A/N: Thanks to all those who favorited or are following this story and a big thank-you to lil-blood, Danie-Dono, m. meichiri, a guest reviewer, xBlackStars, and MacLatte for your reviews last chapter!
-7-
"Damn it," Shepard hissed in frustration. The resounding beep and error message droning at her to try entering the correct username and password again was not what she wanted to hear. Especially for the tenth time in a row.
She had exhausted all of the consoles (at least the ones still functional) on this floor. She'd have to leave its relative safety in search of another not locked down or shooting up sparks like a defective firework. Else she would be forced to wander around aimlessly for hours and hope she'd magically stumble upon the archivists or the right vault. Which had happened before, but not navigating within something of this scale.
She tested her leg again, making sure her knee wouldn't suddenly buckle once she put weight on it. Satisfied it was nothing more than bruised, she made her way to the door at the opposite end of the room. She ignored the continuously growing throb of her hand and her cheeks. She could only imagine how puffy they would be by the end of this. If she didn't see a mirror or reflective surface for the next couple of hours as far as her face was concerned, she'd be content.
She pressed her ear against the metal door, searching for the pitter-padder of footsteps outside. Finding none, she opened the door, keeping her pistol raised steady in front of her with her one functional hand. She wasn't going to be caught off guard again.
What she wouldn't give for her Widow or Predator right about now. Technically she trained to handle different models proficiently (in theory, a gun was a gun when duty called for one), but she had gotten so comfortable using them and she had just gotten her mods fine-tuned the way she liked them. Though she could have just settled for the Widow, with her recent tendency to use it as a pistol, a tendency she couldn't explain the cause behind. She had seen the cringe creep up on Garrus's face every time she did that, a sight that amused her to no end, but no one could deny it got the job done.
She used any advantage she could take from the surrounding environment to stay undercover, hugging the wall, ducking behind low level objects, utilizing those years of infiltrator training. No one should see you coming, not even a whisper. Strike before they even had time to respond.
When it came time to train in a specialization, without hesitation, she had known she wanted to train as an infiltrator. She had no experience in biotics or exposure to element zero. She really had no desire to become one either. She was good with tech, but not enough to become a specialist in it like an engineer would. That left training as a soldier or infiltrator and the powers and tactician angle of the infiltrator just appealed more to her.
She remembered how much she had struggled with it at first, when they forced the recruits to do those simulations. The hair-tearing out and close to tears kind of frustration when the VI warned she had been spotted and had to try again. This was before the creation of tactical cloaks, which would have undoubtedly made the tests a lot easier. She had come this close to changing classes and saying the hell with it, but it wasn't in her to be a quitter when the going got tough and when she put her mind to something. The final day of examination, she finally did it. Finally sighted down her target, made it across the room without being spotted, clinching her spot within the infiltrator class.
She didn't encounter any other mercs as she entered into another open room similar to the one she just left. She hid behind a desk, counting down from ten until she was sure no one was around (or at least willing to announce themselves).
With all her exposure to dead bodies over the years, she should have been less startled when she came upon one right by a desk, lifeless eyes cast towards the ceiling, red blood pooling like a lap pond beneath her and soaking her through. She didn't look like she had made it far in an attempt to escape. Probably were on her before she could even move. Why didn't she run like the others?
Her heart sunk when she spotted the picture frame on the desk. She picked it up, taking in the sight of the now dead woman, arms looped around a younger one (probably only by a few years) with the same blond hair and olive-green eyes. Perhaps they were sisters.
It didn't matter, Shepard scolded herself for her curiosity. Another family was torn apart by senseless violence and war. And day by day, Shepard was becoming powerless to stop it.
She wished she could be like Garrus, adopt the turian mantra of not being able to save them all (sure would make it easier to sleep at night). But attacks on innocent civilians had always hit too close to home, reminded her too much of Mindoir, the slaughter that was wrought that day. She had always been able to put her personal feelings aside during a mission, focused on the task at hand, but some days were more difficult than others. Going back to Eden Prime, seeing those marines gunned down surrounded by snacks, drinks and a running vid-screen had been too close for comfort, kept her shaken up days afterward.
She carefully set the photo down beside the monitor on the desk. It took Shepard a moment for it to click that the console was logged in and not malfunctioning.
Taking advantage of the lack of mercs on patrol, she punched away at the console keyboard, pulling up the search query again, typing in "Shepard" "Spectre" "biometric access log" in the search fields and hitting submit.
The result popped up a moment later and Shepard felt her luck start to turn around. Until the error message to contact the team lead or head archivist to access classified materials materialized to mock her. Guess even here the archivists had different levels of clearance. No wonder the mercs couldn't find it.
That was going to complicate things, but at least she had a plan.
She searched the interface for a map of the facility again, finding it within a few clicks. It didn't seem like the head archivist's office was too far, just up a few levels, not too many directions for her brain to try and remember in this maze.
Assuming she or he was even there or the mercs hadn't gotten the same idea first.
A flash caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. She looked down at the source, the onni-tool of the dead woman lighting up and pinging.
No comm signals were going in or out of the Archives. This had to be local.
She kneeled down and lifted the woman's arm to accept the incoming vid-link.
"Sara? Sara, where are you? You were supposed to let me know when you…" The young woman stopped mid-whisper, taking in the sight of Shepard, clearly not that of her dead colleague. "You're not Sara."
Shepard recognized the blond hair pulled into loose braids cascading down to her shoulders and spirited green eyes. The woman in the photograph.
"No. I'm Commander Shepard."
The woman's eyes widened in surprise and a look of awe appeared on her face. "Commander Shepard…you're here? I'm Laura, Laura Corvo," she introduced. "I'm the assistant to the head archivist here, Dr. Shela T'Zorata. My sister's an archivist too. Sara Corvo. Have you seen her? How did you find her omni-tool?"
Shepard mentally prepped herself to break this bad news, hoping to do it as gently as possible. "Your sister didn't make it, Ms. Corvo. I found her by her desk."
Laura's face turned the pale of spoiled milk, her face contorting into a hideous mask of grief before she reined it in with a hand to her face.
"Oh, God…oh, Sara…I…I told her to run to the saferoom, I told her n-not to wait, that it wasn't just a minor thing or a f-false alarm. God…" she trailed off with a hushed sob. "What am I going to tell our mom?"
Shepard hated to push forward with this, knowing this woman needed and deserved the time to grief for her sister, but time was a luxury not on Shepard's side. "I know this is a lot to take in, Ms. Corvo, and no one is sorrier for your loss, but I need your help and Dr. T'Zorata's. The mercs who attacked are looking for something specific. My biometric access log. I can't access its location from any other terminal except hers."
"Right, because it's classified. Dr. T'Zorata l-left the saferoom to go back out to her office, try and shut down access to the vaults. T-try to get an external channel working," Laura replied between sniffles and choked breaths.
"I can head up there now. Stay hidden in the saferoom until then."
"Wait. I can send you o-our location and our comm channel…if that would help."
Shepard glanced down at what remained of her omni-tool. "My omni-tool's fried."
"Then take my sister's. She…" Laura's voice briefly stuck in her throat. "She won't need it now."
Shepard switched her dead one onto her other arm, not wanting to toss it, hoping Tali or EDI could work some tech magic and repair it. She attached Sara Corvo's onto her left arm, still maintaining the vid-link with Laura during the process. Even if it wasn't military grade and didn't come with all the fancy capabilities, at least she could lock doors and communicate with people internally.
"I'll get there as fast as I can," Shepard promised, lifting herself back up.
Laura nodded. "I'll contact Dr. T'Zorata, tell her to expect you. And Commander…" Her eyes welled up with tears. "Thank you for telling me about my sister," she thanked with a broken whisper before disconnecting the call.
Shepard scanned the area one more time, making sure no one would tail her. She grabbed the picture frame from Sara's desk. Though clutching and holding onto it with her injured hand would be a challenge, Laura would probably appreciate having this, something to remember her sister by while she waited this whole thing out.
Having Laura's coordinates and a functioning omni-tool made this process a lot faster, not having to wander around with no sense of direction for hours on end.
She still maintained a cautious pace, still took cover when entering a new open area. Only half-way there did she encounter a patrol, but she ducked into another vault until they passed, once again accidently activating it, this time a record from 693 CE.
"Beejo Gurji, you are accused of using thirty civilians as bait to flush and assassinate your target," an asari informed the contained salarian.
"I knew they'd survive. Probably," the salarian replied with a callous pause.
"You're being released. The Council wants you to implement a new special tactics and reconnaissance group."
"Desk job? No thank you," the salarian said, shutting the conversation down before it had the chance to begin.
"This is no desk job," the unknown asari assured him. "Spectres will be the best of the best. They will operate with impunity and answer only to the Council. You will be the first."
That immediately changed Gurji's tune. "Now that sounds like the best job offer in the galaxy. Count me in."
So that's how the Spectres got their glamorous start. As well as their reputation for playing loose with the law.
Though she had never admitted it to anyone, Shepard sometimes wondered whether it had been worth it, to be tapped as Spectre. Hunting and tracking Saren down was the only assignment given to her by the Council (which had been a major pain in her ass from day one). The others had all been from Hackett or doing favors from people who asked for her help. Then once she allied with Cerberus, the Council wanted to avoid her like the plague. Sure they had given her the title back, but it was merely an empty gesture, born out of a moment of gratitude for saving their lives. Now defeating the Reapers and Cerberus had become her top priority again. And the Spectres she had been exposed to (Saren, Tela Vasir) hadn't left a real positive impression. Nihlus, maybe, but she hadn't known him for long. The only one left was Jondum Bau, but again, she had only teamed up with him for one mission.
Least she could say it looked good on her resume.
"Commander! Commander, are you still there?" Laura's panic-infused voice came through the comm.
"I'm here. What's happening?"
"Something's happening with Dr. T'Zorata. I was talking to her over the comm when I heard these men come in from nowhere, asking for her, demanding to know who she was talking to. Then the comm suddenly went silent. I think she's in trouble, Commander. Please hurry!"
Shepard cursed silently for letting herself get distracted. What the hell was wrong with her? This wasn't the time for a history lesson. "Don't panic. I'm almost there."
Shepard reached the necessary elevator, taking it up the two floors to the head archivist's office. It dumped her out into a hallway, which led to a dead-end corridor across the way, with a wide right turn. Even from the entrance of the elevator, she could hear the weak cries and impatient shouts coming from within the office and she knew she had to be swift and take the chance she'd be spotted.
She crouched down as she made her way down the hallway to the first turn, staying close to the wall in case any of them popped out from the other end, listening as the voices got louder and louder.
"Who else is hiding up here, asari?"
"No one! Please, I already gave you access to the Spectre vaults. What more do you want?"
"I heard you talking to someone before we came in. Who was it?"
"Boss, it's not routing through," another merc interrupted. "It's saying we don't have correct access."
"You two-timing asari bitch!" Shepard heard the slap on skin a second later. Where did her clone drag these people up from? The bowels of the galaxy? They should have been shoved right back in them, never to see the light of day.
"Tear this floor apart. Find out where the other one is hiding," the merc growled to his companion.
"No, wait! I'll…I'll give you full access, I swear, just please leave this place!" Dr. T'Zorata begged.
"Too late, asari! We don't give second chances." She heard something slam against a hard surface, the click of a gun as it was readied to fire. "Now tell us the location of Shepard's vault!"
She finally made it to the end of the hallway. Shepard pressed herself right up against the corner of the wall, preparing to round it, realizing she still only had one bullet. She'd have to make it count.
She poked her head out in time to see through the wide open door at the end of the hall. To witness the head archivist unleash a biotic wave of energy at the two mercs. One was knocked off his feet, but the other closest to her didn't budge, unloading a round right in between her eyes without hesitation before Shepard had time to even react. To even try to stop it.
"Boss, what the hell?" the merc cried, picking himself back up as Dr. T'Zorata's body crumpled to the floor with a thunk.
"The other one will have the same information," the other replied with no remorse. "Now find them before I shoot your ass with her!"
There was no more time. She couldn't allow another innocent to die. She had to act now before they found Laura.
Shepard crouched back down, taking note of their positions as she hugged the wall, just as she did with the other one. Light on your feet, silent and swift, before they even sensed you were upon them, before they even felt your targeting-laser at their head or the heat of the incineration blast, her instructor had taught. Being an infiltrator was all about the element of surprise, whether at long or short range, with rifles or pistols or any of the tech abilities at their disposal.
She had to be like Thane or Kasumi, glide like glass on the floor. Operate within the shadows, let them aid her.
She placed the picture frame against the wall by the office door, checking that her pistol was ready to fire at will. She entered the office without any detection on their part, ducking behind a pillar when one turned around, commenting on how he thought he had heard something. Shepard mentally counted to ten again, listening for searching footsteps drawing near. She resumed her approach on them only when they expressed no sign of coming closer to her.
They were both feeling around the wall for a hidden panel or switch, completely unaware of her imminent approach.
Until the one closest to her unexpectedly spun around, catching her in plain view.
So much for being silent and swift.
He hurried for his pistol but not fast enough to prevent Shepard from whacking him in the head with hers, coming down on him with as much strength as she could muster. She flung herself to the floor to avoid the shots from his companion coming her way. The merc's partner wasn't so lucky, crumbling to the floor with a final groan.
Shepard had to time her shot, time it perfectly until she could get access to spare thermal clips (assuming they even had any). She did barrel-roll after barrel-roll, back and forth, bullets just grazing by, finally hopping back up to take aim. With the strength and speed of a krogan (and a roar to match), he rammed into her, flinging her against the wall close to the other fallen merc, her pistol flying from her hand at the force. Ignoring her pounding head and face, she retaliated with another krogan classic, the good ole'fashioned head butt.
And it didn't do a damn thing. Did the merc have reflexes and a skull of steel? Or was he secretly part krogan, however genetically impossible that was?
He pinned her to the wall, pressing his forearm against her windpipe. She thrashed around trying to escape his hold, but it was getting harder to think, harder to focus on anything other than the fact her air was slowly being cut off.
Suddenly his grip loosened, startled by the sudden slam of a picture frame over his head. Shepard pushed his arm away and dived for his partner's gun nearby, praying it would have more bullets than hers did. She yelled for whoever had come to her rescue to move, firing shot after shot at the merc until he finally sunk to his knees and tilted over onto his stomach.
Shepard took the moment to get her second wind back, replaying what had just happened over and over again. How did she allow herself to get pinned down like that? Was her battle rhythm that off? Did not having the cloak or incinerate or her other tech powers incapacitate her that much? What did that say about her abilities as a soldier, as this beacon of hope for the galaxy if she couldn't function without them?
It couldn't be the lack of armor. She had had that issue leaving Earth, wearing nothing but that hideous prison (or detainment according to Alliance officials) garb and only one pistol with limited ammunition. This was no different.
But she had been able to keep her omni-tool, on condition she not use it to escape. A woman of honor, she had agreed, but at least she had been allowed to keep it.
She had to get better about this, get her head on straight. She couldn't prove her clone right.
"I heard loud popping noises…" a mousy voice stuttered by her. "I knew, but I didn't want to…then when I heard the shouts and more gunshots, I knew you were here and I…I didn't want to see anyone else…"
Shepard glanced over at the person whose timely intervention saved her, at the fear-stricken and trembling form of Laura Corvo, clutching the broken remains of the picture of her sister and her tightly to her chest.
"Ms. Corvo…Laura, it's alright. I understand and I appreciate it." Shepard's words did nothing to thaw Laura, still frozen and transfixed on the sight of three dead bodies. "Do you need a second to yourself?"
"No, I'm ok, I…" She inhaled, tremors still making their way through her body. "I just can't believe this is really happening…Dr. T'Zorata, my sister…I mean, I knew with the Reapers and Cerberus attacking…we were never safe, but…I never thought…I mean, who would want to attack the Archives?"
Shepard could imagine what it was like for her, being lulled into a false sense of security, have everything crash down on you in an instant. Then the waiting, to get to safety or to be discovered. Again, it struck close to home, the memory of her hiding in that supply shed, waiting with bated breath and silent sobs as batarians passed by it, waiting for her chance to make a break for it.
Shepard shook away that unpleasant thought. Now wasn't the time to get caught up in bad memories.
"Someone who's determined to take over my whole life," she said instead.
Shepard went over to the fallen merc, searching around for a transmitter in his helmet. Finding none, she lifted his arm to activate his omni-tool, see what frequencies he had recently tapped into. Now that she had a working omni-tool again, wouldn't hurt to listen in on merc comm chatter.
Shepard then looked up at Dr. T'Zorata's terminal which, thanks to bullet-shaped holes in the hardware, was now non-operational. Bastard probably fired at it on purpose, so no one else could get their hands on the location of her log.
She turned back to Laura, whose gaze was still rooted to the floor. "I know I'm asking a lot, Laura, but I still need your help. Is your terminal still working?"
"N-no," she replied, finally meeting Shepard's sapphire to her olive. "It's been having all sorts of problems lately and now it won't turn back on."
Of course it wouldn't.
"But I do remember where the sensitive info on Spectres is generally kept," Laura continued, trying to sound encouraging. "I went down there once with Dr. T'Zorata. It's not much and you'd still have a lot of ground to cover…"
Shepard interrupted her from what sounded like an apology, like this whole mess was somehow her fault. If anyone was to blame, it was Shepard for taking too long, for letting this whole business with her clone get to her, but there would time enough to wallow in self-loathing later. "At this point, I'll take anything I can get."
Laura pulled up her omni-tool, transmitting the coordinates and an extensive map of the building to Sara's (now Shepard's) omni-tool.
"Are there security forces here?"
"A bit, but most were pulled out to other areas of the Citadel after the coup," she said, toying with her one braid, sounding calmer. "We had to rely on mechs and VIs, but they were probably shut down at one of the main security offices the same time the comms went offline."
That would explain why no one was rushing to the Archives's rescue or why there wasn't more resistance.
"Are there any security offices on the way?"
Laura shook her head. "The one that controls external comm channels is on the opposite end of where you need to go."
Shepard figured that would be the answer.
"Sir, what's your status? Have you found the head archivist yet? Sir?"
That definitely didn't sound good.
"Sounds like we might be expecting company. How secure is your saferoom?"
Laura tried her best not to appear frightened at the news of more mercs incoming, though her quivering body betrayed her. "I…I think it's pretty secure, but I could go somewhere else. There's a security office. Not far, not marked on any maps. Only Dr. T'Zorata and team leads knew about it. I…I could hide there." Her eyes suddenly lit up, the greenish hue deepening ever so slightly. "Maybe…maybe I could even help you. It does have a few camera feeds I could tap into."
Not that Shepard didn't appreciate the offer to help, but Laura had already done more than enough. "I couldn't ask you to do that."
"I'm offering. It's like you said. I'm probably the only o-one who could help you, now that Dr. T'Zorata..." Her voice trailed away, as if her throat suddenly seized up. "I...I owe it to her. And Sara," she continued, recovering.
"He's not responding. You three go up to the office, check it out," an unwelcome voice with a merc as its owner barked into her ear through her communicator.
"They're coming up. Is the elevator the only way down?"
"There's a door to a stairwell right before you reach it."
"Then go there now!" Shepard urged, directing her out of the office.
Laura nodded erratically, taking one last remorseful look at Dr. T'Zorata's body before darting down the hallway, promising to stay in contact and out of sight this time.
Shepard made one last quick sweep for extra thermal clips, not willing to leave any behind, before following Laura out. With a map and coordinates, a fresh supply of bullets, and Laura aiding her eyes and ears, maybe she'd finally be back in the game until they could contact the outside world again.