"Look like the innocent flower,
But be the serpent under it."
William Shakespeare, Macbeth
Garrus couldn't figure out exactly why he was headed into C-Sec headquarters, but he had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with a certain asari and her wide-eyed look of appeal. The elevator ride down was all too familiar, and it made his plates itch. It was as though he could feel all the rules and regulations of the place crawling underneath his armor and slithering along his naked body.
Working with Shepard had spoiled him. She was a Spectre, and free to do whatever she liked. Of course, that didn't usually stop her from making what some might call the moral choice. Like with Doctor Saleon, for instance. She'd given the doctor, monster that he was, the chance at a trial and redemption. The doctor hadn't taken it – Garrus saw that coming a mile off – and Shepard had shot the guy dead between the eyes.
"What was the point of that?" he'd asked.
"The point," Shepard had said, kindly but firmly, "is that we gave him a choice. We're not butchers, Garrus. The second you start thinking you get to decide who lives and who dies is the second you inch closer to being, well, him." She jerked her head towards Doctor Saleon.
He'd never thought of it like that before. For him, it was always about nabbing the criminal and making sure they didn't hurt anyone else. Shepard brought up an interesting philosophical quandary, and Garrus really wasn't sure what to do with that. Her point of view wasn't altogether different from his father's, and the idea that his father might have been right about the letter of the law… Well, that rankled.
What rankled more was thinking of Shepard laid low by a headache. He was used to her being the steadying influence in his life, weird as that sounded. He looked to her for a lead to follow, and now that she was in the hospital, well, he felt adrift.
C-Sec smelled the same. He wandered into the room and over to the desk, answering several shouted verbal jabs with a wave of his hand. When he mentioned the incident up on the Presidium, the asari detective shook her head in consternation and directed him towards Bailey.
Garrus hadn't ever worked with Lieutenant Bailey, but he'd heard good things about the man. He was one of the first humans to work with C-Sec, and so far he was the precedent by which all others were measured. The man was slumped over his datapads, sipping a mug of something and squinting at the photos. His eyes slid up and took in Garrus.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"Heard that there was some sort of incident on the Presidium this morning," said Garrus. "I'm working a case with the Spectre at the moment, and I thought it might be related." Truth was, he didn't think any such thing – Liara thought they might be connected. The Protheans were miles ahead in their understanding of dark matter and mass effect fields, she'd said, and much of their technology relied on those principles to function. What if this is connected to the Conduit?
The connection was shaky, at best, and they both knew it. But because he was tired of watching the asari worry herself sick over Shepard, and because he himself was sick of sitting around with the same gnashing feeling in his veins waiting for news, he agreed to check it out.
Bailey leaned back in his chair, the thing creaking under his weight. "You're the one who took off with Commander Shepard to hunt that bastard Saren."
Garrus shrugged. "Guilty."
"And you think that this, what are they calling it?" Bailey reached over and grabbed a datapad, frowning. "Large expulsion of energy from an unknown source has something to do with it?" Skepticism laced his words.
"I think it might," hedged Garrus, and he knew that Bailey could see through him.
Bailey scratched his chin. "You know, you're not a Spectre. I'm not obligated to share anything with you."
"True," said Garrus, stamping down the annoyance that flooded his system. This, this was why being a Spectre was better than any other law enforcement position.
"Calm down and stop looking like I kicked your puppy," said Bailey, and though Garrus didn't know what a puppy was, he got the general idea. "I said I wasn't obligated, not that I wasn't going to." He held out a datapad. "Scuttlebutt says Shepard's holed up in the Alliance hospital with some sort of injury. That true?"
"Nothing serious," lied Garrus. "Something to do with her implant, I think."
"Right," said Bailey, but not like he believed it.
The pictures on the datapad showed the cordoned off area of the Presidium from various angles. Like Liara had said, there was a huge crater and scorch marks leading away from it. A bench had been near completely disintegrated, but the trees that lay on the outskirts of the… the what? Point of impact? That would imply that there was something that fell. In any case, the trees not in the immediate radius were stripped clean but otherwise untouched. It seemed as though the expulsion of energy from an unknown source had confined itself to, by comparison, a relatively small area.
But Liara had been right about one thing. Garrus wasn't used to working in close proximity with biotics – or, at least, not those who actively used their powers in the field – but after a few missions with Shepard and Liara, he knew what a biotic detonation looked like, especially one centered around some sort of singularity.
Witness reports say that nothing seemed amiss before the incident. Then, a bright light had appeared, and electric discharge had flown from around the centre of the crater. One salarian described it as being comparable to the electric discharge from a mass relay. Another said he was sure that he saw one – or more – ships being destroyed around area in question, though when prompted, he described an Alliance freighter and a quarian civilian ship. Neither had been anywhere near the Presidium at the time in question. Couldn't have been – no unauthorized ships were allowed in that sector.
"An enigma wrapped in a mystery, ain't it?" said Bailey.
Garrus nodded. Despite his better judgement, he found himself siding with Liara. Something was definitely amiss here, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow related to their search for Saren. The logical part of his brain said that yes, even though that one witness claimed to see an Alliance vessel and a quarian one, that didn't mean anything – news about the geth and the attacked human colonies was all over the vids. It was on everyone's mind. If someone were going to have a hallucination, it would make sense that they'd draw from recent memory.
But something…
"Where's this injured party mentioned in the report?" asked Garrus.
"Now that's the funny thing. Some Alliance bigwig was on the Presidium at the time – some Russian Rear Admiral or something – and he was the first to reach the victim. Second he saw her, he summoned Alliance doctors and carted her out of there, claiming she was a member of their military and thus under her jurisdiction." Bailey folded his hands behind his head. "I've tried to call the hospital to see when I can set up a meaning, get to the bottom of this, but all I'm getting is that it's classified." The man's mouth was a thin line. "This isn't looking good for the Alliance, friend. There's already bad feelings about humanity's push for a Council seat, and with news that Shepard might be in trouble…"
"She's fine," insisted Garrus, though he knew nothing of the sort. His head hurt. He'd never been good with politics, and of late, he'd left that almost entirely in Shepard's capable hands.
"Yeah, well, maybe you can get her to get us inside the hospital," said Bailey. "This isn't going to go well if the Alliance continues to cover it up. Give me something I can work with, maybe we can stop this mess before it starts."
"I'll see what I can do," said Garrus, though how he was going to manage that when he couldn't even get himself into the hospital, that was the question.
He stared at the photos and wished he could make the pieces fit together. He wasn't spiritual, and though he trusted his gut feelings, he'd never felt anything this potent before. It felt like a sharp pinch to his subconscious, and he was going to figure out why.
000
Karin inserted the syringe into the IV. The patient they were referring to as Patient B – aka "the Other Shepard" – had been kept in an induced coma while doctors and surgeons worked on her mangled body. Huge compounded fractures to both femurs and one tibia. Severe burns up one arm and across the chest, exacerbated by lacerations caused from what looked to be ship shrapnel. Bruising covered nearly 90% of her body, and Karin couldn't help but wonder what this woman, Shepard or not, had been through.
Well, they were about to find out.
She backed up to join Captain Anderson and Admiral Hackett at the foot of the bed. Both men were grave, though Hackett seemed more so – he usually did. Anderson was worried, his arms crossed over his chest and eyes glued to the prone form in the bed. It was hard to see someone who looked so much like the Commander so grievouslyinjured. Even Karin found it hard to distance herself.
There were six armed marines outside the door in case something went awry. Karin tried not to think about them or what would happen if their new guest didn't have satisfactory answers.
"She's going to be in terrible pain," she warned them. "We have no idea what caused these injuries. Her mental state might not be what you'd call balanced."
Both men nodded. Hackett's eyes stoopd lower over his eyes, but his face remained as stoic as ever. Anderson, on the other hand, flinched around his eyes, lines spreading like spindly fingers towards the back of his skull. His eyes met hers, and through his steely determination tinged with worry, she saw the first pinprick of fear.
Patient B tossed her head slightly, her face contorting with pain as she moved something that wasn't meant to be moved. She looked so much like Shepard – the real Shepard – under all those bruises and lacerations that Karin started to move forward. She was hindered by Hackett's hand around her arm. The Admiral didn't look at her, not even once, keeping his eyes firmly forward, but his message was clear: don't interfere.
Brown eyes flickered open, staring hazily at the surroundings. The vaguest crease appeared between her brows and she groaned slightly. Her fingers gripped at the blankets that covered her and let out a shuddering breath. Her eyes turned down, and she took in the unlikely trio standing at the foot of her bed, her eyes zeroing in on Anderson. Tears clouded her eyes. She swallowed hugely and opened her mouth. A wheeze burst out and she tried again.
"Am I dead?" she asked, emotion clogging her throat.
"No," said Karin. "Quite the opposite, actually."
Despite the obvious physical pain, Patient B lifted her hand in something like supplication towards the Captain. "Anderson," she whispered, "you survived. I was sure…" Tears flooded down her cheeks. "Thank God."
Anderson took a step forward, hands in his pocket. "You know me?"
"What are you talking about?" demanded Patient B, breath hitching. "Of course I do. You're Admiral Anderson." She swung her head to peer at Karin and Admiral Hackett beyond, ignoring Anderson's startled expression. "Doctor Chakwas, Admiral – I'm so glad to see you. Did the Crucible fire? Is the war over?"
Karin felt a finger of unease run the length of her spine. Patient B, with her bruises and cuts, lay there expectantly, waiting like an old friend for an answer none of them could give. Anderson's hands had fallen from his pockets, and he now clung to the edge of the bed, while Hackett had turned his body slightly away, showing a hint of apprehension for the first time.
"The Crucible?" repeated Admiral Hackett.
Those brown eyes that looked so much like the Commanders – that were the Commander's, if one trusted the DNA readings – shot between the three of them like this was some horrible joke and she was waiting for the punch line. None came.
"The weapon," she tried. "The instrument to destroy the Reapers?"
"You know about the Reapers?" said Anderson, voice hard.
Fear trickled onto Patient B's face like frost. Her body tensed under her blanket. "This isn't funny," she said.
"We're not laughing," said Admiral Hackett.
The blue of biotics swirled over Patient B's skin like low tide in an eddy. "Where am I? What the hell is going on?"
Karin stepped forward, laying a hand on the woman's arm and flinching only slightly at the static shock. "Please, try to remain calm. You're in the Alliance military hospital on the Citadel. You've been gravely injured and we're attempting to figure out where you came from."
"And who you are," added Hackett unflinchingly.
"The Citadel?" said the woman, completely ignoring the pointed statements about her identity. She shook her head, lower lip trembling. "That's not possible. The Citadel was destroyed. Everyone on board… There were so many bodies…" She pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes, her chest heaving.
Karin stared at Anderson who looked ill as she stared down at the woman. Hackett looked concerned, probably wondering what the deception was here. For her part, Karin didn't know what to think. She'd never seen Commander Shepard cry – the real Commander Shepard, mind you, the one down the hall, the one from aboard the Normandy. This woman had shadows lurking under her skin, and while anyone with half a brain could see that Shepard did too, Karin felt that if anyone were to hold a light up to this woman's skin, they'd be able to trace those shadows with their fingertips.
"Who do you think you are?" asked Anderson softly.
"I'm your friend," said Patient B in a tremulous voice. "I'm Commander Devyn Amelia Shepard, born on Mindoir in 2154. Daughter of Theo and Evelyn Shepard. We met for the first time after you awarded me my N7 commendation, Anderson." She turned to look at Hackett. "And you, sir, you're the one that pinned the Star of Terra to my chest after Elysium."
"No," said Admiral Hackett, "I didn't." To Karin, he added, "Put her back to sleep. We need to discuss what to do with her."
Patient B's biotics flared again, her corona swirling around the bed. "No," ground out the woman. "I just woke up and I want to know what the hell you three are playing at. Is the war still going on? Did we win?" When nobody answered, she slammed her nightstand into the adjacent wall in a burst of blue. "Tell me what's going on!"
That was the moment when the marines burst into the room, each with a rifle pointed at the woman in the bed. Karin inhaled sharply when she recognized Shepard's stubborn expression, one she'd seen more often since the search for Saren had begun. She watched the woman weigh the odds, watched her wonder if she could take them all, but ultimately that blue dissipated and Patient B stared up at them with heartbroken concession.
Karin took another syringe from her kit and approached the IV. She pushed the drug into the fluid and watched as Patient B struggled to keep her eyes open. Her patient smiled at her, soft and sad, and said, "You should go get yourself a glass of Serrice Ice Brandy, Karin. You look like you need a drink, and it might as well be your favourite." Patient B's head slumped to the side then, her eyes closed and breathing deep.
Taking a step back, Karin held the back of her palm up against her mouth. How had she known? Even Commander Shepard didn't know that. Anderson laid a hand on her arm, and escorted her from the room. She allowed herself to be led into the small office she'd occupied the previous day in another conversation about the same patient. Admiral Hackett followed, closing the door behind him with a hiss.
"That doesn't mean anything," he said, rounding the desk and standing with his fingers splayed on its top. "She could be an imposter. She didn't know anything that she couldn't find out through external sources."
"She knew about the ice brandy," whispered Karin, prompting both men to look at her. "It is my favourite. I rarely drink it, because it's too expensive for my bank account."
"It's still information that she could've gotten from outside sources," argued Hackett. He was frowning in a way that made the scar across his face seem sinister. "I don't know who she is or why she's here, but we need to find out before whatever plan she's harbouring is set in motion."
Karin felt the need to say something. "Do you really think…"
"I don't know," said Admiral Hackett, "but the woman in that room has had extensive genetic reconstruction and modification. Who's to say there isn't some splinter cell out there with the technology to make this woman seem like Commander Shepard? To train her to think and behave like the Commander? God knows there's enough video evidence out there to study personal habits and nervous tics. After Elysium, there were several research articles done on her personal history. It's not impossible. We need to keep an eye on her."
"C-Sec has begun to make inquiries," said Anderson. "So far as Palin knew, this was just some Alliance marine caught in an unfortunate accident, but now that we're keeping things classified, he's clued in that something isn't right. We're walking on thin ice here. Should we tell Udina?"
Hackett sighed, leaning all his weight onto his arms. "If we handle this the wrong way, he's going to start a witch hunt. We already have a rogue Spectre leading an army of geth. The last thing we need is the general populace fearing that another Spectre was almost replaced by a doppelganger." He pushed up from the desk and started around the desk. "I'm going to have to make calls to Arcturus to figure out our game plan. In the meantime, Captain, I suggest you go talk to the Ambassador – and the Council. Carefully." He hit the interface to open the door.
"Her expressions," said Anderson, "they're just like Shepard's, aren't they?"
"Yeah," said Admiral Hackett, and exited the room.
Karin wasn't especially close with the Commander, and though that was beginning to change during their chase for Saren, the two of them couldn't quite be considered friends yet. Captain Anderson, if the rumours were true, had nurtured Commander Shepard since some of her earliest training years. So while Karin felt as though she were gasping for breath, she was certain David Anderson had already sunk far below the surface and was slowly being crushed.
000
To say Donnel Udina was not impressed was an understatement. He cursed the day he'd sat roundtable with Captain Anderson and Admiral Hackett vetting possible human Spectres. He cursed that he'd ever brought up Commander Devyn Shepard. She was turning out to be a bigger pain in his ass than he could ever have guessed.
Some small part of him knew that it wasn't her fault, not really, but that part was buried under the huge heap of annoyance that came with cleaning up the political destruction she left in her wake.
The Council was divided on their opinion of her. Tevos had high hopes for the Commander, and tend to look down on her newest Spectre the way an aunt would – with a kindly but critical eye. Valern was neutral, prepared to back Shepard only insofar as the evidence led. But Sparatus, that damned turian had it out for Shepard – had it out for humanity. Probably still smarting from the First Contact War.
Of course, faith in humanity had ebbed slightly after Shepard had started going off on her psychotic spiels about sentient machines coming to destroy them all. He did what he could to keep her conspiracy theories under wraps. Otherwise, humanity would be seen as the laughing stock of the galaxy. Now, with Shepard holed up in the hospital suffering from brain damage or whatever it was, he could see in the Councillors' faces that they were having second thoughts about the first ever human Spectre.
That was why, despite his better judgement, he was standing before the Council with Captain Anderson. This was a political meltdown waiting to happen, and while Udina didn't think Anderson had any place in the proceedings – especially given his history in galactic affairs – he'd gotten a vid call from a few influential persons on Arcturus telling him in no uncertain terms that he had no choice.
From their location in their joined office, the Councillors stared down their noses at Udina. One day, one day he would be up there with them. Then he wouldn't have to deal with their snide arrogance.
They weren't pleased with the way the Alliance had swooped in to stonewall anyone attempting to investigate the strange occurrence on the Presidium. He could see in Sparatus' beady little eyes that the turian saw this as another way in which humanity was overstepping their bounds. Udina argued that it had to be done, that seeing someone with an uncanny similarity to Shepard in the middle of that debacle would've created more problems and anxiety than the tactical retreat instigated by the Alliance. Which brought them to that particular topic.
"Captain Anderson," said Tevos, inclining her head in his direction. "I assume that you've come to discuss the recent events with us?"
Anderson ambled up to stand next to Udina, who had to work to hide his grimace. "Yes, Councillors. You all received the information I forwarded?"
"We did," said Valern.
"Do you really expect us to believe the information contained herein?" demanded Sparatus, hands clenching the console in front of him. "First there was Shepard with her delusions about apocalyptic AI, and now you've got, what? A cloned Shepard?"
Frankly, Udina couldn't disagree with Sparatus on any point the turian made, but that didn't stop him from taking offense at the tone. He frowned and opened his mouth to rebut the implied insult, but Valern beat him to it. The salarian pulled up his omni-tool, and even backwards, Udina could tell it was all the medical data collected on the… thing Anderson had dubbed Patient B.
"Not cloning," said Valern with a slight frown. "My people have pioneered the newest technology in biological innovation and warfare, and even we would not have been able to produce such a perfect genetic copy. Even were this a clone, slight variations would occur where there are none. All differences exhibited by the subject are the result of genetic modification or reconstruction upon an identical genetic structure. Some changes are, of course, also due to epigenetic factors." He blinked his large eyes. "It's really quite extraordinary."
Udina had heard a rumour that one of the ways Valern had risen to such prominence – a man representing what was fundamentally a matriarchal society – was due to his extensive, and confidential, work with STG. He hadn't believed it until just now.
"So who is she then?" asked Tevos.
Valern tapped one long finger against his chin. "Identical twin would be the most likely," he said. "It would account for the slight variations in genetic chemical structure, while explaining how the base was identical. It wouldn't account for the identical fingerprints, though."
"She claims to be Commander Shepard," interjected Anderson, hands clasped behind his back. "Though much of what she said was nonsensical, she still had at least the basic knowledge of Shepard's background."
"A spy?" wondered Sparatus. "From her personnel file, we know that Shepard was the sole surviving member of her family after what happened on Mindoir. Could it be that a twin sister that has only recently escaped her batarian captives? Or perhaps a slave that was conditioned for recon within the Citadel?"
"Even excusing for a moment the fatal flaw that is sending one woman directly and conspicuously towards the woman she's supposed to be replacing," said Tevos, "those who endure batarian slavery rarely do so without tremendous emotional trauma. More than likely, she wouldn't remember her name, never mind an entire, rehearsed biography."
"And there is the fact," added Valern quietly, "that this Patient B's reconstruction far outstrips anything the batarians would be able to accomplish. The level of sophistication is even beyond salarian technology at this point."
The room went silent. A migraine rampaged against Udina's temples and he fought the urge to rub them. This wasn't the sort of situation he'd signed on for when he'd become Ambassador. Diplomatic incidents, he could deal with. Whatever incident was happening now… It was entirely beyond him. He'd contributed exactly nothing to the proceedings, and the only thing that made him feel even marginally better was the fact that Anderson had been little help either.
"She recognized us," said Anderson, eyes on the floor. "Admiral Hackett and myself, I could understand, but she recognized Doctor Karin Chakwas – the medic aboard the Normandy. If I didn't know any better, I would be convinced she was Commander Shepard."
"Have you learned anything of note from her?" said Tevos.
Anderson went on to describe the encounter exactly as it had happened. The recounting was full of nonsensical details – a weapon to eradicate the Reapers, the Citadel destroyed and littered with bodies – and Udina allowed himself a moment to wallow in the irony that even this Shepard doppelganger seemed to insist on being insane.
The three Councillors shared a look, and then turned their attention onto Anderson. "You're going to have to interrogate her," said Tevos.
"Thoroughly," added Sparatus, with what passed for a frown among turians.
"And perhaps you should bring the real Commander to watch the proceedings," said Valern.
Udina watched Anderson's hands clench at his sides and knew what the Captain was thinking – that Shepard's state was not such that this was a good idea. Unfortunately for the Captain – and for Shepard – humanity's galactic standing was balanced on the head of a pin. Udina stepped forward. "Of course," he said. "She may be able to shed some light on the situation."
"With all due respect, Councillors," said Anderson, ignoring the angry look Udina threw his way, "I'm not sure that's a great idea. It could be traumatic on both ends."
"We didn't say you had to sit them down and have lunch with the two of them," countered Sparatus. "Simply make sure that Shepard is able to hear what this so-called Patient B has to say and go from there."
"You're dismissed," said Tevos.
Udina and Anderson left the room, the former trailing behind and attempting to squash down the irritation he felt for everyone involved. When they'd cleared the office, Anderson whirled on him.
"What the hell are you thinking?" demanded the Captain. "We both know that Shepard's in no state to deal with this."
"I know nothing of the sort," said Udina, crossing his arms.
"That Prothean beacon is burning a hole through her brain," said Anderson, his voice going hollow. Although Udina didn't like Shepard and certainly didn't like the man standing in front of him, he did feel a faint sliver of sympathy. "Who knows what seeing this woman will do to her?"
"I understand, Captain," said Udina, "but this is larger than Shepard. The Alliance covered up something that wasn't in their jurisdiction. I have to clean up the mess you made and make sure it doesn't reflect on humanity as a whole." He attempted to push past.
Anderson grabbed his arm. "And what about Saren? He's still out there, up to God knows what. If this interrogation destabilizes her condition further, who's going to go after him?"
It was a punch in the gut, and the worst part was that the Captain knew it. Udina had to remain firm. "You think I don't know that? You think I haven't asked myself that? If I could haul Shepard out of that bed right now and shove her back into the Traverse, I would do it. But you've bound me in red tape, Captain. Maybe you'll consider that next time you make a faulty decision."
This time, Anderson didn't attempt to stop him from going. Udina walked down the hall, his shoes clacking on the tile and wondered why, even though he got the last word, it didn't feel anywhere close to a victory.
000
Shepard blinked lazily at him, and Anderson had to resist the urge to move one of the few wayward curls that peeked out of her bandages. Her skin had grown pale and clammy, and though it had only been a few days, the pounds seemed to be falling off of her despite the fact that all her nutrition was now being done intravenously.
Anderson had no children. Hadn't found time, truth be told. Back when he and Cynthia were first married, they'd talked about having a family. Then the First Contact War had hit and the Alliance had gradually overcome every other facet of his life until he lost her. He wouldn't go so far as to say it was too late, but looking at Shepard, he couldn't help but wonder if this was the worry parents felt when their child was deathly ill. It was beautifully heartbreaking.
"I have something I need to show you," he said, hands clasped between his knees on the plastic chair.
Despite her weakened state, she still frowned and moved to prop herself up. "Is it about Saren?"
"No, no, nothing like that," he assured her. His gaze swept over her prone form. "Are you okay to go for a trip in your wheelchair?"
Shepard nodded, and he could see how much it cost her. A thin trail of blood snaked down from her nose, and he brushed it away with the cuff of his uniform. She closed her eyes at the gesture and took a deep breath in. When she opened them, Anderson realized that they both knew she probably wasn't going to make it, that whatever had crawled inside her head was slowly eating her alive.
She licked her lips. "Let's go."
Her body was impossibly light as he helped her into the chair. Her hands clutched loosely at the arm rests. He took her blanket from off the bed and tucked it in around her legs.
"I'm dying," she said with forced amusement, "not an invalid."
"Don't say that," he censured, frowning at her. "You're going to be fine."
"Yeah," she said, "fine."
Anderson wheeled her out of the room and down the hall. She'd been moved the more contained ward after Patient B had been found under the pretense that hospital staff had started getting a little too nosy about the first human Spectre. She'd accepted it at face value, though he could see the gears churning behind her eyes.
"The first thing you should know," he started, keeping his voice low so only she could hear, "was that there was an incident up on the Presidium. We're still not altogether sure what happened, but there appeared to be some sort of explosion."
Shepard wheeled her eyes around to meet him. "Was anyone hurt?"
Licking his lips, Anderson said, "Only one."
As they continued down the hall, the hospital staff got fewer and far between. Some would nod gravely in his direction. Shepard remained silent, though he had no doubt that she was memorizing the path they took on the off chance she'd need it later. The closer they got, the more unease spread like a mould through his system, infecting everything it touched. When they finally reached the door – closed and unmarked – he paused for so long that she raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"I'm guessing this is the one person?" she asked.
Anderson nodded, hesitating. "You should know that we haven't entirely figured out where she came from yet. By all accounts, she shouldn't exist."
Her other eyebrow shot up to join the first. "That must've been some explosion."
He didn't have the heart to correct her, to tell her that she shouldn't have survived was entirely different than she shouldn't exist. "She's sedated at the moment, both because of her injuries and because we can't be entirely certain she's not a risk."
"But she's not related to Saren?" asked Shepard, and he could see she was running her tongue over her teeth like she did when she was thinking something through. "C'mon Captain, you have to give me more than that. If you're bringing me to see her, something's got to be up."
The option was there to just tell her now, but would she believe it? Hell, he didn't even quite believe it, and he'd seen Patient B with his own two eyes. Where would he even start? And there was no way to tell the tale without spinning into the politics of the thing. No, better just to let her see and fill her in afterwards. He didn't want to overburden her all at once.
"You'll see," he hedged, and knew that he was a coward.
They reached the unnumbered door and the marines all snapped to attention. Shepard offered her own weary salute, elbow maybe not as crisp as it should've been, but those men looked as proud as if she'd just pinned the Star of Terra to their chests. These men, they hadn't been briefed. They didn't know that bruised and battered woman they were guarding was, by every scientific test they could run, the closest genetic match to Commander Shepard that a person could be – closer, in fact, than should have been possible. They only knew that commander Shepard sat in front of them now, and they'd write their families later to describe the entire exchange.
One twisted the knob and swung the door open. Anderson nodded at him and wheeled Shepard inside. He left her by the foot of the bed, eying the occupant with obvious curiosity, while he shut and locked the door. She wheeled herself further into the room before he could stop her, her curiosity turning into a frown.
"She looks familiar," said Shepard, tilting her head.
She should, thought Anderson.
Propping her elbows up on the bed, Shepard leaned closer. "She reminds me of my mom."
There was something tragic about that simple statement. For one gut-wrenching moment, Anderson wished it was Evelyn Shepard in that bed, against all odds. He wished he could give that to Shepard instead of a whole slew of other problems. He took a step closer, folding his hands together behind his back to steady himself.
"Shepard, you wouldn't happen to be a twin, would you?"
She blinked at him in abject confusion. Her frown became more pronounced. "I – no, not that I know of. There was just me and…" Her face went blank and she took a deep breath. "I didn't have a sister. Why?"
"Because, frankly, we don't know what to make of our friend here." Anderson jerked a chin towards the bed. "She appeared amidst a detonation of unknown origin in one of the best protected areas of the Citadel."
"That would explain why it looks like someone took a baseball bat to her face," observed Shepard. "But what does this have to do with me?"
"When we found her, she was wearing these," said Anderson, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the dog tags that he'd been carrying around the last few days. He held them out to Shepard, who took them and turned them over and over and over.
"These aren't mine," she said. "The ID number is still the same, but on mine, there was an imperfection on the seven that's always bothered me, see?" She dug under her shirt and pulled out her tags, tapping a finger on the seven that looked a little wonky around the base. "So who is she, a phoney Commander Shepard?" Anderson closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them to find Shepard inspecting the other woman's face. "It's hard to tell, but she's missing my scars too. I have one on my lip from when I slipped gravel when I was three. Rock straight through. Mom nearly fainted."
"Shepard," he said.
"And the one on my cheek, from where that batarian snuck up on me under stealth on Elysium. Damn bastard nearly shoved a shiv straight through before I threw him away."
"Shepard," he repeated, and stepped forward to put his hand on her shoulder. "She… based on all the tests we could run, she's as identical as a person could be."
Shepard frowned up at him. "What, like personality wise? Aptitude scores?"
"DNA results," said Anderson quietly, watching as Shepard's face shut down completely, "brain scans, that sort of thing. Councillor Sparatus' pet theory is that she's your long lost twin sister, who may or may not have been sent as a spy for the batarian hegemony."
With a scoff, Shepard wheeled herself backwards. "Somebody should tell the hegemony that their plan sucks."
"She claimed to be you when we woke her up for a bit. She talked about the Reapers."
The whites of Shepard's eyes grew around her irises. She looked at the woman with a new gravity, though still with no little suspicion. "That," she said, "that's… just a coincidence." Her temper snapped. "This is ridiculous! We're not seriously sitting here discussing whether or not I have a secret twin sister, are we?"
"She mentioned a war too. With the Reapers." Anderson shrugged slightly. "Now, that might mean something or it might mean that whoever this is, she's very good at intel and impersonation. Either way, the Council wanted you made aware so you could listen in when we interrogate her."
"I don't like this," whispered Shepard. "My brain is turning to goo, Saren's on the loose, and now we have some woman who arrives under suspicious circumstances and thinks it'll be fun to be me. Something's off here – besides the obvious I mean. Could she be a clone?"
"Councillor Valern had some technical jargon about why it was unlikely," said Anderson. "But besides the science, why would anyone have chosen to clone you? It's not a quick process, and until a few weeks ago, you were unimportant." Seeing her vaguely offended expression, he added, "Relatively speaking. You were a hero to humanity, make no doubt, but hardly someone to figure in a conspiracy."
"Fair enough, I suppose," she conceded, eyes fastened to the bed. When she did look up, confusion and fear churning beneath the surface of her face, Anderson wanted nothing more than to console her. Of course, he'd never been good at telling untruths – it was one of the reasons he was no longer married. "What next?"
"We're arranging to have her woken up and questioned," he said.
The answers had better be illuminating.
000
Liara wrung her hands as she, Garrus and Tali walked through the Alliance hospital. There was nothing to be afraid of. Intellectually, she knew this, but she'd never been surrounded by so many humans before. Considering that in the first solitary talk she ever had with Shepard, she wasn't even able to understand a simple joke… She was inclined to be nervous.
Garrus, though, he stalked beside her like the apex predator he was, blue eyes scanning each door they passed. Whereas she and Tali were met with curiosity, some of the older humans looked at Garrus with something close to hatred.
"Why are they glaring at you, Garrus?" asked Tali quietly.
Mandibles twitching, but attention only half on the question, Garrus said, "Probably that pesky First Contact War. It's fewer than thirty years since then. Some people don't want to let go."
"I'm glad nobody on the Normandy is like that," said Liara.
"Almost nobody," muttered Garrus, and ignored the questioning glances sent his way.
Truth be told, Liara was only marginally more comfortable with Garrus and Tali than she was with the humans. People in general had never been her strong suit. She much preferred the solitude of a dig site. She didn't have to worry about social niceties or accidentally saying something stupid. Benezia never seemed to have any problem with what she would consider these basic tasks, but Liara… Well, there was more than one reason she'd chosen the profession she had.
"It's too bad Wrex couldn't come," said Tali. "I'm sure Shepard would've liked to see him."
"I'm bad enough. Can you imagine a krogan in this place?" asked Garrus.
True enough. Wrex had graciously – all right, with some grumbling – offered to stay behind when the message came that non-Alliance crew were permitted to visit Shepard. Something about that crazy human is going to be fine, so why should I bother?
Liara wished she had his confidence.
The door they were looking for was closed when they reached it, so Liara gave a little knock. Shepard called to them from within, telling them to enter. They did, Tali first, then Garrus, with her bringing up the rear. Her steps faltered when she took in the Commander's appearance. Those long, golden curls were hidden underneath a cap of white bandages. The lines on her face were more prominent, and her skin had taken on a tone of grey Liara wasn't sure was normal. Still, when she smiled, her brown eyes sparkled and she lifted a hand to gesture them over.
"Hey guys," she said. "Sorry it took so long to get you in here. Hope you were off having fun in the meanwhile."
The three of them shared a look and Liara was forced, as the only one with visible lips, to pull them into a reciprocal smile. "No need to worry, Commander," she said, moving over to the bed. She moved to cover Shepard's hand with her own and then thought the better of it. "We're just glad to see you're looking well."
"Well?" said Shepard. "Liara, you're too nice. I look like hell and we both know it."
Liara felt her skin grow hot. Were you not supposed to pay compliments to humans who were ill? Were you supposed to be entirely frank about the situation? Liara hadn't yet adjusted to the humans' need to vocalize everything in a remarkably blunt manner. They did not dance around issues: they demanded, professed, ordered, accused. She supposed it had something to do with their short lifespans – if one only had a hundred years in which to accomplish all one wanted, well, Liara supposed she might be the same way.
Shepard must have noticed her discomfort, because she raised her hand and took Liara's. Liara was sure it must be obvious that her heart was fluttering like the star beetles she used to catch back on Thessia, but nothing showed on the Commander's face. "Thank you, Liara," said Shepard. "I appreciate the thought."
"You are welcome," said Liara.
"What about you two troublemakers?" asked Shepard. "You guys done anything worthwhile?"
"I got to go to the ship outlet on the Presidium," gushed Tali. "They have ship parts that could vastly conserve the fuel required by the fleet!" The young quarian gestured largely with her hands for emphasis, and Liara could tell that there was a smile under her helmet.
"Not much," said Garrus, crossing his arms. "Been doing some work with C-Sec. Have you heard about the incident that happened up on the Presidium a few days back."
Was it Liara's imagination, or did Shepard flinch slightly. Still, the Commander's smile remained in place, albeit slightly strained now. "I did."
"Doctor T'Soni here thought that it might be related to Saren," said Garrus, and Liara had to duck her eyes when she was suddenly confronted with Shepard's brown gaze. "C-Sec officers were scratching their head about what could've caused a crater like that, but Liara here said it reminded her of a biotic detonation."
"Really?" said Shepard, and she leaned forward despite the hitch in her hearing. "You mean like when I punch your singularity with a throw?"
"Not exactly," said Liara. "Even for an asari matriarch, a detonation of that size and power would be near impossible. It would take a massive singularity, probably the size of the crater itself or very near it, to create that sort of damage."
"What could do that?" asked Shepard.
"I – I don't really know much about biotics," chimed in Tali, "but on the fleet we had a ship – a cruiser called the Moryana – whose FTL drive suffered a malfunction. The mass effect field became unstable and detonated, destroying the entire ship."
"There's no way there was a ship drive on the Presidium," countered Garrus, "especially not one that would give off that sort of explosion." He tapped a talon against his thigh, thinking hard. "I'd say that a faulty mass accelerator would've had the same effect, but the likelihood of one of those in the vicinity is even less than the drive core."
"I understand that Saren himself is not a biotic," said Liara after a deep breath. "But since Benezia and her supporters joined him, perhaps they've been researching some way to amplify one's natural abilities. While it's true that at the moment no biotic – not even an asari – could pull it off, if the geth have advanced technology that could be implemented into an amp design, perhaps…"
"I'm sure that C-Sec will figure it out," said Shepard, leaning back against her pillows and closing her eyes. Liara resisted the urge to pull the blankets higher on the woman.
"That's something I wanted to talk to you about," said Garrus. Although he couldn't frown in the way asari or other species could, Liara could still read the intent on his face. She could also tell from the subtle way in which he shifted his weight that he was nervous. "C-Sec says that there was someone injured in the implosion. Lieutenant Bailey, the lead officer on the case, said that the Alliance took this person and has kept them under lock and key." The turian inched forward. "But you're a Spectre and an Alliance war hero. You could override the chain of command and get me access to that prisoner. Then we could figure out what really happened."
"No," said Shepard, and the word rang throughout the room. Her eyes snapped open and with her arms on the sides of her bed, she hoisted herself up into a sitting position, every inch the commander that had stared down a krogan when Liara first met her.
"No?" echoed Garrus, "But Shepard, this could be…"
"I said no." Shepard's mouth had retreated into a thin line. Her hands smoothed out the blanket in front of her and a sheen of sweat painted itself across her skin. "While I don't know the specifics, I do know the matter is being looked into. The Council has been informed. They've decided not to pass that information onto C-Sec." Shepard shrugged slightly. "That's all there is to it."
Garrus' shoulders sagged. "And if it's Saren?"
Shepard stared at a crack in the ceiling. "Then… Then the Alliance will owe C-Sec a big fat apology." It was clear that Garrus wasn't pleased with this particular outcome. The Commander sighed sympathetically. "Trust me, Garrus. It's being dealt with."
"I do trust you, Shepard," said Garrus, and it was the teeniest bit defensive.
She smiled. "I know." Her face contorted into a frown. "Liara, can you…?" She made a vague gesture.
Liara put her arm around Shepard and helped the woman slowly lay back down. The Commander's back was sticky with sweat, and Liara felt a quiver of concern. Now she did pull the blankets up higher over Shepard, and received a grateful hum in response.
"Shepard," Liara started, "asari, we can… We have the ability to link our minds to others'. If the beacon is truly causing you this amount of pain, I might be able to identify the source within your mind and help repair whatever damage it's caused."
"Or," said Shepard, "you might do the same damage to yourself. Or maybe find you can do nothing." At Liara's despairing expression, Shepard put her hand to the asari's cheek. "Don't worry, Liara. I'm not checking out yet. There are things I have to do first."
Liara nodded, wishing her nervous system didn't alight at the touch of this woman. For all her social ineptitude, she wasn't blind. She saw the way Lieutenant Alenko and the Commander talked to each other. From a few extranet searches, Liara had discovered that though many humans had bonded with asari, there was still a slight stigma attached. It was born out of ignorance rather than hatred, if the articles were Commander Shepard seemed hardly the type to own one of these prejudiced perspectives, Liara didn't fault the woman for following the dictates of her own biology.
"Get better Shepard," said Tali, coming up beside them. She said something that Liara's translator didn't pick up, then added, "It's an old nursery rhyme that my mother used to tell me when I got really sick. The translation is a little hard, but it's essentially about the stars leading you to health and happiness. It was written after we left Rannoch."
"Thanks Tali," said Shepard. "It was beautiful." She moved her arm from Liara's face to pat Tali's arm. "You take care, you hear? Let me know how your pilgrimage progresses."
"I will," said Tali.
"And you, mister," said Shepard, pointing a finger at Garrus. "Try not to piss anyone off while I'm out for the count."
"No promises," said Garrus softly.
"I feel a nap coming on," said Shepard, "so you guys better scoot out of here before you discover how glamorous I look with drool down my chin."
Liara glanced back over her shoulder one last time to find Shepard memorizing their backs as they left, sadness poured into her eyes. She raised her hand in a soft farewell, and even though it was completely nonsensical, Liara felt her bones creak with foreboding, like this was a more permanent goodbye.
000
Hackett sat behind his desk, thumbnail between his teeth as he regarded the datapad in front of him. He'd talked to the top ranking officials in the Alliance parliament, and it had been decided all around that the existence of this second Shepard should be kept concealed from the general populace. The Council knew, key members of the Alliance knew, but otherwise, it was being kept tightly under wraps.
Oh, and Commander Shepard knew. According to Anderson's call, it had gone as well as could be expected. Thank God the Commander had as cool a head as anyone Hackett had ever met. Had to, on Elysium. Of course, she was still ahead of the game – not many people could claim to remain calm when faced with both an impending galactic annihilation and one's own doppelganger.
That this doppelganger was wearing the remains of armor unlike any currently on market was even more puzzling, and even more concerning. If Councillor Sparatus was right – and that was a big if – and the batarian hegemony was somehow responsible, that meant they had access to technology that far outstripped anything in council space. With human colonies pushing closer to the Terminus Systems, it would only be a matter of time before the batarians revealed their hand and used this technology, if it existed, to play out their personal vendetta against humankind.
Which was just about the last thing humankind needed, if even half of what Shepard said was true.
If, however, this Patient B wasn't with the hegemony, that meant she was an unknown and that perhaps even more troubling. Hackett didn't like unknowns. He liked knowing exactly where all the pieces were on the board. He'd asked for the woman's omni-tool, but the external components had been misplaced during… well, whatever the hell had happened up on the Presidium. That meant she still probably had her data memory chip in her arm, but with her condition being somewhat precarious, Command had decided it was best to wait and see what the woman said herself.
He flicked on the datapad and held it up. Following the DNA scans from Patient B – as well as the theories put forward by the Council – Hackett had made it a priority to dig up all the old records relating to Mindoir. He'd really hoped it wouldn't come to this. That attack was a black stain on the Alliance's history, and the only thing that had stopped it from happening again on Elysium was Shepard herself.
The file contained information he already knew. The colony of Mindoir was attacked in 2170. Population before that date was near twenty-thousand people, mostly farmers, and they'd settled predominantly on one corner of the northern continent close to the equator. Vegetation in the area had been reminiscent of that found in Northern California. When the batarians attacked – presumably as a retaliation and warning against humanity's colonization of the Skyllian Verge – a few hundred were killed right off, trying to defend their colony. The rest…
Hackett was a veteran of more than a few wars. He'd seen his fair share of atrocities but reading the report about what happened on Mindoir… He stomach churned and he had to scroll past some of the more elaborate descriptions given by witnesses. He read until the words grew fuzzy, and only then did he pause, leaning over his desk with a frown.
The list of colonists was long. Hackett had been perusing them for the better part of an hour when he got to what he was looking for.
Theodore Shepard – (Deceased)
Evelyn Shepard –(Deceased)
Dierdre Shepard – (Deceased)
Devyn Shepard – (Survived)
Hackett read the names several times to make sure he had it right. He shoved the datapad into his inside pocket, stood up and walked out the door. He caught a cab to the Alliance hospital, and then, despite the protestations of the nurses, he entered into Shepard's room.
If she'd been sleeping, she wasn't now. Despite her injuries, she still had a soldier's reflexes. He didn't say anything, but held out the datapad to her. She took it with trembling fingers – a by-product of her condition, probably.
She nearly dropped the pad, her breath coming in shaky bursts.
"Who is Deirdre Shepard?" he asked.
Licking her lips, she met him head on. "A ghost," she said. "A member of my family who died in the attack."
"How do you know?" demanded Hackett. "How do you know she's dead?"
"Because I was there," she whispered.
Part of him, a part he didn't like, wanted to insist, wanted to ask if this could've been Patient B down the hall. But the other part, it saw something unnaturally fragile in Shepard's eyes and held back. Instead, he asked, "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely," she said, eyes trailing down. "That woman… I've got no sister she could be."
She was hiding something, that much was clear, but Hackett was going to let it slide until they got some answers from Patient B.
He hoped he didn't regret it.
Full disclosure: I am not a science-y sort of person. Don't get me wrong - I love science. My brain, unfortunately, doesn't seem to be wired in that particular fashion, however. Thus, if there is anything out of place in this chapter, uh, my bad. Also, I'm not sure it's a particularly good idea to post this, but I'm doing it anyways since I need a break from my pile of nonfiction work. Thank you so much for reading! :)
P.S. After the lovely The PantsofDoom pointed it out, I'm going to go on record here and say that yes, I know that Saren is, technically, a biotic. Liara doesn't know that because of reasons. (Vague answers are vague.)