerving. If her presentation went well, she would've enjoyed a public triumph, the feeling of rallying a crowd and having their applause buoy up her argument. Of course, in her experience, turians were not nearly as receptive or open about their responses as quarians, so perhaps even the most rousing speech would've been greeted with blank-faced stares. In a worst-case scenario, if her attempts to persuade the Primarchs failed, she wouldn't have to worry about flaming out in front of a huge audience. She'd become a better public speaker as she'd risen through the Alliance ranks but she still found each occasion a struggle and had to remind herself to project her voice, to make eye contact, to pace herself and most of all, to keep a handle on her language, which could get pretty vulgar even on the best of days.
The Primarchs filed into the chamber and took their places around the mahogany table. Councillor Velarn sat in the middle, bookended by the Primarchs of Palaven and Invictus. He fixed Shepard with a cold glare, his arms folded across his chest. Invictus was watching her too, but her face was a mask of neutrality, offering no hint of the alliance they'd struck up behind the scenes. The lady was good, Shepard thought, although she wasn't fond of these new political friends she was making, whose primary talents seemed to be scheming, deception and the ability to distance themselves from a situation whenever things went wrong. In her mind, the skills necessary for political prowess and those required for genuine leadership had few things in common.
"The final session of the Primacy Council for this galactic standard year will now commence," the Primarch of Palaven said. "Today we shall be sitting judgment upon Commander Jillian Shepard's allegations of an incoming Reaper invasion and determining whether Fleet resources should be devoted to countering this supposed threat."
"I do hope that the Commander has brought us something more substantial than just rhetoric," Velarn muttered.
"I can promise you, I have!" Shepard shot to her feet, striding down the aisle to position herself directly in front of the Primarchs' table. "I've brought the evidence you asked for and more."
She removed the parts of the Reaper device from the bag, lining them up along the edge of an empty bench. Each piece of the machine caressed her hands with warmth and it took a concentrated effort to set them down on the cold marble.
"These are the remains of a Reaper indoctrination device. In its original state, it used dark energy to influence the thoughts and behaviour of Saren Arterius and his followers. This is one of the dangerous weapons the Reapers have in their arsenal. Technology like this is far too advanced to have come from any known civilization."
"What about the geth?" Velarn cut in.
Shepard reached down and fired up her omnitool, launching the slideshow Mordin had prepared. "I've fought the geth and they only acquired tools like this during their alliance with Sovereign and Saren. On their own, they don't have the resources to create something like this."
The colour scheme on the slideshow Mordin had devised was a distinctive mix of gold, blue and orange. It clashed and looked absolutely garish to Shepard's eyes, but the turians in the room seemed almost...entranced by the design. It occurred to her that this probably explained why turians had such terrible fashion sense. Smiling at this realization, she explained the research her team had done on the machine, taking care to emphasize the most crucial data.
"As you can see from this chart, my team calculated the amount of programming capacity that would be required to research, develop and acquire resources for an indoctrination device. In order to make something like this, the geth population would have to be five times higher than any past or current estimate and every single unit would have to be incorporated in the network at once. Otherwise, they couldn't muster up the necessary level of intelligence."
"That isn't impossible," Velarn persisted. "It's at least as credible as your Reaper theory."
"My crew members also took the time to figure out how much eezo would be required to power a ship the size of Sovereign for one month." Shepard clicked her omnitool to display a bar graph. "As you can see, it's more than the Hierarchy Fleet and the Systems Alliance combined used over the course of the last year. Saren may have been wealthy, but I doubt he'd be able to afford that kind of gas mileage. In any case, if that much eezo was moving out of the galactic economy, there would have been a severe shortage. There wasn't. The best explanation is that the eezo is coming from somewhere else, being produced by a civilization we don't know about – the Reapers."
"Perhaps the eezo does hail from an outside source," Palaven allowed. "However, it may be that the geth have discovered new sources of it in unexplored territory in the Terminus Systems."
Shepard tried not to lose her patience with the doddering old turian. It was obvious that Palaven had lost much of his political effectiveness and was close to being put out to pasture. She'd humour him. "Listening stations would've detected that level of mining activity, even in geth space. Besides, how would they have the resources to do all this mining, fight in Saren's invasion and create technology as advanced as what I've brought you here? It's impossible."
"It is a valid point," Invictus said. "It hardly seems realistic to imagine the geth achieving one of these objectives, let alone all of them. And it appears distinctly peculiar that they would accomplish all these wonders and then be vanquished so easily after the Battle of the Citadel."
It was nice to have an ally, Shepard thought. Now hopefully Invictus' colonial contingent would come through for them. She could imagine Velarn dooming the galaxy to ruin out of sheer stubbornness alone and Palaven siding with him out of loyalty to an old pal.
"It makes sense if you realize that the geth and Saren were relying on the Reapers for support. My team also recovered files documenting Saren's alliance with the Reapers and he talks about Sovereign and the indoctrination process. He also describes the geth worshipping the Reapers as the Old Machines, believing that their invasion would mean victory for synthetic life forms. The geth wouldn't follow Saren unless he was working with their gods."
She opened the file containing Saren's journal entries and read a few select passages. It was eerie to hear the dead Spectre's words echoed back in her own voice. He wrote as he had spoken in life and so she fell into the same cadences he had used, an unintentional imitation. She tried not to look at Garrus when she did it, although she could feel his eyes upon her, ever-watchful.
"Those writings could be fabricated," Velarn protested.
"Don't be absurd," Invictus shot back. "We asked for evidence and Commander Shepard delivered. If she brought a Reaper into this chamber and gave you a civil introduction, I suspect you'd still find a reason to doubt her."
"A Reaper crashed on the Citadel and that still wasn't enough evidence for the Council," Shepard said. "For whatever reason, they've decided to ignore this, to dismiss it. In order to make them listen, I'm going to need the support of the Primacy. We can beat the Reapers but we have to be prepared. If the Council can't or won't do it, then we've got to be the ones to lead the way."
The Primarch of Palaven initiated the final vote and the council marked their decisions down in their omni-tools. The deliberations took longer than Shepard expected it would, which made her decidedly nervous. While she waited, she placed the parts of the device back into the bag, savouring the heat against her fingertips. She was relieved that none of the Hierarchy officials had tried to confiscate the machine for study thus far, although she expected that it might happen. When they asked, she planned to assert her rights over it as a Spectre and simply offer the data that EDI and Mordin had collected on it as a compromise. If necessary, if they really pushed her, she'd have to just destroy the thing right then and there. The idea bothered her. It seemed wrong and undignified. She felt the need to be ceremonious, to give it a proper send-off – preferably one with a big bang.
"The votes are now in," Palaven announced. "By a total of 13 to 3, the Primacy has voted in favour of Fleet mobilization to counter the Reaper threat."
Shepard reeled around, grinning at Garrus and Tali, finding it hard not to laugh.
"Nice!" Garrus gave her a congratulatory thump on the back, his mandibles twitching up into what she recognized as a brash, full-on smile, at least by turian standards.
"I knew it. I just knew they couldn't ignore it forever," Tali babbled. "Now we'll have assistance. We'll have armies to help fight when the time comes..."
Velarn snorted. "Save your celebrations. The Primacy cannot overrule the decisions of the Citadel Council. Until the Council rules on this matter, the Fleet doesn't move."
"You forget, Councillor Velarn, that you are our representative," Invictus said. "You may not need our votes, but I think you may find your job substantially more difficult without the aid and resources of the colonies. If you refuse to defend us, then we will be forced to use our tax dollars and soldiers to take care of ourselves."
"You wouldn't dare to try such a thing," Palaven whinged. "That's secession!"
"It would be, yes."
Velarn's face settled into a scowl. He folded his arms over his chest, ready to dig his heels in. "You haven't got the nerve. No one would support you. They remember the Unification Wars. No one wants to go through that again."
Invictus stood and twelve other colonial Primarchs followed her lead. Only the Palaven, Velarn and one other colonial were left seated, looking meek and helpless compared to the faction who was preparing to walk out on them.
"In this case, you would be wise to respect the wishes of the Hierarchy, Councillor," Invictus stated, barely managing to conceal her bemusement. "No one wants to revisit the Unification Wars, especially not the good people of the Citadel. I suspect that they would rather set a new precedent and cast you off the Council than risk seeing the Hierarchy divided."
"I – believe they are serious," Palaven sputtered. "It seems to me, Velarn, that you should follow the Primacy's ruling in this matter. It is just and these are special circumstances."
"You should not only follow it, but advocate it to your fellow councillors," Invictus added. "The Fleet must be sent to defend our colonies against invasion. If you can't protect the Hierarchy and represent the turian race, then we shall have to seek out and appoint someone else who can."
Velarn chewed this over and it was obvious that it left a bad taste in his mouth. Nonetheless, he had little choice but to gulp it down with all the remaining dignity he could muster. The look on his face reminded Shepard of what Udina had looked like when she'd denied him that hotly-anticipated seat on the Council. Turians and humans weren't so damn different after all – at least when it came to being political animals.
"I have always faithfully served our Hierarchy," Velarn said. "While I have certain reservations, if...compromise is necessary, then I will do what is needed. For the good of the galaxy and the honour of my people."
Palaven's head bobbled on his thin neck and he suddenly reminded Shepard of nothing so much as a large featherless chicken. Until this moment, she'd never really understood the comparison of turians to flightless birds, which seemed to ignore the strange, rather leonine stateliness that most of them seemed to inherit as a birthright.
"The Fleet will mobilize in preparation for the Reaper threat," the old turian said. "You have received your answer, Commander Shepard."
She gave a slight bow, a sign of reverence that also served to hide the wicked smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Thank you. Hierarchy's support is going to make all the difference in the fight against the Reapers. When they come, we'll be ready."
Beyond the Palaven Hills, dunes of white sand rippled into the distance, sculpted into slopes, curves and peaks by an arid west wind. Shepard plodded over the crest of a hill, carrying the Reaper device in the bag tossed over her shoulder. Under her exo-suit, sweat beaded down her forehead and trickled along her neck. It wasn't Therum-hot, but it was damn close. Even Garrus, who'd often praised his homeworld's climate and claimed to be baffled by her dislike of the intense sun, had been forced to admit that it was uncomfortable.
While the rest of the crew held an impromptu celebration around the bar in Kasumi's room, she'd stepped out to take care of some unfinished business. The device had served its purpose, but now it had to be destroyed for good, before the psychological impacts on the Normandy team became any worse. She'd intended to take the shuttle out on her own, but Garrus had insisted on joining her.
"I want to see this through to the end," he'd said, and she hadn't questioned him further. Although she would never have admitted it aloud, it was a relief to have company. She'd been looking forward to disposing of the device, but now that it was finally time to be rid of it, she felt uneasy and ambivalent. Anxious thoughts raced through her mind. The device told her things about the Reapers, provided insights that might be invaluable. With its help, she could sense them travelling across dark space and mark their progress. Perhaps she could find a way to mitigate the worst effects and simply use the machine as a means of monitoring the Reapers. It was just technology after all, like the FTL drives, the mass relays, the Reaper IFF...tools that they'd already used in the fight against their sinister creators.
Of course, that was what the machine wanted her to think, she reminded herself. It was worming around her head, attaching itself to her. She'd seen the way it'd played on everyone's worst fears, especially those of any crew member who'd been working in close proximity to it. If it'd affected Mordin, it could certainly get to her too. Aside from him, she'd been the one who'd been handling it the most often.
Garrus came to an abrupt halt. "I think we've gone far enough. Nobody's going to complain about a blast out here."
She sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right." Gazing down at the long tract of white sand, she knew she should drop the bag and start setting up the charges. It was the right thing to do. It was the smart thing to do. But for some reason, her gloved hands still gripped the cloth of the bag, despite the best of intentions and all her very admirable logic.
"Are you going to put that thing down?" Garrus asked.
"Of course. I know that I...have to do this." Her arms hugged around the device, drawing it closer to her chest. Its nearness calmed her and for a moment, its warmth seemed to palpitate against her body like a second heartbeat.
"Then what're we waiting for? Let's get this done and get back to the festivities."
"I just need a moment. To pull myself together."
He shook his head, taking a measured step towards her. "You're acting pretty strange. I thought you'd be happy to get rid of that piece of junk."
"I am."
"C'mon, pass it to me then. I can take care of it."
Garrus reached for the device, trying to wrench it away from her, but she pulled free from him, stumbling a few steps backward. Why couldn't he see how difficult this was for her? She just needed some time to contemplate this decision, which she knew was a major one. If she destroyed the device, there'd be no going back, no recovering it. She'd never have it again, that surge of power and certainty and reassurance that she felt when she knew it was in her possession. "Relax. Can you do that for once? Or do you always have to be so impatient?"
"I'm not giving up on this," he said. "I'm staying right here with you until we get this done. We need to scrap that machine. It's dangerous and you know it."
"It's not going to get any more dangerous in the next five minutes," she replied. "I just want to think things over. Get my head straight. I don't think that's too much to ask."
"Remember what I was like when we went after Sidonis? Well, you're being like that now. This isn't you, Jill. I won't let you do this."
"Do what? I'm not doing anything."
"If you keep that thing, you're going to become indoctrinated. I'll bet the Reapers would enjoy the irony. You're rallying armies for the big fight, but the whole time you're getting brainwashed to work for them."
"I'm not brainwashed," she insisted. "I'm not Saren."
"No, you're not. You're nothing like that. But I love you, damn it, and I never want to see you get pulled down that path. You're too good to let this bring you down. Don't do it now. Not when we've come so far."
Her hands were clenched around the device so tightly that they looked like claws, veins bulging under skin, knuckles striped white and purplish-red. It pained her to see them and yet she couldn't slacken the muscles. "When I break this thing, it's gonna hurt like a bitch," she murmured. "I can feel it, Garrus."
Garrus edged towards her. "It's alright. Just drop it. Let me take care of it. I haven't been as affected as you." His hands palmed her shoulders, caressing them and then he gave her a gentle shake, as if to rouse her. "Do this for me. For us. For everything that's gone right."
"Okay," she said, swallowing. "I know. I have to do this." It took effort but she managed to loosen her grip on the bag, prying her fingers away from the cloth. The machine parts fell to the sand, giving a dull clang. The sound pained her, as if the metal had struck against her skull.
Garrus' arms encircled her and she could feel his chest move with a sigh of relief. "Good. This is good. We're gonna be alright."
She nodded her head, trying to reassure herself that this was true, although she knew that if he let go of her, if he turned away, every nerve in her body would scream out for the device. "I'm sorry. I screwed up. I...can't be trusted with that thing."
"I know," he said gravely. "It's got you hooked in."
She drew in a sharp breath, astonished as he lifted her off the ground in an ungainly bear-hug, carrying her away from the machine with the toes of her boots still dragging along the sand. "C'mon. What are you doing? I can still walk, you know..."
"It's easier this way. Besides, it's nice to take charge sometimes." He set her down a few feet away, regarding her face with an earnestness that completely disarmed her. He stooped down to nudge his forehead against the clear visor of her suit, an instinctively turian gesture but one that she'd come to appreciate and understand. When he spoke, his voice was a soft rasp, the sound of the sand sifting around their legs. "Sit tight, okay? I can handle this. Just stay here."
"I'm sorry. I let you down. I should've known better..."
"Don't apologize. Never to me. You've pulled my ass out of the fire so many times I've stopped counting. I'm glad when I can return the favour."
Garrus released her, swinging around to claim the machine. He scooped it up and strode up the side of the dune, long legs scissoring over the sand, until, clearing the crest of the hill, he disappeared from view.
Shepard ground her teeth together and locked her knees, willing herself to stand in place although she longed to chase him down. She stared into the glare of sun, stricken but defiant, focussing her mind on the orange and red spots that flickered across her vision, beads in a kaleidoscope. Yet, despite her best efforts, she still found herself imagining what was happening just over that last dune. She could picture Garrus' steady hands readying the charges, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed with concentration. In a few moments, her link with the Reapers would be severed. She would be free again. The visions would cease to intrude upon her waking thoughts and the dreams would blow away like dust. She would be able to come back to herself and to him, the man who had earned her trust, her devotion, a love that she'd never anticipated but that now seemed as natural to her as the blood pumping in her veins. That was what she stood to lose if she couldn't get a grip on herself.
Garrus bounded back up the side of the hill, a black box gripped in his fist. It was the detonator. She had to resist a sudden compulsion to rush forward and pry it out of his hand.
"Ready?" he said.
"As ready as I'm ever going to be."
He opened her hand and placed the detonator into the hollow of her palm. "I know it isn't going to be easy, but you need to do this. If you want to beat this, you have to choose it."
She nodded, contemplating the red button at the center of the detonator. "You're right. You can only carry me so far. I've got to finish this."
"It's your choice to make, Jill. Be sure it's the right one."
Thinking back to their confrontation with Sidonis, she could remember the instant when the traitor had broken away from the cover of her body, giving Garrus a clear shot. She'd braced herself, counting the steps Sidonis took as if they were drumbeats, wondering when the bullet would drill into the back of his skull. It wasn't until he was out of sight, that she was certain that there'd been a reprieve, unfamiliar mercy from the man who'd so often insisted on exacting justice, an eye for an eye. In the end, the choice had been Garrus', not hers, although she'd prodded him towards it. It was how she'd known that he could find a way back from the dark room where he'd sequestered himself, mourning the massacre of his team. It was then, too, that she'd realized how intertwined they'd become, the way their lives and choices had melded together until it was hard to distinguish where he stopped and she began. They'd taken responsibility for another, a commitment more expansive than the respect a soldier owed to his leader or the duty a commander pledged to her lieutenant. Somewhere along the way, they'd claimed each other and there was no going back. All this impact coming from a bullet that had never been fired – his silent choice.
Now, it was her turn to decide. She wasn't going to let him down. "I choose us. I choose you."
She slammed her hand down on the red button, pulling him to the ground. The sound of the blast swept over them like a wave, the air seething around them. Fire flared over the dune and then black whorls of smoke muddied the desert sky, specks of ash swarming, frantic as flies over a fresh kill. She'd felt the death pangs of the machine searing her insides, but it'd been worth the momentary pain. Her mind was clear again and her vision unclouded. The future was hers. Theirs.
"It's done," she said. "Not a moment too soon."
"I knew you'd come through. You always do."
"Mostly because you're there to catch me when I fall."
He offered his hand, pulling her back up to her feet. "It works both ways, but I'll admit - I have my moments."
"A lot of them," she said, smiling. "You okay? Still in one piece?"
"Of course. The only problem is this bloody sand," Garrus muttered, dusting himself off. "Itches like crazy."
He squirmed in his armour, shaking sand out of his shoulder-plates and then preened his fringe with a prideful fastidiousness that seemed almost feline.
She laughed and coughed and then laughed again, disregarding her parched throat.
His pale eyes locked on hers. "This isn't funny, you know. Not at all."
She shook her head, trying to stifle another giggle but his apparent solemnity made it virtually impossible. "Nooooo. Not funny. Not even a little bit. "
"You're definitely mocking me," he said, with an air of wounded dignity. "Well, we'll see about that..."
Garrus launched himself at her with the speed of a predator and she sprinted away, making it a good fifty meters before he managed to grab her legs and tackle her. She shrieked with laughter, kicking her feet as he tried to pour a handful of sand into her suit. "Don't! Don't you dare! Oh, I'm so going to get you! You are in for a world of pain, Vakarian!"
Shepard dug her hand into the ground and flung a fistful of dirt at him, startling him just enough to tug her body free from his weight. Scurrying up another dune, she pulled out her trusty assault rifle and fired a concussive round that knocked him flat on his ass.
"Aw, crap," he groaned, dust rising around him. "Now you just fight dirty."
She ran down and kicked a little bit more sand on him, just to rub it in. "I learned that trick from this real bad-ass vigilante I used to know. Called himself Archangel. He used to hit me with concussive rounds just for kicks."
"Really? Must've been a nasty piece of work. I like his style." He grabbed her leg, sending her toppling into the sand beside him. He gave a triumphant chuckle and she lay there beside him, laughing until her sides felt like split seams and her lungs burned.
"Yup, that Archangel was a pain in the ass," she murmured. "Though I've got to admit, he was kind of sexy."
"Hmm. I wasn't aware. Wasn't he a turian?"
She shrugged her shoulders, turning her face to shoot him a lopsided grin. "Naturally. A ruggedly handsome turian. Did you know him?"
"No. I've never had the pleasure."
"That's too bad. Now, if I ever ran into him again, I'd be sure to have a lot of pleasure..."
He sat up, giving her a disapproving shake of his head, before he worked his way back up to his feet. "You're making me jealous. Of myself. That's pretty messed up."
Shepard got up and trailed him back towards the shuttle, still intent on taunting him. "Mmm, yeah, that Archangel – definitely a guy I'd like to invite back to my bunk. So mysterious. So well-armed. And that intriguing voice..."
"That's my intriguing voice."
"You have a nice voice, but his is different. More flanging. Very seductive."
"Alright, if you say so."
"Well, you do look like him. A bit," she teased. "Especially if I put a helmet over your head."
"That's because I am him. And when I was Archangel, I wore a helmet most of the time."
"Uh-huh. Sure. Totally believe you."
He stalked into the shuttle, slumping down on the nearest bench. "I'm not going to win this one, am I? I'd be better off waiting until you stop being so juvenile."
"Yeah, probably," Shepard admitted, sliding the shuttle door closed behind her. "Good luck with that. It'll be a long wait." She breathed a long sigh, pulling off her helmet and running a hand through her hair. "Guess we'd better get back to the Normandy. It'll be hard to manage the shuttle, when I'm so distracted fantasizing about Archangel..."
"I hate that bastard. Just so you know. Even if he is me."
"Really? You hate him? Because I love him." She threw him a wink and started programming the shuttle's return. There was a party awaiting them back at the ship and she could use a good stiff drink or at the very least, a nice glass of Tupari to slake her thirst, restore her faith in the galaxy and bring her ancestors back from the grave. They'd have to raise a toast to Palaven – its insufferable heat, its striking architecture, its bewildering rituals and demanding elders, its uncanny ability to tangle her mind and twist her heart, its culture, capable of producing a crazy fucking diamond like Garrus Vakarian and then throwing him away like a chunk of coal. It'd been a productive trip and an eye-opening one, but she wasn't going to miss the planet. When the Normandy pulled out of port and set course for the Citadel, she knew that the best part of Palaven would be standing right beside her, ready for whatever came their way.
Author's Note: Hey everyone! First of all, I'd like to say a huge thanks for reading and reviewing! I'm sorry for the extended wait on this latest installment. For some reason, this chapter was the hardest one to write for me (at some parts, it felt less like writing and more like grinding out each sentence...ugh, word marathons!) and I imagine it's going to be the one that I come back to revise more than a few times.
The next chapter has some events I'm very excited to get started on and with any luck, it won't be nearly so long in development. Once again, thanks for your great feedback, comments and ideas!
