Present: 217 Years Post War
Liara stood in front of eternity, her eyes focused past the thin sheen of protective glass between her and the endless infinity of space.
Stars formed the glittering, jeweled backdrop to a squad of Spruce-Class Sabre IV fighters. Reflections of sunlight marked their almost perfect ebony edges, and their dark hulls gleamed with rainbow reflections.
She could see ten of the fighters from her vantage in the Port Observation Room. On the starboard were another ten fighters. Their honor escort.
The curving edge of the Citadel came into view, the ancient space station as bustling and brilliant as it had ever been. It had endured countless millennia, and would no doubt endure countless more. Beyond its spread arms, the pale blue curve of Earth- their ultimate destination.
She missed the soft hiss of the door behind her. It wasn't until Melara softly spoke that Liara's thoughts returned from the distant places they had been wandering.
"Mama?"
Though she heard her daughter, she did not turn around. A moment later, soft footsteps headed her way, and a gentle hand closed on her shoulder.
"Mama, we are about to land," Melara said softly. "Are you ready for this?"
"There is no 'ready' for something like this, Mel," Liara told her. Finally looking at her daughter, her eyes softened and she turned to her, fingers stealing out to gently adjust the already impeccable uniform jacket.
Asari or not, the strong reflections of Del in her youngest daughter were impossible to ignore- and at a time like this, incredibly painful. Melara looked at her sadly with Del's eyes. She stood with Del's posture. Goddess help her, right now she even smelled like Del's cigars.
She drew back a little, then nodded under the weight of Melara's concern. "I will be all right, Mel," she said. It was a lie of course, but truth be told she had little choice in the matter. It was either be strong or break apart completely.
Melara took her hand. Her expression told that she knew better than to believe her, but she was compassionate enough not to say anything. "Come. I'll walk with you to the helm, if you want to see the landing."
The SSV Normandy SR-2 had finally been retired fifty years after the end of the war. By then, she had become hopelessly archaic, the tech advancing and leaving her behind. The Alliance had installed her in the massive Air and Space Museum near Alliance Headquarters in Peru. It was decided then that the Normandy name would be retired, and it was- for a very long time. Then, Shepard's youngest daughter became not only one of the very first asari in the Alliance, but the first asari to attain the N7 Special Forces ranking, and the first to become Captain.
The media abounded with speculation that she would continue to follow in her famous father's footsteps and join the ranks of the Council Spectres, but Melara had actually declined the honor when it was offered. At the time, she didn't feel it was being extended because she had earned it, but only because she was Del's daughter.
When she'd graduated the N7 program, the Alliance had taken the Normandy name out of retirement and commissioned a new, top-of-the-line frigate to be built. As the first Normandy, the SSV Normandy SR-3 was not simply a human endeavor. Workmanship from nearly every species across the board had gone into her design, and when she was finished, she was a sight to behold. Once more, she was the most advanced frigate in the galaxy. Once more, the N7 captain that stood at her helm bore the name Shepard.
As the first Normandy, it also had a familiar face in the pilot's chair.
"We're about five from landing, Captain," Joker said as Melara and Liara approached his chair, turning his head a little to glance at them.
This was, of course, not the true Jeff Moreau. Despite his health problems, the original Joker had lived to a good age, if not a grand one. Per his request he had been buried in a small cemetery in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina.
After he had passed away, EDI had created an advanced AI interface in a VI hard-light body. It had taken her some time, but she had managed to capture Jeff's complete personality in the AI, and had even been able to encode most of his memories. This original Jeff AI still remained with EDI. She had created another when she heard the Normandy was coming out of retirement. Instead of a hard-light VI interface which would have been inefficient, the new Joker had a synthetic body not unlike EDI's original Dr. EVA chassis. He, as EDI had, served both in a physical capacity and as an actual integrated part of the ship.
The Joker synthetic had worked so well, in fact, that most ships these days had synthetic and fully integrated AI pilots. Though only this one actually resembled and acted like Moreau, the others were still called after his handle. The name 'Joker' became a firm part of galactic slang and was used almost universally in reference to any pilot or helmsman.
Given the ramifications of the new tech, the Council had been forced to address the complicated issue and several sanctions had been put into place.
The first being, the synthetic pilots- while integrated into the ship's systems- had to be fully autonomous as well. This enabled them to evacuate the same as the rest of the crew in case of ship compromise. Without this, every time a ship was destroyed- by accident or on purpose- would be the legal equivalent of murder. This also allowed any given pilot the ability to be transferred between ships, or easily moved onto a new one in case the old ship was retired.
On a civilian level, the new tech had even stricter sanctions. Shortly after its inception, grieving families had taken to creating a perfect synthetic replication of their deceased relatives. This created all sorts of identity and tax confusion issues, as well as issues with inheritance. Less obvious were the discoveries made by several psychologists. Through their studies, it was determined it was an incredibly unhealthy practice in terms of the mental well-being of the survivors. With an immediate replacement of a beloved father or child, those surviving did not go through the normal grieving and recovery process. While it helped spare them the immediate pain of grief, in the long term it was leading to full mental breakdowns and some odd levels of sociopathic behavior. One extremist group had even tried to legalize murder…after all, why was it wrong to murder someone if a fairly exact replication of them could be created and simply continue on where they left off?
It was the arguments and controversies surrounding cloning all over again, with the added bonus that the synthetic replications had no known shelf-life. Now, it was illegal for any synthetic to be made that replicated the personality, thought processes, or memories of any previous or current living sentient person. Even their appearance was restricted to a designed standard set down by the Council. In the new laws, the Jeff synthetics- the only two now allowed to remain appearing as any known species- were permitted to remain functioning on the understanding that no more be built. Were anything to happen to the Normandy's Joker or EDI's initial prototype, Jeff Moreau would truly be gone.
Now controversy of a different sort was heating up. While the military-sanctioned synthetic pilots were given the same pay and autonomy as any other solider, this did not hold true for some of the civilian created synthetics, which were still considered property in small areas of the galaxy. Given they were AI, this was akin to slavery.
For the moment, synthetics remained highly regulated and difficult to build and obtain due to the incredible number of laws and sanctions put into place…though a small black market was quietly thriving. The only synthetics not to come under these regulations were, of course, the geth…who had long been recognized as a separate species with standing equal to any other.
Under Joker's delicate touch, the Normandy entered Earth's atmosphere and descended toward her final destination. The Alliance landing pad was well within a secure complex but a few vetted civilian reporters had been allowed in. She had been assured they would be kept back to a respectful distance, but nearly everything from the moment the Normandy touched down would be on every newsfeed across the galaxy, almost in real-time.
The fighters did not descend to land with them. As the frigate came to rest, the Sabres pulled into formation and did a silent fly-by, a tradition of respect saved for the most revered of heroes.
As she followed her daughter numbly through the ship and down to the cargo bay, Liara barely saw the faces of the crew as they quietly watched her, standing at attention with their hands in firm salute. Had she looked, she may have seen that even some of the hardened marines had damp eyes.
Resting in the cargo bay, the highly polished hover-casket was covered, draped over by both an Alliance and a United Galaxy flag. To an outside observer, the matron widow appeared solemn and stoic, her stance as self-controlled and dignified as any asari Matriarch. Within, Liara only felt numb. It was either numbness or the furious aching pain, and if she let the latter take hold of her she was not certain she could survive it.
It did not really matter. This was all for ceremony, for show. Though the greater public would never know it, Del Shepard's body was not in the casket standing before Liara now. It contained instead a neatly pressed set of Alliance Admiral's dress blues, with a gold-label cigar tucked in the left breast pocket, and a tiny music chip encoded with songs from Flatwood, Opus Ori, and Irie tucked in the right breast pocket. Lying over the uniform was the thin sabre that belonged to the dress blues, and a small clear box that contained a single blue rose, sealed and preserved so that it would never fade.
Shepard was still at home on Virmire, sealed in a simple cryo-container and awaiting her true sending. These next few days were all for the galaxy, for the faceless trillions that wished to honor their hero with pomp and circumstance. There had even been a rather tense discussion about whether or not Shepard would be interred on Earth or on board the Citadel. Many had hoped for the Citadel, claiming that while Shepard was human by birth, she truly belonged to the entire galaxy. In the end, it was decided to bring her home to New York, though a second memorial ceremony would be held on the Citadel in the coming days. A memorial, of course, that Liara and her children were expected to attend.
As the cargo door opened, Liara could see the waiting honor guard standing starchly at attention on the dark tarmac. Fleet Master Pressman, Admiral Heritage, General Nuveson, and Earth Prime Minister Jorge Natches waited beside them. Forming rank upon rank were hundreds of marines and officers who had been selected to be present. The small amount of press was clustered off to the side, well away from the proceedings, though their hover-cams made that irrelevant.
A single soldier was playing a tune that Liara only vaguely knew as Taps. Beyond that, the silence was overwhelming- almost unnatural.
The honor guard came up the ramp, saluting both Melara and Liara, before their commanding officer asked permission to take possession of the casket. Melara granted it, and the guard flanked the casket to escort it down.
Around Liara's neck hung Del's dog tags. Her hand was gripping them tightly, and she was distantly aware of them digging into her flesh. She kept hold on them, even when Mel lightly touched her elbow, giving it a gentle squeeze as they followed the honor guard and the casket.
The day was beautiful. That was the only thought that stuck with Liara, everything around her reduced to a dreamlike half-awareness. Mechanically, she accepted the condolences of the Fleet Master and gathered officers. Someone handed her a small box, their words nonsensical drones that she merely nodded to, murmuring her replies without conscious effort. Mel's hand on her elbow anchored her, guided her, kept her steady.
The day was beautiful.
The day had no right to be beautiful. How could the sun still shine? How could the colors stay so electric around her, so bright and cheerful? It all seemed so callous and cold.
Her Del was dead. Everything else that just kept on living, kept on being, seemed heartless in the wake of that truth.
The ceremony itself wasn't until the next day. They had been given lush quarters, marines and various guards discretely stationed about the premises so that no one bothered them. Irie, who had taken alternate means to Earth, had already arrived. With her was Lily, of course, and her husband, Evik.
Daenys would likely be arriving soon, having taken her own small ship to retrieve a few important souls. With some prompting, Irie had finally gotten Liara to go in and rest, using the pretense of helping Lily settle for a nap. When she emerged from the bedroom, she saw that Melara had vanished, no doubt retreating to find her own method of solace.
The quarters seemed impossibly huge, almost clogged with silence. Irie stood, her fingers tracing over the lid of the box that Pressman had given to Liara. Within was some kind of medal. Mel had told them it was the only one of its kind, made specifically in memory of the Hero of the Galaxy. Irie didn't open the box to look at it. No thing, no matter how artistically wrought, would ever compare or make up for the loss they all felt so keenly.
She felt arms slide around her waist and turned, her face burying in her husband's chest. He held her silently a while, saying nothing. She could hear his heart, and for a moment counted each beat. It only served to remind her how short his own lifespan was, and how she would lose him as well- far too soon.
Desperate to forget that, she spoke instead, murmuring against his shoulder. "Do you remember how nervous you were the first time you met her?"
Evik smiled. "Nervous? I don't think that really covers it. I was expecting her to shoot me…if I was lucky."
Irie smiled a little, closing her eyes as she remembered. A gentle meld drew Evik into the memory as well, a shared moment that brought them both an odd comfort…
Liara paced the living room, hands wringing in a way Shepard had not seen since they had first met. Smirking to herself, Del set her wife's mug of tea down on the table, then walked over, catching hold of her. "Tianlán, calm down. You're like a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs!"
"A wh…oh. Yes, I suppose." It was a testament to her fluster that she did not immediately catch on to what Del had said. As she glanced toward the door, Del caught her chin and brought her gaze back to the fore.
"I thought I was supposed to be the agitated one," she said teasingly.
"I just…it is important to Irie that we like this young man, and that he likes us. I am merely…concerned about making a good impression-"
"You are still a terrible liar, Tianlán," Del told her. Liara scowled a bit, but her continued nervousness made it simply cute, rather than intimidating. Her hand suddenly quested around to the small of Del's back, and Shepard lifted her brows.
"What are you doing?"
"Making sure you are not armed," Liara replied. Del rolled her eyes, then took her wife's hands, drawing her over to the sofa and sitting down.
"Li, c'mon. You really think I'm going to shoot him?"
"Del…listen to me. I know you love Irie. She has grown into an incredible maiden and I have no doubt that she is going to change this galaxy someday. She is brilliant, and better yet…she is sensible. I know she will always be your baby, but she is not a child of sixty or seventy any more. I have never heard her talk of someone with such love and adoration as she has for this young man. This is not like those few crushes she brought home from school. This is serious. She wants to make him her bondmate-"
"And you're afraid I'm going to answer the door with my rifle out like I did for those 'few crushes' in her school days, right?" Del asked. "Look, Liara. She loves this man, that's wonderful, but you're right. She will always be my little girl, and as far as I'm concerned, there ain't a goddamn soul in this galaxy worthy of her. I don't want her to get hurt, and you'd better believe if someone does hurt her, I'm going to tear the fucker apart-"
"Del-"
"That being said," Del replied sternly. "I also want her to be happy. You said it, Li. She's not a kid any more, and I can't make her choices for her. If he makes her happy then that's what's important. I promised her and you that I'd give this guy a fair shake, and I mean to keep my word."
Right then, a soft chime came to the door.
"Ah, that must be them," Shepard said, getting to her feet. Li almost desperately leapt up as well, catching hold of her.
"I will answer it," she said.
"No, I'll get it," Del told her, stepping past her bondmate and heading for the door. "Honestly, Li. I don't know why you and Irie are both so terrified of me meeting this man-…"
Reaching the door, she opened it, breaking off in mid-sentence.
Irie stood almost timidly on the small porch, looking wide-eyed at her father as she realized who had answered, her hand automatically tightening on the one she was clasping.
Shepard barely saw her. As she pulled the door open, her eyes had landed immediately on the young man standing at her side. He was dressed nicely, clasping a bottle of wine or pris para or some other liquor in his free hand. He was hardly relaxed, his stance betraying the stiff expectation of imminent death.
For a long moment, Shepard and the fellow simply stared in mutual shock at one another. Then Irie spoke, breaking the spell.
"Bába-"
Shepard's fist sailed out in a perfect jab, as fast as a cobra could strike. She felt lips flatten over teeth. The bottle shattered as it was dropped, foaming red over the white porch. Rocked by the blow and off balance, the young man stumbled back and tripped on the steps, falling hard to the pathway just beneath them.
"Evik!" Irie turned and hurried down toward him as Liara darted in front of Shepard. Though she was not using her biotics, her skin was glowing with the promise of them as she pressed her hands to Del's shoulders.
"Shepard, stop-"
"Get him out of here," Shepard said, all but snarling as she pointed past Liara at the boy. "What the gui is this, a goddamn joke?"
"Shepard, this is not a joke! We invited this boy to our house and-"
"He is not coming inside my house!"
"Delilah Shepard, that is enough!" Liara fixed her bond mate's glare with a cold one of her own. Shepard stared at her a moment, furious. The tendons in her jaw seemed carved of granite. For a moment, Liara feared she would have to use biotics to prevent Del from pushing past her. Instead, Shepard turned and strode back into the house, angrily scrubbing a hand over her face as she vanished down the hall. Liara watched her carefully.
Irie had her arm around Evik, helping him to his feet. He seemed dazed, his lip split and blood spilling down his chin. Liara looked at him, and though her words were kind, she held herself stiffly, every bit as tense as her bondmate.
"Bring him inside, Irie."
"Is Bába-"
"Bába will be just fine. Bring him inside."
As Irie helped her woozy love up the steps and into the house, Liara nodded to him, her voice tersely neutral. "My apologies, Evik."
The young man held a hand over his chin to keep the blood from dribbling, giving Liara a faint nod as they passed, leaning on Irie as she helped him into the kitchen to clean his face.
In the study, Liara heard something heavy thump, followed by a muffled curse. Heading swiftly down the hall, Liara rushed into the room, praying Del wasn't actually going for her weapons.
She wasn't. Instead, she was pacing with agitated strides, one hand on her forehead and the other on her hip. The desk chair was lying nearby on its side. As Liara entered the human woman looked at her.
"You knew this? She told you?" Shepard asked, her voice low as she looked at her wife. "Cao wo, Liara!"
"Shepard-"
"A batarian? Really? The goddamn love of my daughter's life is a goddamn batarian!"