Thirteen: Benezia
There should have been fear at the Justicar's relentless approach. Perhaps there should even have been terror. Instead, a strange sort of relief washed over Benezia, leaving an empty, hollow peace in its wake. Her breathing calmed. Her hands lost their tremble. Her legs felt stronger beneath her.
An end. The Justicar brought an end to it all. A Justicar was a clean and efficient killer. Benezia would not suffer, for all that she deserved to. She would, instead, have mercy, and her people would have justice, out in the open and in the light. She could answer for her crimes, legion as they were, and then she could rest. It would be over.
Benezia had not even realised how desperately she had wanted it to be so until she'd seen the flash of red and gold, and felt the crushing weight lift.
A brief pang of guilt rose at the thought, for those few she'd leave behind, but it fell as quickly as it had come. Liara had survived without her for decades, had survived the war without her. Had grown up without her. She didn't need her anymore, and would recover from her loss better with a quick end at the hands of an unbiased arbiter. Aethyta, who Benezia had so wronged, could be there for her instead, if need be. And Benezia would be able to hurt no others from the grave.
She drew herself up, squaring her shoulders and raising her head, and stepped forward. Behind her, she heard Aethyta curse but ignored it, in much the same way she ignored the murmuring of the crowd and her former bondmate's sudden, hard grip on her arm and attempt to pull her back. Aethyta had time for one more curse before the Justicar reached them, Benezia shrugging herself free of her hand.
The Justicar was not one she had known previously, of that she was certain - and thankful. It would be hard to forget such a striking, square jaw and full, pouting lips, or those incredibly large, pale, staring eyes. She was of an age with Aethyta, judging by how any markings she'd possessed had faded into non-existence, but more powerfully muscled; she moved with the arrogant grace and confidence of a warrior born and forged. Her armour was a rich burgundy red and well-maintained, cut low through the chest as was the custom for the Order, to allow her foes the chance to strike at her heart. The ornate golden gorget that bound her to her oaths glinted dully in the wan afternoon sun as she stopped a handful of paces in front of them and inclined her head in greeting.
"In the light of Athame, I greet you, my sister," the Justicar said, her voice surprisingly light, with a trace of the accents of Serrice flavouring the words in the old priestess's tongue. "I am Samara, a servant of the Justicar Code. I have travelled long across land, sea and void to reach this place."
"I am Benezia, of Armali and Tis," Benezia replied, naming the place she called home and the city of her birth. "In the light of Athame, I bid you welcome, Samara, my sister. The Goddess has guided your steps to us. How may we serve your cause and your Code?"
The ancient words in the near-dead language slipped easily from her tongue, for all she'd had cause to say them but a handful of times. At least she knew them, she supposed. Most asari these days knew only a bastardised, common-language version of the proper greeting for a Justicar, gleaned from over-hyped, poorly-researched vids. There was simply no need for them to learn. Justicars grew rarer by the century, and, in any event, were almost never officially given welcome into the sprawling cities where most asari resided, not anymore.
She felt another brief pang of guilt with the thought. The language, the knowledge of such traditions may well die with her, now, along with the memories of her mother and mother's mother and so on down the line. She had not shared them with her daughter, and all of her acolytes were dead. But perhaps a clean break was what the asari truly needed. For too long had her people been held hostage to their past.
"I have taken the Oath of Poverty. I may hold naught but mine arms and armour. I beg shelter and sustenance."
"Then share with us the bounty of Athame and take your place by our fire. Our homes are open to you. The food of our table is yours to share. The water of our wells is yours to drink. Have you aught to offer us in exchange?"
"I have taken the Oath of Preservation. I live only for the defence of our laws. I offer protection for the innocent, and to bring justice to the guilty."
"Then walk amongst our people and come to know them. Our hearts are open to you. Root out the betrayer and the deceiver, the thief and the smuggler, the rapist and the killer. Bring them to justice in the light of Athame, so that all others may know peace and live without fear."
She stepped forward, then, and held out her hands, palms up. The Justicar stepped forward herself and placed her own gloved hands, palm-down, within them. Together, they turned their hands over, and, with that, the greeting was done, and Aethyta was at her side again.
"Ok," she whispered urgently while Samara watched them both with ice-blue eyes, "you've said hello. Now let's get the hell out of here."
Benezia shook her head slightly, and ignored the repeated tug at her arm, keeping her eyes instead firmly fixed on the Justicar. She would face her fate with dignity and honesty. She would not flinch, nor try to flee.
"I seek justice," she announced, in the modern tongue and a loud, ringing voice.
"Benezia, no!" Aethyta hissed, but by then it was too late, as Benezia had known it would be.
The Justicar glanced at Aethyta before replying.
"What justice would you have?"
"I corrupted my followers," Benezia said, still loudly enough for those around her to hear. "I have killed without cause. I have violated the mind of another. I have worked against my own people to serve my own ends.
"I submit myself to your judgement," she concluded, and bowed, holding her hands out before her in supplication, palms up and crossed at the wrists.
And that was when it all went wrong.
"You want her," Aethyta said, stepping smartly between the two of them, "you're going to have to go through me."
Straightening, it was her turn to grab for her former bondmate's shoulder to try to pull her back. Aethyta was a born fighter, with a near perfect balance of aggression, adaptability, strength and stamina, but she was no Justicar, trained and sworn. And while she might have stood a chance against an initiate new to the Order, Aethyta had little to no hope of victory against one such as this Samara, of an age with her and hardened by centuries of following the harsh Code.
"Aethyta, stand down," she ordered as calmly as she could manage, even though her heart was suddenly racing within her chest, the tremors threatening a return to her body. "This is not your concern."
"You shut the fuck up right now, Benezia T'Soni," her former bondmate growled, glancing back at her. "I am not explaining to the kid how you got yourself offed by a Justicar."
The Justicar regarded the pair of them for long moment.
"You speak of the events prior to Sovereign's attack upon the Citadel."
Aethyta and Benezia spoke at once.
"Don't answer-!"
"Yes."
"Then Justice has already been served," Samara announced, turning for all in the crowd to hear. "The Reapers are dead."
For a long moment, Benezia couldn't quite comprehend what she had just heard.
"But I-" she began, but the Justicar held up her hand for silence.
"I know something of indoctrination," she said, turning back, and there was a strange pride in her eyes along with sudden sorrow, "and the way it twisted the thoughts of those subject to it. All reputable accounts agree that you fell under its sway. All reputable accounts also agree that you resisted, and that, without your resistance, Commander Shepard would not have found the Conduit in time, if at all, dooming us all. Any crimes committed in service to Saren and the Reapers were not of your making."
What remained of her calm fled like a startled kielly, replaced by sudden desperation. The Justicar knew what she had done, but would not act!?
"No!" she burst out, pushing past Aethyta, wracking her brain, trying to remember what she knew of the Code, trying to find a way to frame her confession that would convince the Justicar of her guilt. "It was my fault! I led them all there! I should have known better, but I thought I was too strong to be swayed-"
A warm hand clamped itself across her mouth to silence her, an arm wound about her waist, pinning one of her own arms to her side and pulling her back against a soft, strong body. She struggled, kicking out, wrenching her head this way and that, but was rewarded only by a grunt of pain and an inexorable tightening of grip, until she thought all of the air was going to be squeezed out of her.
"Pride is a sin in many religions, but it is not a crime under the Code," Samara told her when Benezia's struggling had finally ceased, the Justicar's face devoid of expression. She then looked over at Aethyta.
"I did not come for her, or for anyone else in the camp. I am here at the request of her daughter. Or, rather," she continued turning to the side and gesturing behind her, to a slender, nervous-looking matron in plain white and grey formal gown with a multi-coloured warning tattoo upon one cheek, "my daughter is here at the request of hers."
"A Justicar! I can't believe you invited a fucking Justicar here!"
Benezia lay on her back, staring blankly at the grey ceiling of the freighter's lone cabin, and listened to the argument taking place just outside the door. Her body felt leaden, exhausted - a match for her heart - but sleep would not come. She ached too much for slumber, mind and body.
"Shepard trusts Samara! She was part of her team when they went through the Omega relay."
"Well, I'm not Shepard, am I? And I'm not the one fucking her either! Justicars. Are. Trouble! I can't put it any clearer than that, kid. Shepard's a human - she couldn't have had any idea of what they're really like. And you're too young-"
Liara had never raised her voice when they'd fought. She'd been all pouts and sullen looks, what words of defiance she managed said to the floor, and then often in a whisper. She had evidentially found her voice, however, while Benezia had been... away.
"Do not tell me what I am too young to understand!" Liara's voice rose and fell like a whip. "I have done more in the last four years than most asari do in four centuries!"
"And I don't doubt it!" Aethyta's tone was placating - but just barely. "I was going to say that you're too young to remember Justicar Nikania. She got it in her head that a whole damn colony world was populated by slavers, and slaughtered everyone over thirty because she thought they were 'unjust'. Five hundred people and a Spectre died before she was brought down."
"Was she right?"
"No! Turned out that she'd been fed a load of bad intel. That's the thing with Justicars, kid - they're not like they are in the vids. They're brainwashed fanatics with a license to kill and a morality code that was outdated when my great-great grandma was still on the tit. They make mistakes, and when they go bad, they go real bad, real quick. And, hell, they don't even need to make mistakes for things to go bad on you. All it'll take is one wrong word from someone in the camp, and you'll wind up with a load of bodies on your hands and a smug Justicar. If I hadn't been there, your mother would have found some way she'd violated that goddess-damned Code in order to get herself killed."
Aethyta had never liked Justicars, Benezia vaguely remembered, or other such 'over-romanticised, out-dated relics'. She'd never much cared for Spectres either, which Benezia had always thought odd and more than slightly hypocritical. Professionally, Aethyta had always operated outside of the law as often as she'd stayed within it, first as a freelancer and later as a covert operative of High Command. Aethyta was a spy, a thief, a saboteur and, when the mood struck her, an outrageous liar; a former stripper, a former merc, a former smuggler and more. She was the master of hiding in plain sight, her brash personality and unabashed fondness for brawling, drinking and casual sex fitting few people's mental model of 'spy'. But, beneath the bluster she was patient, methodical and whip-smart, as comfortable running long-term surveillance as enacting an explosive hostage extraction.
They'd met, of course, on one of her jobs. Benezia had been the target.
"Shepard trusts her and that is enough for me."
"Well, bully for you. Just don't expect me to have anything to do with her. And you keep her away from your mother. I dunno about you, but I'm not looking to repeat this afternoon any time soon."
"I'm planning to send Samara out with Grunt and his company tomorrow. They've fought together before; I believe that Grunt is looking forward to it."
"What are you going to do with the Ardat-Yakshi then? Send her out too?" A derisive snort. "Kid looks like she'd keel over if you farted in her general direction."
"That 'kid' has a name. It's Falere. She has been through a lot, and she is stronger than she looks."
"I damn well hope so. And you haven't answered my question: you sending her out?"
"The monastery on Lesuss was self-sustaining. They grew their own food and - I am sure you'll be pleased to know - brewed their own alcohol. Falere has agreed to help us with growing food, if we can."
"I'm no farmer, but I think we're going to have to hope for a change in the weather to get anything growing again. Or maybe some atmospheric scrubbers to get rid of all that fucking ash."
"I know. I'm looking into it, and to alternatives. The Liveships are in the process of being dismantled, but Tali has agreed to send us some quarian hydroponics experts and equipment once they're more settled-"
Their voices grew fainter as she listened, and Benezia realised that they were moving away. She turned over onto her side, curled up into a ball and stared at the grey wall instead. Her thoughts were a dazed, muddled, painful mess, impossible to sort out. The words of seconds before mingled with other voices, some long dead, some demanding, some pleading, some screaming, all bouncing around inside her skull until her teeth ached. Fragments of memory, faces flashed behind her eyes every time she closed them. Saren. The ship. The Justicar. Shiala. Umbri. The rachni queen. Rosi. Liara. Aethyta.
It'll pass, Aethyta had told her. You'll pull through.
She could not see how.
She must eventually have slept for a time, for the next thing she knew was the rustle of blankets as the covers were slowly drawn back up over her, and a soft, low voice talking without any expectation of being heard. Benezia did not move, nor did she open her eyes, even when Liara carefully sat on the bed beside her and gently laid a hand upon her arm, above the bruises Aethyta had left.
"I'm sorry," her daughter was saying, her voice at once distant and thick with emotion. "I do these things, sometimes, without fully thinking about the consequences. It was the same with Shepard. And then the... yahg. I suppose those both worked out in the end, but, goddess, it was a near thing! Both times.
"I guess... I suppose we can only hope that this works out too. But I don't think that Aethyta knows what to do about it anymore. I don't really either. I thought, perhaps, you could work with Falere once she starts. You always loved to garden, and it is kind of similar. Growing things."
A soft sigh.
"I miss your gardens. I miss our home. I miss Armali and Thessia, the way they used to be. I miss being able to get lost in dig sites for months on end. I miss not having to worry about keeping everyone fed and clothed and tracking down relatives for orphans and arguing with matriarchs eight times my age and wondering whether or not Shepard will-" Her voice caught, her breath hitched, and it was a long, silent moment before Liara spoke again.
"I love you, Mother, no matter what has happened. And I am here for you, as best as I can be."
There was the press of a kiss on her brow, the shifting of weight from the bed, retreating footsteps and the swish of the door. When Benezia opened her eyes again, she was alone, with only the gloom of the cabin and the grey, featureless wall for company. There were no tears. She didn't think she had any left.