The Race Against Time, part two
"It's not going to work, you know," Shepard said wryly from her position on the floor. After the camera turned off, she shook the bag off her head and leaned back, settling onto her knees and turning to look at Varick.
He glared down at her coldly. "What makes you think that?"
Shepard faced the front of the room. "They'll figure out that none of those bodies are mine. That we're not even on Illium. And when they do... they'll keep searching."
Varick snorted. His patience with the commander was wearing thin, but for the sake of their mission he restrained himself from lashing out at her, grabbing her by the neck and forcing her into the ground... "You may be right. But if they do, we'll kill them all."
Shepard was trembling. Varick couldn't see her face, but knowing the commander, it wasn't out of fear that she shook. If anything, it was rage. And that was what Varick needed. That fiery spirit, that burning, unsatiable passion for the fight was exactly the reason Commander Shepard had been chosen as an ideal candidate for the Shadow Broker's project.
Of course, he'd rather that she didn't direct her rage at him. The whole purpose of the torture was to make her susceptible to the Shadow Broker's influence by weakening her attachment to her old life. To fulfill her new function, Shepard would have to let go of her previous life, especially memories of her team. The one thing thing she clung so desperately to, the thought of being rescued by her teammates, would have to be crushed in order for her to submit to the Shadow Broker's will, through pain both physical and mental. Only then would she become the weapon they wanted her to be.
And already, they were swiftly approaching their goal. Soon, Shepard would realize that there was no chance of rescue. From there, Kamala would make short work of tearing down her remaining mental defenses and after that, all there was left to be done was reeducation. Then, finally, their project would be complete.
But Varick was getting ahead of himself. For the time being, Shepard would be left in the capable hands of Tayir. He gave the krogan a nod, signaling him to resume his work, then strode out of the room.
Kamala followed him out, her feet dragging on the floor as she walked. Varick closed the door behind them and noticed that she was pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezed shut.
"What's wrong?" he asked, not out of concern for her but for the mission. If the Ardat-Yakshi was going to do her job, she'd need to be functioning at full capacity. Any fault on her part could end in disaster.
"I just need a little break, that's all." Kamala didn't admit it, but joining her consciousness with Shepard's had been extremely draining. The commander's resistance was remarkably intense. Kamala had thought that she was prepared for it, but apparently, she would need a bit more strength to successfully accomplish her task.
"Very well." Varick, too, was under the impression that Kamala would be able to handle it. But they had to get everything perfectly right, and he was willing to spend extra time if it was needed. "Whenever you're ready."
Kamala bobbed her head, then trudged off to her quarters in another part of the ship. It was a long walk. Well, it seemed longer than usual, at any rate. As Kamala traversed the infinite expanses of the ship, Shepard's memories swam around in her head. She heard the laughter of Shepard's teammates, their good-natured teasing and comraderie so alien to Kamala. Despite their wide range of differences, they were all good friends. Their trust and acceptance of each other was palpable. It made Kamala sick with jealousy. She'd never been able to have real friends, real lovers. Even that psychotic freak, Subject Zero, had found her place among Shepard's band of misfits.
"I could be one of them, if I wanted to. I choose not to. I'm better than them," Kamala told herself, running her hand along the wall for support. She had no reason to be envious of anything they had. She was Kamala Nasar, revered Ardat-Yakshi, scourge of the Terminus Systems. She was a goddess. And she was very, very alone.
Kamala reached her room, resting against the doorway. There was a guard standing in the hall.
"The prisoner you requested is inside, ma'am."
"Thank you," Kamala said softly. The guard gave her a sidelong glance, startled by her courtesy. Usually, Kamala was rude and demanding, never pausing to consider how it would affect others. She took what she wanted and didn't give a second thought about anyone else. Hearing "thank you" from her was about as unlikely as finding an elcor contortionist.
Then, Kamala remembered herself. "Now get out of here," she snarled. The guard did so, glancing back over his shoulder once before hurrying down the hall. Her kindness was nice while it lasted.
Kamala entered the room, closing the door behind her. Waiting inside was a young girl, maybe seventeen years old, with short blond hair that stuck out from her head like a pixie.
"What's going on here? Where am I?" she asked. Her voice was high-pitched like a pixie's, too.
Kamala drew a deep breath in through her nose. Now, with her prey defenseless and unsuspecting in front of her, she could already feel her strength returning. She took two steps forward, careful not to startle the girl. "Everything's going to be okay now. Just relax..." She ran her hand through the girl's short, soft hair before carressing her cheek. Drawn in by the potent allure of the Ardat-Yakshi, she leaned into her touch, pressing towards her eagerly. Kamala smiled. The girl had no idea that she was about to have the greatest hour of her life. Also completely unbeknownst to her, that hour would be her last.
With only twelve minutes remaining and neither of their targets reached, Tali was starting to grow worried. She and Legion had taken the most direct route, running as fast as Tali could manage, yet still she was unsure if they would be able to save either of the girls.
"Creator Tali, we must maintain constant velocity along this vector in order to arrive at the specified destination," Legion said, leading Tali forward.
"I know." Her legs pumped faster, settling into rhythm with Legion's. Side by side, the two of them weren't so different. Six toes, six fingers. Undeniable similarities in stature. Even the light on Tali's vocal coruscator shared a related design with the geth's optic nerve. Geth were built in the quarian's own image, after all. It was strange that their two races had diverged so drastically and violently. And yet, despite all their parallels, it was what was underneath the enviro-suit and the metal plating that mattered. Quarians were organic. Geth were synthetic. The two always clashed when they met.
But there they were. Geth and quarian, working together for a common interest. Tali had almost stopped thinking of Legion as geth, but just as another member of Shepard's motley crew. A dangerous line of thought, Tali knew, but perhaps there was something to be learned from the current collaboration. What was it that Wrex had said? "Seek the enemy of your enemy and you will find a friend." If Shepard had her way, the Reapers would be responsible for a lot of new alliances and reconciliations of old conflicts. Quarians and geth fell into the latter category.
At the moment, though, Tali wasn't going to concern herself with the fate of their two races and the galaxy as they knew it. They were coming up on their target and she needed every last bit of focus if she and Legion were going to save the captive.
The two of them paused outside of a slummy looking bar, the lights of its "open" sign flickering on and off desolately. "This is the place," Tali told Legion, checking the coordinates against her omni-tool.
"On your command, Creator Tali," Legion said. Tali's mask hid her perplexed expression. She knew Legion would cooperate, but she hadn't expected him to take orders from her, a quarian.
But she didn't waver in giving him instruction. "Send in the attack drones, then cover me from the doorway while I take point."
Legion paused for a second, processing. "We recommend -"
"I don't want to hear it!" she hissed to him. She'd be damned if she was going to take tactical advice from a geth.
But it wasn't Tali's authority Legion was questioning. His synthetic mind was able to calculate the best odds in combat more quickly than her organic one, but before he could tell her so, Tali was waving her omni-tool and sending her drone into battle.
The sounds of gunfire and the snap of flashbangs at her feet reverberated inside Tali's helmet, making it hard to concentrate. Wielding her shotgun as expertly as any quarian back on the flotilla, she took out the agents nearest to the door and slid into cover. The lighting was dim and her enemies were tactfully hidden, making it impossible to hit anyone that wasn't out in the open.
The attack drones distracted the hostile forces for a minute, but before long, they sputtered out. Tali cursed under her breath.
"Execute the prisoner," she heard one of the agents, a turian, command loudly. A brief scream and the sound of a slug embedding itself into a young female's skull could be heard throughout the entire room, telling Tali that they'd failed. It was a tactic, Legion knew, meant to bait Tali into springing blindly from her cover. Organics let their emotions affect their decisions on the battlefield; it was messy, inefficient, and dangerous. He started to warn her, but it was too late. The headstrong quarian was already on her feet and charging forward.
Legion didn't bother to see if Tali was okay. If she was even alive. With the same calculated accuracy that all geth were feared for, Legion took out the remaining agents, dropping them one by one. Only when all gunfire had ceased did he approach Tali.
The shotgun spray had created several holes in the quarian's enviro-suit, leaving her prone to infection. However, Legion's current assessment was that her gaping leg wound would be more likely to be fatal. Organics, especially quarians, were susceptible to sickness and infection even with minimal exposure. Tali couldn't have been in a more vulnerable state. Not to mention the blood pouring from the wound. Blood loss was the immediate threat, but even if she somehow survived that, infection would finish her off.
She was sobbing in pain, gasping through gritted teeth and letting out choked tears. Legion could barely comprehend any sort of coherent message. "Time... next girl... take my shotgun..." she spluttered out, nudging her weapon towards the geth.
But Legion understood enough. "Negative, Creator Tali. We have reached the consensus that Shepard-Commander values your life over the unidentified human female. We have calculated that without proper medical care in nine minutes and twenty-three point six seconds, you will d-"
"Legion!" she screamed, hysterical. "Go!"
"Negative," he repeated. Lacking the strength to protest any longer, she collapsed onto her back. Legion applied several doses of medi-gel as he calculated the minimum velocity he'd have to maintain if he was going to get Tali back alive. The odds of making it back in time were against him, but then again, the odds were also against a geth trying to help a quarian.
"Come on! The exit's just a bit further," Miranda said, encouraging the recently-freed captive to keep pace with her. She and Jacob had killed the agents without much trouble, but as soon as they untied the girl, more showed up. The two of them tried to hold off the hordes of the Shadow Broker's mercenaries while she escaped, but she was too weak to get anywhere on her own. Then, someone had turned on the machinery in the shuttle production factory. The crash and groan of the equipment created a loud, confusing environment, turning the factory floor into a labrynthine tomb of deadly machines.
"Please. I'm so -" the girl gasped for breath, her limp hair sticking to her skull with sweat. Her cheeks were gaunt and her skin was pale, as if she hadn't been fed or seen the light of day in weeks.
"We're almost there," Miranda promised her, giving her a reason to continue on. She had to shout to be heard over the mechanical clanging that filled the factory. "We're going to get you home." Even as she said it, the boom of Jacob's shotgun taking down the agents on their trail told them that they didn't have much time.
Yet still the girl began to slow, her bare feet tripping on the rough cement ground. Miranda grabbed her hand and tugged her forward. She wasn't going to let this girl die, not when they were so close to the exit. In fact, the door was in sight; the lock flashed green, awaiting the command to open.
"Miranda, watch out!" Jacob's voice was filled with urgency and fear. Miranda's head whipped back and forth, searching for hostiles. But the threat wasn't on the ground. It was on the next level up. An agent of the Shadow Broker was posted at a lever on a catwalk, and as soon as the targets were within range, he pulled that lever, releasing its brake.
There was no time to react. One second, Miranda was holding the hand of a scared, innocent young woman, and the next, that same girl was crushed beneath a two-ton cargo crate. The only sound she made was a sickening, crunching splat. Miranda turned around, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Gunfire ricocheted off the metal crate, but all she could do was stare at it.
Jacob wasn't just going to leave her there. He grabbed her around the waist with one arm and put up a feeble barrier around the both of them, waving his omni-tool with his free hand to open the door. As soon as he was through the exit, he dumped Miranda on the ground and locked the door with the most basic of jam programs.
Miranda had barely moved from where Jacob put her down. She felt numb, disconnected. How could she be so careless? They were so close. And Miranda had failed.
"Look at me, Lawson." Jacob jerked her up, grabbing her by either shoulder. He shook her once, just enough to clear the hair out of her face. Her eyes snapped to Jacob's face. "This isn't over. Get your head back in the game. There's someone out there who is still counting on us."
Miranda got to her feet with Jacob's help, then nodded. She couldn't afford to fall apart, not when their next target could be Oriana. Or Shepard.
They closed the distance to their next location with renewed determination. As they ran side by side, Jacob glanced at Miranda from the corner of his eye. Her hair whipped back from her face as she ran, arms and knees pumping to get maximum speed. She looked like she'd rather die than fail their next target. Jacob knew that the others called her Ice Queen behind her back, but they didn't know Miranda. They couldn't see the fire inside her.
"Wait!" Miranda said, grabbing Jacob's arm to stop him. She pulled him flat against the wall of the nearest building and drew her submachine gun. "Do you hear that?" she whispered, jerking her head to indicate the alley around the corner.
Jacob held his breath. He could hear bare feet slapping against pavement, barely stifled sobbing...
Miranda lept out of cover, her gun trained on the source of the noise.
"Don't shoot!" It was a girl, presumably the one Miranda and Jacob were searching for. Her hands were in the air, surrendering. Jacob could barely make out her features because the girl's face was so beaten and bloody. "Please, don't shoot!"
Miranda lowered her gun, but she didn't holster it. "What's your name?"
The girl lifted her head, crying. "It's me," she said tearfully. Her hands were still in the air as if she were afraid that she'd be killed despite her pleas. "Miranda, it's me, Oriana."