I thought there would be... more.
I knew in abstract that between Hagalaz's volatile atmosphere and our distant orbit, I would be unlikely to see anything beyond a fleck of light indistinguishable from any of the lightning flashes following the planet's terminator, but it is still... underwhelming.
As if so much power and knowledge being instantly vapourised should be more impressive.
As if the galaxy should somehow take notice that something so monumental just happened.
As if seeing the physical manifestation of a two year long campaign of cold decisions and ruthless calculus, destroyed, should spark something inside me greater than strange complacency.
The ship might have crashed into the frozen oceans of the planet, its remains to be boiled and refrozen until there is nothing but dust, but nothing has changed.
When we return to Illium, to the dry-docked Normandy, my work will be the same.
The same agents, saboteurs and worse will be called upon to do the same terrible deeds, to allow those sympathetic to our fight to gain greater power.
The same operations, much too often with a blood cost attached, will need to be authorised.
The same decisions will need to be made, every hour of every day.
I will hide in the same shadows. Manipulate the same events. Manoeuvre the same pawns.
Nothing has changed.
A warm hand works gently into mine, and the dark mantle lifts, just a little. The air smells like her. The scent used to leave me breathless.
It still does.
Leather, from the armour she wears.
Gunmetal, from the time she spends with her weapons.
The heady undertone of human, from the hours of physical exertion, honing herself into the perfect warrior.
I smile, and suddenly the speck of light that might or not be the explosion of my old ship becomes a lot more satisfying.
I was wrong. Only the work is the same. Everything else...
The hand holding mine squeezes softly.
The difference is small, but enough.
It has to be.
Faith Shepard was lost.
It was an unusual sensation.
She often did not know where she was going: whether she was standing before the galaxy map in the CIC of the Normandy, or on a ground mission in a labyrinthine building, but that was different. Then, she would stand up, speak confidently, and make everybody else think that her educated guesswork was actually part of a plan.
Then, she could lead, as she was trained and practiced in.
But this...
She looked around helplessly. She was not lost in a navigational sense, but rarely felt quite so uncertain.
Noise. Lights. Shops. Asari everywhere. She was on Illium, wandering the shopping district of Nos Astra. Garrus had returned to the Normandy with Kasumi - the thief still making no commitments about staying - and Liara was in her old office. The asari had effectively banished Faith for a few hours, insisting she had a few incredibly boring phone calls to make to properly tie up the loose ends of her old information business and to absorb the useful parts into the Shadow Broker's network.
Shepard had waited in Liara's office for the first few calls anyway, but the asari was not lying: the calls were incredibly boring - discussing new forwarding addresses, financial arrangements and business contracts that needed amending - and eventually Liara had suggested Faith wander the shops rather than simply pace her office.
Faith considered with a small smile that it was obviously an awkward attempt to tell her that her presence was frustrating.
As soon as Liara said the words Faith had an idea: she would buy her lover a gift.
Surely Illium would have something suitable.
The soldier walked past another shop, face twisted in confusion at the alien objects displayed in the window. She had absolutely no idea what they were. Fiendishly complex looking devices that could have been anything from a piece of medical equipment to a decorative ornament, the labels handwritten in an asari alphabet providing no clues.
Perhaps I should ask somebody for help.
A group of what appeared to be teenaged asari, linked at the arms, approached from the opposite direction looking at Faith and whispering to each other. The one in the middle giggled cheekily.
Nope, keep walking!
As she glanced into the window of the next shop, Faith's dark eyes widened in surprise, and she felt an insane urge to place herself between the window and the young asari so they could not see, despite another part of her brain telling her the asari might well be older than she was. What were quite obviously sex toys were proudly presented in a colourful display, graceful alien text scrolling on small screens alongside each piece. She knew, in some abstract context, that asari didn't hide sex in the way humans did, but it was still a little startling to see something like this out in the open, just like any other store.
Glancing around to make sure nobody was paying attention to her, Shepard swallowed thickly and inspected the display.
Maybe... maybe Liara would like...
Faith tilted her head, inspecting a device that she was fairly certain she could use to kill somebody in several interesting ways, pondering just how it was supposed to be used in the bedroom. She suddenly realised she had been staring for several minutes - still without a solution that satisfied her curiosity - when she noticed an asari in the shop, standing behind the counter, smile brightly and wave at her.
Faith stood bolt upright, blush creeping across her cheeks, and quickly hurried down the boulevard.
I am not good at this.
Could she find something Prothean? Liara would probably already have read any book she might find, and those artefacts in her apartment were far more impressive than any she might find while wandering the tourist district of Illium.
She shook her head in frustration. Perhaps she should simply find a flower shop and be done with it.
Do asari even like flowers?
Illium, at least, was a fascinating planet. Shepard had visited several times as she hunted the Collectors, but she had always had an objective then, and had never had time to simply stop and appreciate the beautiful architecture, the amazing skyline, the way the asari moved about as if in a graceful, endless dance. It was a startling contrast to the noisy bustle of the trading floor, of the loud audio adverts blaring from every building, the shady and occasionally violent business deals Faith knew were going on behind every door.
It seemed unreal. She knew many of these people had probably seen her data release, but none of them seemed to... care... that a force bent on the destruction of organic life was just months away.
But then again, she knew about the Reapers. And she was strolling around, in civilian clothes, looking for a gift for her lover. There was a pang of guilt at the fact, a nervous tugging at the back of her mind, telling her she should be doing something.
A melodic and clear voice stood out from the noises of the crowd, and Shepard turned her head to track the source. An asari, dressed in elegant robes, was loudly preaching verses of the Doctrine of Athame to a group of asari bystanders. Some were listening with vague interest, whilst others were chatting idly to friends, or toying with their omni-tool as the preacher spoke.
Faith shook her head with a cynical smile working across her face.
Maybe I should get up there alongside her.
It would do about as much good as yet another day wasted negotiating with people who don't want to hear what she had to say, scouring ancient archives for any clues about the Reapers, or trying to provoke the knowledge she knew was sitting in her mind so she could transcribe it to something useful.
The contents of the next shop window cast away the melancholy thoughts, replacing them with a pleased anticipation. Bracelets, necklaces and a wide variety of other pieces of jewelry were displayed, and before she could second-guess herself the human took a breath and entered the store. The noise from outside was instantly hushed as the doors slid shut behind her, replaced by a soft, beautiful soundtrack ringing quietly throughout the shop.
Several asari and a turian were browsing the displays lined before her. The asari were chattering happily to each other and trying things on, while the turian looked about as awkward as she felt, stiffly shifting his gaze between the bracelets he was standing by and a picture projected above his omni-tool.
Not wanting to have to weave between other customers, Faith slowly wandered down a deserted aisle, past a large display of rings that failed to catch her attention, past what she could only assume were crest decorations, and eventually stopped at the back wall, looking at a display of beautiful tiaras similar to that Samara had worn, presented on faceless head models. She reached out and softly brushed a finger along the edge of a red one, that was almost identical to the Justicar's decoration.
She had always meant to ask about it, about more of the traditions of the Justicars, but after her encounter with Morinth, she had found her ability to be comfortable around Samara badly damaged; so similar were their appearances.
It was a terrible disservice to the Justicar, but the asari had never spoken a word of complaint, volunteering to accompany her on every mission after the attack.
Shepard would have liked to have built a deeper bond with the worldly asari who had seen and endured so much, but that opportunity - like so very many others - had passed forever.
Shepard focused on the piece, imagining the blank, vaguely head-shaped model with Samara's stoic and ageless features, not flinching at the memory of the near-identical Ardat-Yakshi. She would not insult Samara's memory that way.
'That's a popular choice.' A bright voice startled Faith from her reverie, and she turned to see an asari standing close by, in a uniform indicating she worked at the store. Shepard found it impossible, as she usually did, to place the asari's age. 'The design is based on-'
'A Justicar's,' Faith said quietly.
The store clerk's deep grey eyes widened slightly, before she smiled again. 'That's right! I didn't know many non-asari knew about Justicars.'
The human simply nodded and turned back to the piece, removing her finger. She would let Samara rest.
'Are... you here for yourself? I am afraid headdresses like these often cause species other than asari trouble. We have some non-functional ones a bit further down if you're interested.' The clerk gestured helpfully.
'Functional?' Faith prompted. She thought it was purely decorative.
'Oh... oh! Yes, I apologise, I assumed if you knew... excuse me. They contain technology that allows its wearer greater control over her biotics. The difference to the user is quite small, but the technology is highly sensitive and geared especially to asari brain patterns and muscle structure. It won't make a weak biotic strong, but it will help a strong biotic focus her powers, by helping reduce redundant muscle movement and so on. A human wearing it would get a mild headache and feel a loss of coordination, perhaps worse if they kept it on for long.'
Faith shook her head with a small smile.
Trust me to find the one piece of jewelry that has battlefield applications.
Nevertheless, the gift appealed to her: something like this would not just be beautiful, but practical as well. Shepard was sure Liara would like it. She smiled and said to the shopkeeper, 'I'm not shopping for myself. It's for an asari.'
'Oh, excellent! Would you like assistance?'
Faith was tempted to simply choose something herself, but quickly banished the notion. She was horribly out of her element: thinking back, the nearest she had ever been to shopping for jewelry was looking at the alien trinkets traders would occasionally bring to Mindoir. She had just learned more about asari jewelry in a few words from this shopkeeper than she had in thirty years of life until then. She nodded with a relieved smile. 'Please. I'd like to get her one of these.'
The asari's smile widened. 'My name is Selrana. I own the store. Do you mind if I ask a few questions about the person you're buying for? It will help me assist your choice.'
It was clear the asari did not recognise her, for which Faith was grateful: she had decided to keep herself as removed from the Reaper data release as possible, beyond what was published in the media in the first place. The information was not about her, it was about the continuation of life in the galaxy.
When wearing civilian clothes and a soft facial expression, her now awkwardly mid-length hair loose rather than tied up, Faith was well aware that not many people, especially non-humans, could match her face with the hard, determined grimace of Commander Shepard. 'I'm Jane. And go ahead, I'm a bit out of my element.'
Selrana smiled pleasantly. 'Goddess' blessings upon you, Jane! So, this asari you are buying for... is she a friend, or lover?'
Faith let out a choked protest. 'Is that... important?'
The asari shrugged. 'Not really, but it's sweet!'
Shopping was going to be more difficult than she thought.
An hour later Faith left the store, feeling mentally exhausted, small bag in hand. Sel (she had insisted on Faith - Jane - shortening her name) had been absolutely eager to help, managing to steer Faith through the meanings and traditions of most of the pieces she had on display, letting loose a veritable barrage of questions helping narrow down the choice, from Liara's birth planet and age, all the way to asking Faith to point out Liara's skin tone on a chart, to help decide the right colour metal.
In the end though, Faith had made the choice. Inside a beautifully adorned box in the bag were a pair of symmetrical silver adornments of a simple design, though a close inspection showed a delicate pattern inscribed in both pieces with a blue-ish metal, which Selrana had explained was actually an ancient asari dialect, and the inscription told of Athame granting the asari the gift of biotics.
Faith smiled to herself, pleased that she had found something so perfect for Liara. The decorative jewelry in there had certainly been beautiful, but a practical gift seemed somehow more right to her... and what she had bought was both. She had also bought it with her own money, which felt important to her - a pretence, perhaps, that they lived something approaching a normal life. While Liara had given her access to several of the Shadow Broker's operation's accounts which would cover any expenses up to hiring a small army, Shepard, who had spent ten years as an officer in the Alliance without dependents or even a place of her own beyond the occasional short-let apartment, had a modest amount of money saved up in her own right. She had been somewhat surprised, when resurrected by Cerberus, to discover nobody had touched it. Her death had been so buried in layers of lies and deception by both the Alliance and Council that apparently her bank account had been forgotten.
How she would present it was another challenge, with a solution one she had already meticulously planned out. She would give it to Liara when they first retired to their shared room on the Normandy; a gift to celebrate their new home.
Illium's sun was setting, casting beautiful red lights across the now slightly less crowded shopping district. Although it was still busy, the mood of the crowd had changed: it was less urgent, the people walking slightly slower, the shouts slightly quieter.
Shepard had never enjoyed big cities. She had grown up in a small farm on a small colony on a vast, otherwise uninhabited world. After her military training, big cities represented only vicious urban warfare - lurking enemies, brutal traps, crumbling buildings, the inevitable corporate and government interests getting in the way of the mission objectives.
She preferred it quiet... preferred it when she did not subconsciously map out ambush points, blind corners, escape routes, environmental hazards she could either avoid or exploit, and judge whether every person passing through her vision was carrying a concealed weapon, or holding themselves with the bearing of a fighter.
It was as natural as breathing for her to do so, and yet it became exhausting, with constant thoughts of battle and war plaguing her when she should be relaxing.
Faith stopped, and moved to a wide balcony that looked over the huge cityscape of Illium. It was beautiful, just like the asari themselves... though she knew the beauty did not imply safety. The graceful architecture and carefully maintained infrastructure hid a seedy underbelly that rivalled Omega's. Only here, it was decorated with legal contracts, clean streets and smiles.
Her omni-tool, which was set to only alert her when she received a personal message, suddenly vibrated.
Faith,
I am finished at the office, and making my way back to the apartment. If you bring me the listed ingredients I can cook for you tonight.
- Liara
Faith smiled warmly at the thought of enjoying a night of Liara's hospitality, though the expression dropped a little as she saw a list of items she singularly failed to recognise any of.
After a few seconds the smile totally disappeared, replaced by another visage of uncertainty as Faith Shepard, N7 commando, first human Spectre, Hero of the Citadel and destroyer of the Collectors, looked around the shopping district and wondered just what an asari food store might look like.
The apartment appears more serene than I know its history dictates.
T'Soni Information Enterprise has now been completely incorporated into the Shadow Broker's network, and I admit to being more saddened than I expected to see the results of two years' work absorbed so coldly. The contacts I spent so long grooming are now listed alongside the hundreds I inherited from the Shadow Broker. The knowledge I accumulated has been added to the vast amount of raw data hosted on a dozen servers across the galaxy. The name I made for myself in certain circles on Illium are forgotten; my disappearance was as much an expected part of the information trade as any other stage in the business.
Two years' work, something I built myself... not gone, but forgotten. Indistinguishable now from anything else I control as the Shadow Broker.
No matter.
Sentimentality leads to inefficiency, and with what is coming I cannot afford to impair myself with romantic ideals of what I built being more valuable than what I took.
The office's lease will expire in about a month, at which time the owner's bailiffs will discover the room deserted and immaculate, free of any trace of my work there.
The flat I was renting in another neighbourhood of Nos Astra but rarely visited - the one listed as my primary address - is much the same.
But there is history in this apartment. Nothing professional: I kept work in the office, something I found increasingly necessary for my sanity. This is where I would relax on the occasional few hours I granted myself before an all-too-brief rest, surrounded by objects of a life nearly forgotten. The Prothean relics mounted in the walls: a reminder of a passion I had so little time for. The ruined breastplate Faith was wearing when she... died, with the great gashes and burns which still cause my stomach to clench uncomfortably, would keep my focus on what was important, what I was working for. The picture of the Normandy by my bed, at which I would gaze, longingly, before sleep.
And as time went on...
The strange Prothean orb Faith secured on a mission, and gifted to me, still sits on the table in the centre of the living area. I cannot help but smile, heart lightening, as I channel a small amount of biotic energy into it, seeing it flare up in response.
The window shows no signs of the assassination attempt. I had a clean-up crew take care of the apartment after the upheaval caused by Spectre Vasir died down: I did not know if I would be returning, but I have enough personal items here that I did not want to leave it in the hands of the police or other Illium authorities.
Slowly, I climb the stairs, to the bed where Nyxeris... assaulted... me.
The fear still spikes through me, as I remember the night, her disgusting violation of the beautiful gift of the asari, waking, seeing her face, twisted in hatred before I shot her, here, in my bed...
Goddess... There was so much blood...
The bed is clean. The walls and floor are clean. There is no sign of what happened here, nothing other than what the memories I harbour.
And I will not allow her any power over me. She failed in life, and she will fail in death.
The door slides open, startling me back to the present.
'Hey, Liara, they didn't have any of the... erm... krissita? The shopkeeper said that this tres... something... would be a good substitute, I hope that's ok!'
Hearing her bustle below suddenly makes the apartment seem alive, banishing the melancholy memories, replacing them with those of the beautiful few days we spent tenderly recovering together, gently exploring the feelings both of us denied for much too long.
Leaning over the balcony, watching her dropping the supplies on the table, and seeing her free of the stress of our work pulls a content smile across my face. If this is domestic life... I believe I could grow to enjoy it. 'That is ok, Faith.'
Faith looks up with a somewhat shy smile, and a delicious blush touches her cheeks. 'I really hope so, because I'm going nowhere near an asari shop again unless you're with me. Do you want to know how many people asked me if I'm sleeping with an asari today?'
'Well... shit.'
Matriarch Aethyta sighed as she replayed the video of the young maiden busying herself in her office, tenderly touching the human who was obviously her lover, and eventually sending the human away with a smile before sitting at the desk to make a few hours worth of phone calls.
Seeing Liara smile so openly, so freely, had lifted the matriarch's heart in a way not much managed to these days. Two years of watching her kid slip deeper into the miserable life of an information broker had dulled the taste of food, made alcohol less appealing, sex less, well, sexy.
Aethyta knew, in theory, that interfering then would have done more harm than good. Liara was growing up, and while most maidens took their time - a bit of dancing to learn about sex, aliens, and themselves, maybe some light merc or military work to introduce them to the violent side of the galaxy - Liara seemed to be getting the crash course. Dragged along by a Spectre to fight geth armies, then dumped into this life straight after. Aethyta's heart ached to see Liara lose her innocence like that, but to get involved... Liara would have ignored the advice of a stranger. Hell, she might have even suspected Aethyta was trying to lure her into a trap or something. Would she have been able to help by trying to move things behind the scenes, to make Liara's life easier? The girl was insanely smart - much smarter than she was - and would have noticed.
Or could she have revealed herself? "Hey kiddo, I'm your father, sorry I wasn't around to see you grow up. Fancy a drink?" She had made her promises to Nezzy all those years ago, and while they seemed a bit hollow with her old partner dead and their daughter miserable, Aethyta also knew that with Liara doing the work she was doing, just wandering up and introducing herself like that might have pushed Liara over the edge.
Not to mention the matriarchs on Thessia would have had either Liara or herself assassinated without a second thought if they thought Aethyta was doing anything other than monitor Liara. More than one of the supposed wise and diplomatic and peaceful matriarchs was just aching for any excuse to have the last of house T'Soni knocked off so they could bolster their own positions and fortunes, and she wouldn't be the one to give it to them.
The familiar resentment bubbled through Aethyta, but she quashed it with an ease that came through centuries of practice. She knew all of her excuses were cowardly, and the krogan in her raged at being so restrained in her actions, but while she would have been more than happy to piss off the stuck up asari on Thessia, she wouldn't do anything to risk Liara's life. She would monitor Liara, and send the matriarchs their damned reports, because the alternative was so much worse.
That didn't mean she had to like it. It didn't mean it stopped hurting like hell, every time she watched Liara slumped away from the office, exhausted. Every time she saw her kid drop her head into her hands after making a call Aethyta didn't want to know the content of. Every time Liara glanced at that photo she had hidden in the bottom drawer of her desk, eyes moistening, before her expression again shifted to that horrible coldness.
It also didn't mean she couldn't help, if the opportunity happened to present itself.
When that human who was at the centre of all these changes to Liara's life had come into her bar looking ready to headbutt the dancers, Aethyta had been ready to tear her a new one, but it turned out the Butcher of Torfan wasn't the cold hearted bitch the media made her out to be. Wasn't somebody using Liara like she had suspected. Seeing Liara like that had hurt her as much as it hurt Aethyta, and even if the human wasn't exactly the partner she would have chosen for her girl, it was clear they shared something and if Shepard was the only one who could get close to Liara, then she would roll with it. She'd kicked the human's ass in what she hoped was a helpful way, and if what she had just seen on her screens of Liara's bugged office was anything to go by, the pair both looked much happier for being in each others' company.
Aethyta liked to think she'd helped that, in her own way.
But still...
The matriarch shook her head, and looked again at the missives coming from her homeworld. Aethyta knew her muddying the reports of exactly what had happened to Liara after that mess with Vasir would only last so long before her "handlers" got suspicious.
And whatever Liara and Shepard had been up to in their absence had only made things worse. This thing about Reapers doing the circuits on the extranet had scared the shit out of them.
Good.
It was about time somebody planted a boot up their asses. They'd been acting strange for years now, wanting to know every little detail of what "Benezia's daughter" - they never referred to Liara by her name - was doing ever since she had helped stop the attack on the Citadel.
Aethyta had her suspicions: she wasn't privy to the details of the secret she knew the matriarchs harboured in the Temple of Athame - hell, she suspected she wasn't even supposed to know about it at all, but a girl got around - but she did know it had something to do with how the asari always seemed to be one step ahead of the other species. She would bet however many years of life she had left that it also had something to do with these rumours, and if that was true...
Idiots.
And now the matriarchs wanted to get their grubby blue hands on Liara. Whether it was her association with Shepard and this Reaper business, or because they had finally decided what to do about Nezzy's so-called treason, or because they were sick of Aethyta's unclear reports regarding Liara's whereabouts - or most likely some combination of the three - they wanted her. On Thessia. At an indeterminate "soon".
She reached out to the frozen image of Liara smiling like a love drunk idiot at her human as she pointed to the door of her office, but stopped herself before her fingers touched the cold, impersonal screen.
'Girl, you'd have been better staying wherever you ran off to.'
A/N: Thank you all for reading! And thank you to Jay8008, Tayg and Vector 71 for helping this chapter along :-)
A quick advert for some of my other writing: Vector 71 and I have been working together to write an original story about a young asari maiden with a special gift... it is something of a black comedy, so if you enjoy my work, Vector's (check it out if you haven't!) or twisted humour, you can find it at:
/s/9147327
A curious statistical coincidence occurred between the publishing of my last chapter and this one: all 3 of my "canon" stories (A Memory Shared, A Connection Forged; Parallel Lives and this) all passed the 30,000 view mark! This is absolutely amazing and really cheered me up: to know so many people read and(hopefully!) enjoy my stories is wonderful and truly inspires me. Thank you to everybody who continues to read my work and give me feedback - I always love hearing from you!
Have a great weekend!
