The med-bay never really changes. It doesn't seem right that Chakwas isn't here anymore. Miranda didn't want to give the crew an escort. They ran past their bodies on the way back to the ship. If he could shiver, he'd do something like that now.
Garrus clears his throat. Dr. Michel turns in the office chair, smiling and moving towards him. It's good to see her. And if Chakwas can't be here, he can't think of anyone better for the job. It's been years since they've seen one another but back when he was in the Wards their run-ins were common.
"Dr. Michel. Staying out of trouble, I hope."
She laughs. Hm. Is he funny? Sometimes humans are difficult to tell apart. A lot of the time he goes by their armor and clothing, their 'hair.' He's sure humans have the same difficulty with turians. The war paint helps, the big ass scar on his face helps even more. "Garrus. So, you finally make an appearance. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."
"Perish the thought." He stands awkwardly. Hm. "Ah—I didn't expect to see you on the Normandy. You bounced around from clinic to clinic for a while." He winces as he says it. Yes, he knows her history. Fired a few times; a real bleeding heart, giving out clinic medi-gel to those in need, trying to help all the right people, pissing off all the wrong ones.
"Mh, yes. I wanted to stay at Huerta Memorial. But Commander Shepard… she is… very persuasive."
Persuasive. Is she, now? Shepard usually lets guns and biotics do the talking. When she's being gentle it's just threats. He used to admire that about her. Hell, maybe he still would if things had turned out differently. "She's got that way about her," he says shortly. He may not agree with Shepard but she's the ship captain. He won't badmouth her. "You sure this is what suits you?"
"Not at first. My brother is on the Citadel and there are a lot of people to help there. But I know how important this is. It is nice to have my own lab. It's good to focus one on one on soldiers. And we are well stocked here," she looks around. "But it's different from the civilian sector. No time off, always on call…"
"Welcome to my world."
"Ah, yes, but give a girl time to settle in." She grimaces gently. "Dr. Chakwas left big shoes to fill. I see the old Normandy crew look at me—and Joker—with… sadness in their eyes. They know I do not belong." She perks. "But that is my issue. I miss her, too."
Garrus smiles faintly. They're all so obvious. Some soldiers they are. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're here."
"I feel more at home, now that we've talked."
He chuckles. Is her face pink? What does that mean? He clears his throat. "That's me. Sparkling conversationalist. Try not to get taken hostage."
"Yes, I'll do my best. Not that you'd let anything happen," she returns to her chair. "Don't be a stranger."
The Night Winds is fast, nimble and heavily armed. The frigate's crew is made up of two dozen Eclipse operatives , all of whom seem unsettlingly subservient to Morinth. When Grace asks her how she managed to commandeer one of the finest pirate ships in Eclipse's fleet, the 'justicar' offers only a coy response. It was not difficult. I simply promised them a purpose in this war beyond their petty lives of crime. It's a ridiculous answer, but Grace doesn't push the issue.
They waste no time. After they slip away from Earth, they jump to the Petra Nebula, where they discover Cerberus has beaten them to the punch. The Night Winds keeps its distance from Grissom Academy as they survey the situation. A Cerberus cruiser blocks the way to the docking bays. A swarm of fighters patrols the area around the space station. Getting aboard will be no simple matter.
The salarian pilot, Chakto, pings the station. Grace paces behind him until a transmission comes back. Night Winds. This is Kahlee Sanders, Director of Grissom Academy. We need immediate assistance. Cerberus is attacking the facility. They're after my students.
Grace breathes a sigh of relief. She isn't too late. Kahlee is alive. Morinth motions for her to take the comm. Hope gives her an unwanted nod of encouragement. Grace grasps the dog tags around her neck as she speaks into the comm. "Kahlee. This is Commander Shepard."
The shuttle hums loudly as they approach the space station. Hope pilots. A path has been cleared for them. The Night Winds strafed the Cerberus ships and led them away on a merry goose chase, giving them an opportunity to slip by. Morinth assures them that Chakto is quite skilled and will return. He better, or they're fucked.
Grace sits beside Morinth in the back. The woman has an ethereal beauty. When Hope is near, Morinth's eyes are glass. When it's only the two of them they fluctuate between blindness and something keen and predatory. "Who are you?" Grace asks lowly.
"I'm Samara." Her voice is what Grace has mostly known. The flat affect of the Justicar. "I'm Morinth." She smiles and changes before Grace's eyes. Younger. Less austere. A lighter, scratchier, more playful voice. "Whoever you want."
Somehow, she doubts that. "Why did you save me?"
"I like you, Grace. We've had fun together. Don't worry. I'll keep your secret, if you keep mine." She winks. Her voice shifts again, to Samara's. "I appreciate your discretion in this matter."
Grace frowns. The Grissom Academy looms near. She leaves Morinth's side and goes to the cockpit to look out, a hand resting on the back of Hope's seat. The Ascension Project houses and trains human biotics. Why would Cerberus be after them? It seems useless. They must want something.Power. No doubt they've some twisted purpose in mind.
Hope finds the auxiliary cargo port Kahlee opened for them. She steers the shuttle in and settles it to a landing. "What next?" she asks.
Grace moves to the door. "We find Kahlee Sanders and get whatever or whoever they want out of there."
"What of Cerberus?" Morinth asks.
"They can leave in body bags."
Grace charges ahead, Morinth at her side, Hope trailing behind, M-97 in hand. Kahlee Sanders told them the way to Orion Hall. If they don't get there quickly, Cerberus will kill or abduct all the students.
David always said you could do anything. Kahlee's words ring in Grace's ears. 'David' is stuck on Earth fighting an impossible war, she thinks. Pah, Shepard. So leave it to her and stop cleaning up her messes. If only it were that simple.
Earth has fallen, a man announces over the PA system. Fighting now only dishonors your family. Grace grits her jaw. Cerberus fucks. So far they've encountered only a few troopers here and there—not enough to justify the cruiser they saw outside. They wipe them out easily, going through steel security door after steel security door, rescuing stranded students one by one. A Cerberus soldier rounds the corner. Grace hits him with a biotic throw that snaps his back. He slides down the wall and collapses in a heap. The corner of Morinth's mouth hitches.
Another security door opens up to reveal a fucking huge mech, some scared kids and a contingent of Cerberus soldiers. A tight-bodied woman wearing a short leather jacket, gauze wrappings and a fuckton of tattoos hurls a group of soldiers back with a throw. The room hums with the biotic energy that radiates from her. "Jack," Hope says, a hint of surprise in her voice. "Wasn't expecting to find her here." So she doesn't know everything. Grace shouldn't find it reassuring.
"Shepard, keep it off us!" Jack shouts, herding her students up some stairs.
Grace was beginning to think it was a waste of time coming here but there's no way that one biotic – no matter how damned strong – and a bunch of kids could take on Cerberus and that fucking thing. The Atlas is slow and clumsy, but massive and powerful. Those big ass missiles will turn you into gravy. Screw this up and you're not saving anyone.
They take cover and pincer the mech, picking off stray soldiers as they can. Jack and her students keep most of the soldiers occupied from the balcony they retreated to. It doesn't take long. The Atlas explodes, sending its pilot skidding along the floor. He doesn't move. Grace pumps a bullet into his head just to be sure. They mop up the last couple of soldiers. It's over. She moves toward the balcony.
Jack has Grace in her sights. She leaps down, sticking a perfect landing. Grace is impressed. The woman is a biotic powerhouse. She can't say she'd mind raising hell with her.
Grace pulls the helmet from her head, just in time for Jack's fist to slam into her face. The impact of the blow resonates. Students whoop as the left side of Grace's face goes numb. Little shits. Her eyes flash green. Hope steps forward but checks herself. Morinth observes without response. "What did I fucking tell you about Cerberus?" Jack says.
I don't know is all Grace can think. She knows Jack's name, her face, a few details from one of the dossiers Hope showed her. Little more. "Back off."
"Kahlee told me she sent out an SOS. I never expected Cerberus' lapdog to show up," she scoffs. "Still, you just saved our collective ass. I could fucking kiss you."
"I don't think that's necessary," Hope says with a thin smile.
"Who the fuck are you?" Jack crosses her arms. "New girlfriend? Shit. They're a dime a dozen for you, Shepard." She looks at Morinth. "And you. Can't say I mind the scary justicar bitch tagging along. Let's thrash the fuckers."
"The Code compels me to act," Morinth says with a gentle bob of her head. "Cerberus will do nicely."
"Yeah, well, just save some for me." Jack turns to Grace. Grace bites her tongue as Jack sizes her up. This is different. This isn't like with Liara, Kaidan, Anderson. There's nothing. She searches her mind and there's nothing. There will never be anything because she's never met her before. "I thought you were zipping around on the Normandy," she says, with a cocked eyebrow.
"It's a quick detour and it comes from the top. You and your kiddos will need to keep your mouths shut. You didn't see me here, all right?"
Jack looks her over skeptically. "Whatever." She shakes her head. "You know, you gave that Collector base to the Illusive Man." Grace stiffens. What? Wait. Liara mentioned it. She'd forgotten. "You ever think—these Cerberus assholes—maybe they're all modded to shit because of you? Who knows what kind of technology those fucking bugs had?"
"I'm not here to debate Cerberus," she moves ahead, checking the perimeter. "And whatever beef you have with me, get over it. I'm here to get you and everyone that's left out. You want to stay here, be my guest."
"You're still a dick," Jack says.
"So blow me." She slams the helmet back onto her head. She's ready to get the fuck out of here.
Cerberus troops swarm the Atrium. So this is where they all are. Grace is surprised by the intensity of the battle. It's more difficult than the previous fights by an order of magnitude. Days ago, she was in the trenches on Earth. She thought killing Cerberus goons would be easier than fighting Reapers. She's rethinking that position. Cerberus has upped their game. Their troops are tougher, better armed, more determined, and seemingly endless. How many of these fuckers did that cruiser bring? Just how bad do they want these students?
Hope mentioned something earlier about "Phantoms." Grace isn't sure what those are. Doesn't care. Phantoms, Spectres, cannibals, husks, dragons, Reapers. A fucking rogues gallery of monsters. This war is ridiculous. She wipes sweat from her brow as she ducks behind a railing. One of those goddamn turrets almost took her shields down from across the greens. She sees an engineer setting up another turret, and two more creeping along the balcony.
Christ. Cerberus isn't fucking around.
Even Samara—Morinth—whoever, who usually glides through combat wreaking havoc with a look of barely suppressed delight on her face, has suddenly assumed a more serious, focused demeanor as she hugs to cover, leaning out to spray bullets or hurl biotic attacks. Though she does wink when she catches Grace glancing in her direction.
They're advancing, but every inch is hard-earned. Jack and the students find elevation and cover, taking potshots at the Cerberus troops when they can. Jack truly is an incredible biotic—in the same class as Morinth and herself she wagers. Hope's dossier painted 'Subject Zero' as reckless, crazy, self-interested. Grace only sees a powerful bitch who will keep her students alive at any cost.
She worries more for Hope, who isn't well-suited for intense, drawn out firefights. She may be a skilled sniper, but she's more of an operative than a soldier. Worse yet, she's clearly having trouble with that shoulder, struggling more and more as the fight goes on. Grace frowns, a trickle of guilt polluting the anger she feels toward the woman. She's responsible. She did that to her. Hope hasn't said one word about it, but Grace knows it's true. Fuck. Does this mean she's the one who has to apologize?
Hope says Shepard is working with Cerberus. And not just in the "Thanks for resurrecting me. I guess it's only polite if I help you take down the Collectors" kind of way. Grace isn't sure if she can believe her. It could be just another ploy, another manipulation. She hopes it is. She hopes it's just more of Hope's bullshit. The thought of that vicious bitch working with these crazy assholes…
Shit. Who the hell could stop them?
Morinth casually shoots the combat engineer in the head. Grace picks up the datapad he was reading, skims it and tosses it to the floor in disgust. More of the same evil mastermind crap. They're kidnapping biotics, reconditioning and indoctrinating them. Fucking Cerberus is barely better than the Reapers.
There's an unmanned Atlas in the room. Hope eyes it. "Looks like fun," Grace says. "Why don't you jump in?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah." Your arm's about to fall off. "Just don't get carried away and step on us."
Hope smirks as she clambers up into the cockpit. "No promises." She straps herself in and fires it up.
They head into the large area adjoining the docking bays. Jack and the students are on the far side of the room, positioned on the balcony, hurling biotic strikes down at Cerberus troops. More soldiers are pouring in through side doors on both the upper and lower levels. Sons of bitches just won't give up.
Hope tromps into the room, zeroing in on enemies with the mech's guns and missile launchers. She veers toward a cluster of goons just dropping down from the upper level. They scatter as she approaches, but one of them isn't quick enough. She grabs him with a metal claw, lifts and squeezes. He pops like a grape. Hope laughs.
Grace and Morinth spread out into the room, moving between the various pillars and struts, picking off soldiers. Morinth seems to be back to her previous self, murdering Cerberus troops with thinly-veiled glee.
A memorial plaque in the middle of the room is large, solid, and makes for good cover. It bears the likeness of Jon Grissom, leader of the first group of humans to go through the Charon Relay. Grace recalls hearing of his passing earlier this year. She wonders idly if he left any children.
The battle goes on for minutes, with no sign of ending. Grace is all too familiar with the sounds. Gunfire, explosions, yelling, whimpering, crying. At one point she loses track of Morinth and scans the room for her. She spots two oily black gloves dragging a kicking engineer into the dark recesses of room they just came from. A desperate scream rises above the din of the fight, then the hail of automatic gunfire. Moments later, Morinth exits the room, eyes like shadows before shifting to pale ice.
Kahlee finally manages to override one of the Cerberus shuttles in the docking bay. Jack orders the students to start evacuating to the shuttle in pairs. Kahlee announces that the Night Winds is swinging back around to pick them up. They need to get on the shuttle and rendezvous with the frigate quickly. The cruiser won't auto-fire on a Cerberus shuttle, but those fighters are still out there.
Hope extricates herself from the harness, jumps down from the Atlas cockpit and rushes to the exit with Grace and Morinth.
One of Jack's star pupils, Rodriguez, falls behind and doesn't get through the door in time. They can see her through the glass wall, pinned down by enemy fire, unable to move. Grace looks Jack in the eye and gives a quick nod. Jack shatters the wall with a biotic throw and Grace hops through. She sprints to Rodriguez, yanks her to her feet and drags her back. Hope, Morinth and Jack give them cover fire until they're safely through.
They make it to the shuttle. They escape the space station and head to the Night Winds. The mood is boisterous. Grace allows herself to bask in the horseplay for a moment. It reminds her of the camaraderie she shared with her regiment on Earth. Suddenly, just for a moment, she's glad she came. She saved Kahlee. She saved Jack and the kids. She thwarted Cerberus, if only for a day.
Hope stands nearby, watching her. She's tired. Pain creases her face. There's something else there, fleeting, in her expression as she looks at Grace. It's gone before she can identify it. "There's more like this," Hope says. "More Cerberus shit that Shepard is ignoring. Miranda forwards it all to me. If you don't do anything about it, nobody will."
Grace sighs. She wants to go back to Earth. She promised Anderson she would. Goddammit. "Let's see it."
Garrus sits in the lounge, nursing the turian brandy he picked up the last time they were on the Citadel. The Normandy crew has always been shit at ordering items for the dextro diet, and with Tali gone he can pretty much kiss haute turian cuisine goodbye. The Normandy is different. Some of the faces may be the same but the vast majority of the old crew is gone. Not just gone, dead.
Wreav is onboard plotting krogan domination and Primarch Victus is uneasy. Victus has spoken to Garrus often. He's trying to get a read on Shepard and the war effort but Garrus has no answers. She's handling it. That's all he can offer. For what it's worth, Shepard fights better than before. She remains just as reckless but if you watch her closely, you can see a certain calculation to her actions.
Garrus tries to be reassured by it. Part of him is, but Shepard's stalling. He doesn't doubt the multitude of fires that need to be put out. He can't even say he questions how she chooses to prioritize what to attend to and what to leave for later. If Cerberus is hitting a human colony here but Reaper forces are on the precipice of annihilating a small planet there—hell, he can't fault her.
Still, Victus is becoming impatient. Whatever is happening on Tuchanka, he wants Shepard to have attended to it yesterday and she hasn't. She's been in a sour mood. Specialist Traynor's puzzled delivery of good news—that the students at Grissom had been saved after all—was met with no reaction from Shepard. In fact, Shepard nearly shoved her out of the way trying to get to her next destination.
The lounge door opens and Garrus cranes his head back. Shepard. Great. Maybe Liara has a point and he just idolized her too much. If he had to deal with half of the political bullshit she does on a regular basis he isn't sure he'd be in great spirits either. Shepard moves around the counter and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. She pours a generous portion, downs it in its entirety and pours another.
Garrus holds on to his drink and thinks of the batarian bartender at Omega. Shepard made him drink a glass of his own poison. His mandibles flex thinking about it. Those were the days. It's strange. He's spent so much time being bitter and angry—he hadn't realized how much he's missed her.But can you forgive her? He doesn't know.
"Garrus."
"Shepard." He has a drink and adjusts on the stool. It's too damned close to the ground for his height and he feels constantly like he's merely hovering above it. There's no room to stretch his legs. "Victus is getting antsy. When are we heading to Tuchanka?"
"When I say we're good and ready to."
So that's how she's going to play it. He would have liked that before. Bucking the politicians and the higher-ups, making up the rules as they go along. Not anymore. Maybe the war's got him scared. Still no word from his father, his sister. "The war effort needs the turians. And Palaven needs the krogan." Shepard sets the bottle of whiskey back on the bar shelf. Is she even listening to him? "We can't afford to keep taking losses like on Menae."
"We'll get there."
"When?" his voice has an edge. "Whenever we set down on Tuchanka, and for everyone's sake, I hope it's soon—I want to be there." Not only that, Victus wants him there. He still hasn't warmed to Shepard nor has she gone out of her way to make him feel welcome. She admires his style, his ruthless tactics, but hasn't seen the need to include him in strategy conferences. Now that he thinks about it, he can't think of anyone who's spent that time with her. Shepard looks at him long and hard. Her gaze dissects him. "What?"
"I didn't imagine how we parted ways after the Collector base."
But she seems uncertain when she says it, as if maybe she did imagine it. Garrus' mandibles twitch. He finishes his drink. He'd like to say it's all behind them but it isn't. "You pointed a gun at me, Shepard." She stares at him. He glares back. He remembers how his heart felt like it stopped then. He isn't sentimental but there was a whole other level of surprise there. After Tali died he hadn't thought he could hurt more. "I need to be on that ground team."
"Victus' orders?" she shakes her head. "The only orders you follow are mine, got it?" Back to this again. There was a time when they were friends, partners, now he's just another grunt. Her omni-tool goes off. She peers into it, reading whatever message is on it. Her eyes narrow, nostrils flaring. She exits without another word.
Apollo's café is mostly abandoned when Shepard pulls a stool out and takes a seat. She spent some time on the Shadow Broker ship before she and Liara spent the night together and Liara started icing her out. Shepard went through the Shadow Broker files. She wonders if any of it has been recovered. She got rid of what was damnable. There was more than that. Countless dossiers. A video of Aethyta looking at Liara's picture.
Liara mourned Benezia like a champ. It hurt her but she was professional, mission-focused. Maybe she needed that focus to not fall apart. Shepard remembers tension welling up inside her as Liara tried to assure her everything was okay, to stop worrying. Everything was different then.
Aethyta wipes the counter down for close to five minutes, her eyes darting surreptitiously to Liara, seated further away by the cloistered tables. Eventually she slaps the hand towel down. "You just going to sit there or are you going to order something?"
"Scotch." Shepard folds her fingers in front of her, looking over at Liara. She's buried in a stack of datapads. Shepard shifts uncomfortably on the stool. Aethyta grunts, grabbing a bottle. She slams a lowball glass in front of her and pours a dribble of scotch into the glass. Shepard looks at the paltry serving. "You're fucking kidding me."
"What do you need to drink so damn much for?" Aethyta asks. She grabs another glass and pours herself a healthy amount. "You know, people are whispering about you." Shepard feels a smirk twisting her lips. "You're good. Not literally, of course. But ruthless. When I was younger—I could have rocked your world."
Shepard stares back at her and then at Liara, back to Aethyta. Liara's father could have rocked her world. "Huh. That's awkward."
"You should have seen my ass then. Ah. Screw being a matriarch." She takes a gulp of the scotch. "My Little Wing was crazy about you. It wasn't just me keeping an eye on her. That office of hers was bugged. The way things ended with Nezzie… and these fucking politicians, always with a stick up their blue asses about purebloods. Ardat-Yakshi this, Saren that, can we trust her? Half the time she was making threats—I liked that. Girl has fire. But there were other times… when she was trying to get that business of hers done that her voice locked up. She couldn't say your name without choking on it. Goddamn. It was the saddest shit I ever heard." She looks at Shepard derisively. "I just don't get it."
Shepard drinks the five drops of scotch and taps the glass on the counter. Aethyta gives her another small splash, a thimble's worth and Shepard downs that too. "I love your daughter." Whatever she may doubt, that is never in question.
"Really? I hear you have your fingers in all the honeypots," Aethyta glances at her sharply. "You think you're hot shit. Hell, if I'd done half of what you have, I'd probably think so too. But you, Shepard? You ran with Cerberus." She lowers her voice. "Some people are saying you're still running with Cerberus." Shepard smiles faintly. Who's saying that, she wonders? "You keep that shit away from my daughter or you'll be dealing with me."
Fucking asari matriarchs. "If I were you, Aethyta, I'd ask for a refund. Someone's giving you bad information. Liara can take care of herself. And even if she couldn't, I'd never let anything happen to her. If I get so much as a whiff that you're filling her head with any of this paranoid bullshit—" She shrugs and stands, throwing a credit chit on the counter. "But thanks for the advice. I'll keep that in mind." She leaves Aethyta and goes to join Liara at the table where she sits. Aethyta glowers in their direction but Shepard ignores her. "Your father's a real piece of work."
"Really?" It's meant to be a question but she's distracted, not lowering the datapad in front of her. Shepard reaches out and pulls it down. Liara looks as vexed as she might with a precocious child. "Is she harassing you? Or is it the other way around?"
"I'm not exactly itching to throw down with an asari matriarch." She's already done that and it didn't end well. Not only Benezia. Samara battered her. It would be different now. Maybe Samara's the one who would end up smashed to pulp. Where's Morinth? She needs to be handled, like Samara was. It's only fitting.
"Maybe not but I don't see how it'd stop you." She finally sets the datapad down.
She's still wearing that dark lipstick of before. Shepard isn't sure how she feels about it. She doesn't think she likes it. She wants that other Liara. The one who revered her. The one who would do anything to be close to her. Who tripped over her words and thought she was something. Has Liara met that knockoff copy? Would she like her? Shepard bows her head faintly, biting her tongue. She should tell Liara about that thing but she can't. She'll finish her off before Liara can know her, can judge, can compare. "She's protective."
"Oh?" She shakes her head. "109 years is a little late to try to be a parental figure."
"I don't blame her. It's hard to let go of you. I can't."
Liara looks embarrassed. She meets her eyes. She searches until she's the one to break their eye contact. "Shepard, what about the Crucible? We still need scientists."
The Crucible doesn't matter. The Crucible could ruin everything. It's a fear-based project. An abomination of destruction. Nobody understands. They think they do but they don't. The Reapers are powerful. Probably unstoppable. They've changed and created civilizations. It would be better to harness their power. To control it. Why throw away so many lives? She massages her temple, trying to banish the headache. "You're changing the subject."
Liara narrows her eyes, her fingers skirting over the datapad. "You've said so yourself, Shepard. We have a war to think about. That takes precedence."
"I know what's at stake. The stakes have always been high, so cut the crap, Liara." She leans forward. "There was a time when you could look past that—past it to what's really important."
"Which is...?" She lowers her eyes. "I'm sorry. I just... I can't do this right now. Not with you." Shepard looks at her flatly. Liara's voice is professional, unfeeling. "Let's focus on what matters."
"We matter."
"No." She stands and gathers her things. "I mean—I don't know. I need to think about this. About you... about… everything. Give me time."
Time? More time? She's given her nothing but time. Not now, Liara has said. Maybe later, she's said. Liara saw nothing when they melded. She said that. Nothing. So why is she shutting her out? "We don't have any time left. I'm not an asari. I don't have centuries to think it over. I was dead. I was locked up. I've had all the time I need to think about this." Liara shakes her head and starts to leave. Shepard lashes out and takes her wrist tightly. "Don't leave me." A desperate threat. Kaidan's abandoned her, Garrus has abandoned her, Miranda has abandoned her, Anderson, Morinth. She feels crazy. She wants sleep. She wants rest. She's tired of the nightmares, she's tired of feeling paranoid. Only the Illusive Man has faith in her anymore. He's doing what's right. She's doing what's right. Why does she feel like she's losing it? "I can't do this on my own. No one knows how hard this is."
Liara's eyes soften. "Of course not. How could we?" She sits again. "It's been difficult for all of us." She sighs. "All I have is the war and the network and... so much bitterness."
Bitterness? "You have me."
Liara isn't convinced. Shepard bows her head, holding Liara's hand tightly, heart racing. There are shadows everywhere. Can't they see them? Can't she see them? Liara scoots her chair closer, a hand tentatively against her face. Shepard presses against the contact, wishing desperately for clarity. "You know…," Liara says softly, perhaps reassuringly, "there's talk of some lookalike of yours back on Earth. The hero of Earth or something. Can you believe it? Even on Earth, there's still hope." Seconds pass. Liara makes a small, muffled sound. Shepard looks at their hands, sees where her fingernails have broken Liara's skin, drawing blood.
They reach Benning. The shuttle descends cautiously against a burning orange sky. Grace scans the area best she can through the dirt-streaked window but sees nothing. Hope suggested they come here. Another lead from Liara, she said. They go. Grace feels the heat coming through the shuttle. The air is thick. She's begun to sweat.
As soon as the shuttle lands the door comes open. A heavy silence blankets the area. Grace points ahead. Hope and Morinth move, finding cover amongst the crates and scattered buildings. There's no breeze. Something is off.
"I have found something," Samara calls out. Grace goes to her, in one of the buildings. A man and woman lie collapsed against one another on the couch, their bodies riddled with bullets. The couch drips blood. "Their attackers were heavily armed."
"I guessed that," Grace says. "Let's keep looking. There must be some reason we were sent out here."
They move swiftly but cautiously, pushing through the remaining urban structures. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Static hums on radios and televisions. They keep finding bodies. Men, women, children, no one is safe.
Grace is giving up hope when she hears a soft groan from another room. A survivor. She takes point and scans the room. A man lies face down on the ground. Grace recognizes the Cerberus armor. She moves forward when Hope grabs her arm. Take it easy, her gaze says. Grace grits her jaw and yanks the soldier up, throwing him against a couch. He flops onto it, sitting stiltedly. "Tell me what happened here," she commands. He only grunts. "Did Cerberus do this?" She doesn't know why she asks. She already knows the answer.
There's more groaning. His stomach is bloody. There's a dead woman several feet away, a Cerberus Harrier in hand. Son of a bitch got a taste of his own medicine. Grace moves to him, yanks his helmet off.
His skin is sickly grey. It pulses with light. His eyes are a pale blue color. There's no white in them. Like Niket, but worse. Grace narrows her eyes on him. "Can you talk?" she asks him. He gurgles. "Fuck."
"He has been modified," Samara tells them. "Perhaps a result of the technology gathered from the Collector base."
"I've seen this before," Hope says, already moving away. "We should keep moving. There could be others."
"Yeah. Go ahead." Grace nods when Hope looks back at her. Grace and Morinth linger. Grace sets her eyes on the soldier. "I could give you medi-gel but I don't really give a shit what happens to you." She glances at Morinth. She saw her at Grissom Academy. She doesn't know what Morinth is—she only knows she's dangerous. She heard the soldier's screams when Morinth dragged him away. Whatever she does, Grace isn't sure she cares. Not when it involves Cerberus. "Do what you want with him."
She exits the room. Hope is prodding more bodies with her foot. "They're all dead. But there aren't enough bodies. Some were taken. We got here too late." Frustration thickens her voice. She shakes her head. "Shepard could have prevented this. She didn't." They hear a hail of bullets from the building they exited followed by a long bout of silence. "Samara?" Hope calls out.
"On my way," she returns.
Grace looks around. Most of the bullets were fired into fleeing civilians. There was a resistance growing here. It's gone now. "Harvested by the Reapers, kidnapped and killed by Cerberus. Benning didn't stand a chance." Hope looks at her, waiting. Sweat runs down her face. She pulls the helmet off and wipes at her face. "This isn't right. We have to stop them." She doesn't clarify but Hope makes of it what she will. Grace sees her bite back a smile. Morinth exits the building. She lacks her usual flushed glow. "Let's get back to the shuttle." Hope moves ahead. Morinth walks in tandem beside her. "So?"
"Not to my tastes," she says sardonically. "I finished him the old fashioned way."
Grace frowns gingerly.
Udina closes the privacy shutters and secures the doors. "I have C-Sec sweep this place for bugs every day. They were just in here a couple hours ago. Still, it makes me nervous as hell every time we have one of these little meetings. I'll be glad when this nasty business is over with."
Shepard waits, arms folded. "Why'd you agree to work with Cerberus?"
Udina looks surprised at the question. "Because, Shepard, Earth is under attack and the Council is paralyzed with self-interest. You've seen it. Instead of action, we get equivocation and backpedaling. Once I have control of the Citadel, I can get Earth the help it needs." He pauses. "And you? What are you getting out of this?"
She shrugs. "Cerberus helped me defeat the Collectors. Now they'll help me win this war."
Udina nods. "I don't know what you two talk about when I leave the room, and I don't want to know." He dims the lights. "Win the war, Shepard. Just make sure you're not being led down a primrose path."
Shepard looks around. The dark corners roil with the implication of shapes. "Your concern is touching. Let's get on with this." Before the not-there shapes start whispering.
He flicks a switch. A floor panel slides open, revealing a holo-pad. The Illusive Man's luminescent image springs into existence, casting shadows that move oddly along the walls. As always, the Cerberus potentate appears crisp, elegant, impeccable. As always, he's smoking a cigarette. "Shepard. Udina." He gives a slight nod to each in turn.
Phantom smoke swirls upward, drifting out of the projector's range. "You know," Shepard points, "those things come with a warning."
The Illusive Man pulls the cigarette away from his mouth and exhales smoke. "We all have our vices, Shepard. I'm sure you can understand."
"I'll give you two some privacy." Udina turns and walks away, disappearing into a side room.
Shepard waits until the door closes behind him, turns to the Illusive Man. "I ran all of Aria's little errands. Got her mercenary groups all lined up to fight the Reapers." She laughs. "That bitch really hates you. She thinks she's going to take Omega back."
He seems unconcerned. "She'll fail. We have countermeasures in place."
"Good to know." She rubs her temples. Fucking headache. "I'm heading to Tuchanka soon."
He produces a small tumbler filled with amber liquid. "We have ongoing operations there. If they come to your attention, don't interfere." He takes a drink, savors, swallows. "And stay out of the Kelphic Valley. The situation there is… explosive."
She nods. "Noted. But I need to get the krogan onboard with helping the turians. The longer we can keep the Reapers busy with Palaven, the better."
"Agreed. The Alliance needs time to finish building the Crucible. Coopting it may be critical to our plans. Nonetheless, I have misgivings about granting the krogan a cure to the genophage."
"I gathered that when I bumped into your goon squad on Sur'Kesh. Might have helped if you had told me about that little operation."
"The playing field is vast, Shepard. I have many plans in motion. You'll have to accept that I don't tell you everything."
Her face crinkles with irritation. Is this what Miranda had to contend with? "I get it. You've got a lot of irons in the fire. But I don't appreciate having my toes stepped on. Once my boots hit the ground, I had no choice but to commit to the mission. Or did you expect me to lie down for your boys?"
He strokes his chin, cigarette twixt two fingers. "Of course not. I understand your frustration. Your impromptu arrangement with the krogan was not anticipated. Surprising that the warlord could have gained such access to the STG."
Shepard scoffs. "Wreav couldn't find his own cloaca with both hands. The only reason he got that footage is because Mordin grew a conscience."
He nods. "The incident on Sur'Kesh was unfortunate. Our partnership is still new, Shepard. Some missteps are to be expected. You did what you had to do. I don't fault you for it."
She suspects that's the closest thing to an apology she'll get from him. "All right. What about Tuchanka?"
"Get the krogan to cooperate. Give them their cure if it comes to that. However, I believe a solution may present itself. A way to accomplish both goals."
Shepard snorts. "Oh? And what would that be?"
The Illusive Man smiles almost imperceptibly. "Have a little faith, Shepard."
"Fine," she says. Whatever the hell that means. "Anything else you want to discuss?"
"Yes. There is another matter." He takes a drag from his cigarette. "X8 has resurfaced."
X8. Grace Morgan. The spare that thinks it's an heir. The Illusive Man previously brought Shepard up to speed on the clones. They were meant for spare parts. Makes sense. One got away. "Little Miss Organ Donor crawled out from under her rock, did she? Liara mentioned there's a lookalike running around on Earth." She isn't sure what to pray to, she can only hope that the lookalike is just that—not the cunting copy Cerberus drew up. The one who got away.
He nods. "It would appear she's left that fight and is now interfering in matters that don't involve her. She intervened at Grissom Academy. We expended considerable resources there and came away with very little."
Shepard's heart drops. It's her. She'd like nothing more than to chase the little cunt down and put her out of her misery, but how would she explain that mission to her crew? "What do you expect me to do about it? I have a war to fight, in case you've forgotten."
"I don't forget, Shepard." He smiles grimly. "Fighting the war is secondary to our plans. Find her and put an end to her."
Shepard furrows her brow. "How'd that bitch even find out about Grissom?"
A raised eyebrow. "You should look to your own crew for the answer to that question."
Goddammit. Traynor? No. Liara. "I will. And don't worry about the clone."
"You know how to find her?"
"I won't have to. She wants to be me, remember? I kicked her ass once, but she'll want to try again. It's what I would do."
The Illusive Man nods thoughtfully as Shepard turns and walks away.
Shepard storms in like a whirlwind. Liara and Traynor turn away from the console they were peering into. Shepard jabs sharply at Glyph. The spherical hologram shimmers and winks out of view. Traynor shrinks back. Liara frowns. "Shepard—"
"Get out," Shepard barks at Traynor. Traynor looks between Liara and Shepard, clutching a datapad to her chest. "Don't look at her. Look at me." Traynor does, wide-eyed. "Leave. Now." Traynor does, with a quick murmur of 'Commander' and an apology to Liara. Liara doesn't think she needed to be told twice. The poor Specialist has been on Shepard's shit list since day one.
Liara waits until the door shuts behind Traynor. Shepard is furious. Her eyes have a blue sheen. She feels the energy come off her in waves like static. "Was that necessary?" Liara asks. "Would you please explain—"
Shepard's hand wraps around Liara's arm like a vise. Her fingers dig in painfully. It will bruise. She doesn't think to pull away. Shepard's eyes are hypnotic, flaring. "I know what you're doing."
"Shepard—"
"Don't!" She squeezes tighter. "Don't you fucking lie to me, T'Soni." She comes closer. "If it's not you, it's Traynor. And if it's Traynor, you don't even want to think of what she'll look like when I'm finished with her." Liara's throat is tight. She wants to tell Shepard she's wrong. She won't implicate Traynor falsely. She wants to tell Shepard that she's scaring her but the words won't come. "Tell me."
"Let go of me."
Shepard doesn't.
Liara steels herself. "Whatever you think—I have agents, Shepard. The Shadow Broker network. I know we don't have time, I know you're focusing on what you think is right—I'm trying to help." Shepard's breath is hot over her, her eyes glistening and angry. So damned angry that Liara feels sorry about it. "I was trying to help," she says again, quickly, breathlessly. "I'm sorry." Shepard lets her go. She paces slowly, hands covering her face. Liara watches her.
"Who are you working with?" Shepard's pace has changed and now she moves, like a pendulum, her eyes cutting. "Who are these agents?"
Miranda. "I don't know."
"You're lying to me!"
A shiver runs through her. Goosebumps pull at her skin. "I'm not lying." The truth is that she doesn't know. All she knows is that she's passed it on to Miranda, who in turn has passed it on to her own people. The words tumble out of her mouth. "I don't know all my agents. It's impossible."
"You don't know? You're the Shadow Broker. You say you know everything. Are you full of shit? How the fuck do you not know?"
Liara stares back, trying to shake the cold. "I don't know everything." Unfortunately. "I'm sorry. I'd—I'd tell you if I knew, Jane." The name is a grasp at straws.
Shepard slows. Eventually she stops. Her voice is calm, even. "How am I supposed to get anything done when my own crew is turning against me?" Liara stops. Is that what she's done? No. It isn't. She's trying to help. Shepard can't really think that. "Stick to researching the Crucible, Liara. You have no idea the damage you're causing. If I get so much as an inkling that you're continuing to leak data... the Reapers will be the least of your troubles." She wipes at her face. Sighs. Exits.
Liara is still for minutes afterward. EDI pops up on the intercom. { Are you all right, Dr. T'Soni? }
"Fine." It's the most she can say. Her fingers are shaking. She picks up Glyph and turns him back on. He zips around the room in lazy eights. Swallowing, she goes to the terminal and types up a message to Miranda.
Shepard knows about the leaks. I won't be able to contact you for a while. You're on your own.
They both are. Her arm throbs where Shepard's fingers dug. She brings a hand to her lips, feels a swell of emotion, heavy and somber coming over her. She drowns it. No. No. She can't do that again. Once, twice was enough.
You're on your own. Miranda stares at the message. Shit. Shepard found out. Does she know about her? No. Liara kept her name out of it. She would have warned her otherwise. More concerning is the fact that Shepard apparently doesn't appreciate the help. It's as Rasa has been saying. Shepard is Cerberus now.
At one time, she would have considered the news a boon, a cause for celebration, a great victory. Now it sends a chill down her spine. The Illusive Man is different. Something has changed in him. He has forsaken the ideals he once espoused, twisting them into something monstrous. Her father is helping him. And now Shepard is helping him.
She hopes Liara is okay. Their partnership was a two-way street. She was about to send her something. She's been exploiting her intimate knowledge of Cerberus communication protocols and back-channels to intercept data packets and orders to remote operatives. Oriana helps with the decryption and data-mining. It's tedious, hit or miss work, and it can be difficult to separate disinformation from genuine intel, but she's gone over this a dozen times. She's confident that it's authentic.
She begins typing.
Substantial Cerberus forces moving on Tuchanka with intent to sabotage a turian operation. Location: Kelphic Valley. Exact nature of turian operation unknown, but Cerberus interference threatens turian krogan alliance. Advise making this your top priority.
—ML
She encrypts the message and sends it to Rasa. She and Grace were successful at Grissom Academy. It's surprising. The clone's tenacity and resourcefulness rival Shepard's.
She hopes it will be enough.
The Night Winds may have a full crew but none of them have been granted any opportunity to rest. Hope walks the armored halls of the ship. The Night Winds is an appropriate name. There seems to always be a perpetual penetrating chill to the air.
The Eclipse soldiers, outfitted in gold armor, ignore her. As far as mercenary groups go, they're a nasty bunch. Not CAT6 bad, but close. And yet, Samara got them all to bend to her will. A justicar's influence goes a long way. She's butchered ships before or have you forgotten? She'd prefer to stay on her good side. All things considered, she's surprised the woman hasn't found a reason to snuff her out yet. Justicars have soft sides the way thresher maws do.
She finds the small cabin she's looking for and pulls the heavy iron door open. Four 'beds' stick out. More cots than beds, with tissue thick mattresses. Grace hasn't shared her cabin with anyone, though she has seen Samara sitting with her late into the night, talking, door closed. What the hell could they have to say to one another? She tells herself she isn't jealous. Grace stops Shepard, stops the Reapers, everyone wins. That's all that matters.
For the time being, Grace reclines on a cot, a thin pillow folded in half with her arm used as extra padding. The CAT6 armor sits opposite in an empty bed, some dead knight's armor. Grace is reading ANN news on the omni-tool. Reading is all she ever seems to do when she isn't wiping out Reaper and Cerberus forces. Hope remembers when Grace liked fucking her. Now she looks at her as if she's no more significant than a stray particle of dust.
"What is it?" Grace asks, not lifting her head, not setting down her reading.
Brilliant opening. Hope swallows her bitterness. She imagined their reunion going differently. She thought in time Grace would see that she was only trying to do the right thing. She hasn't. Nor can she call Grace on it. "I've just received word from Miranda. Cerberus is up to something on Tuchanka. We need to go there and put a stop to it."
"Are you sure this isn't some setup? She was Cerberus."
"So was I."
"I don't trust you, either."
Hope bites her tongue. It shouldn't sting. Who bloody cares what some clone thinks? Her cheeks heat guiltily. She could apologize again. Then again, there still remains so much that Grace doesn't know. It seems she'll always be apologizing. Her shoulder throbs. She massages it unknowingly. The cold does nothing to ease the pain.
Grace sits up, looks at her, eyes flicking away. She turns on her side, facing the wall. "Tell Chakto to set course for Tuchanka." She stares at the omni-tool screen for too long, seemingly reading nothing. Hope waits before walking away.
It's a war zone. Throwing herself into it is suicide but she leaps off the shuttle. The cannon detonations and spitting bullets are deafening. She dives into cover and is soon flanked by Hope and Morinth.
A pang of worry stabs into her, visceral and unexpected. There are Cerberus soldiers everywhere and she's worried for Hope. She still hasn't apologized to her about the shoulder. They've barely spoken at all. Hope's eyes have been coolly indifferent, as if refusing to acknowledge anything may have occurred between them.
"Hold your fire!" There's a shout amongst the soldiers. Aside from the random cannon firings all goes silent. Grace only hears her own breath. Hope's face glistens with sweat. "Shepard?" One of them says in disbelief. "Aren't you supposed to be at the Shroud?"
Grace rises out of cover. The Cerberus soldiers watch her. Hope's features are strained. What are you doing? her face says. Grace climbs the small stony ledge and looks at the crowd of soldiers, weapons lowered. She exhales shakily. Hope was right. She can no longer deny it. Shepard is working for Cerberus.
There's a violent twist in her stomach, revulsion at Shepard, at herself. Set down your weapons she nearly says. Instead she lifts an arm, sending a massive shockwave through the ground, splitting the earth into a cracked smile, pummeling the soldiers. "Change of plans," she says.
"Oh, shit! It's the other one!"
Morinth jumps into the fray, mowing down the soldiers with the M-15 Vindicator. She gets them while they're fleeing for cover. Her face is euphoric. She laughs but Grace can't hear the sound over the shrieking weapons. Ahead of her, one of the soldiers head bursts open, reminiscent of a blood orange someone's stomped on. "Nice shot," Grace calls back but Hope doesn't hear.
They move forward. It only occurs to her later that they could have done this the easy way. The easy way's never been your style.
The turian platoon is within sight. Spirits, Shepard can fight. As Reaper ground forces fall before them, Garrus wonders what goes through their minds. Are they capable of feeling fear? Hopelessness? Do they recognize the futility of trying to defeat her in combat? Or has even that been taken from them?
At times like this, he wonders if he's been too hard on her, expected too much. Fight isn't even the right word for what she does. She overwhelms. A blur of kinetic force that the eye can barely follow, she leaves a trail of pummeled and smoldering corpses in her wake. He distrusts her, maybe even hates her, but in this respect there can be no denying that she is as magnificent as when he first met her. Here, in the chaos and fury of battle, she is Shepard.
The outcome of the battle is never in question. The Marauder things used to bother him, but now he takes grim satisfaction in overloading their shields and disintegrating their heads with the Krysae. Within minutes, the rubble of the collapsed building is littered with dead Reaper troops. A stray swarmer crawls from the gooey remains of a Ravager and springs at him. He swats it to the ground and stomps it. It gives out a squeal before crunching and splattering beneath his boot.
The fight's over. They approach the haggard remains of the turian platoon.
Lt. Victus introduces himself. The Primarch's son. That's one good piece of news he can take back to the Normandy. Shepard questions the lieutenant with an air of disdain. The turians were sent to recover a giant bomb from Cerberus, but their ship was shot down. They've lost a lot of men. Frustration lines the faces of the survivors. Lt. Victus is dejected. He announces that they're abandoning the mission.
Shepard shrugs. "I don't give a shit what you do. I did what I came here for." She turns and looks to Garrus and James. "Let's—"
Garrus brushes past her and walks up to Victus, jamming a finger in his chest plate. "Listen to me, Lieutenant. You and your men are not going to abandon your duty just because things got tough and you're feeling sorry for yourself. Things are tough all over, or have you forgotten Palaven? We all have to make sacrifices. You're going to continue your mission and take that bomb away from Cerberus, no matter what the cost. Victory is the only acceptable outcome. Is that understood?" His mandibles twitch threateningly.
Victus snaps to attention, as do the men behind him. "Yes, sir!"
Garrus nods, then turns to Shepard. "Shepard, we could..."
"No way, Garrus. I came to this shithole planet for one reason. To cure the genophage and secure the turian-krogan alliance. I'm not going to risk that by playing Bomb Squad." She looks around. "I'm not even supposed to be here." She mutters the last.
Not supposed to be here? What is she talking about?
Shepard turns on her heels and walks away. "Your boys will have to solve their own problems."
"Careful," Hope hisses. Grace ignores her, approaching the group of turians cautiously. She really only has memories of Garrus to go by but the group looks dispirited and depressed. They turn to her, mouths parting in surprise.
She takes a chance. "I need a status report," she says.
"Shepard." The turian at the helm of the group, pale-faced and young, turns to her. "You're a sight for sore eyes." He goes to the console, tapping at the holographic keys. "You said the bomb was our problem. I figured you'd abandoned us."
Bomb? There's a bomb? Fuck.
"What's the explosion radius?" Hope asks.
The turian lead looks at her cautiously. "It's enormous. It'll blow a chunk of the planet right off. It will devastate the krogan and endanger the alliance. The implications are astronomical."
A bomb that can blow a chunk off Tuchanka. Fucking great. "Can you stop it?" Grace asks.
"Now that you're here, we might—" the whistle of a bullet cuts his words off, a turian soldier beside him falling down dead. "Cerberus is trying to set it off! Keep them off me, Commander! I'll try to disable it!"
Cerberus shuttles are gliding down, bay doors sliding open. Another onslaught. "You heard the man," Grace says. "Not one Cerberus soldier gets past us. Move out!" She jumps from the rocky ledge, rolling to an upright position, Paladin cocked. There's a wall of crumbling stone, fickle cover at best. The terrain spreads out in the dilapidated ruins of a fallen civilization. Morinth and Hope drop down beside her. "That bomb goes off we all go with it."
"I am with you, Commander," Morinth affirms.
Grace scowls and plunges into the thick of battle. Soldiers scatter. Hope lines up her shots, picking off soldiers as they drop down from the Cerberus shuttles.
Grace and Morinth work together, biotic detonations rocking the fragile landscape. No matter how many of the Cerberus soldiers they take out, more always appear to take their place. Grace blinks sweat out of her eyes. This operation is big. Cerberus must want this bad. The turian squad behind them is whittled down, one by one, until the young squad leader is the only one that remains.
"How's it coming?" Grace shouts at him.
"I need more time!"
An Atlas drops as if to punctuate the remark. Jesus. Are they mass producing these fucking things? Another battle, all their attention focused on the wrecking ball of a machine, its footsteps making the land quake, spraying a barrage of bullets and rockets.
Grace ducks into an enclosed space. It follows after her. She takes a few quick shots, hearing the pings and thunks of Hope and Morinth's fire. The machine lunges forward and swings its massive arm, knocking out a pillar in the process. Grace smiles. "Nice job, asshole," she sprints, the structure collapsing around her, breaking free the moment it slams down into the mech, burying it. Grace watches it for signs of life, breathing heavily and smiling.
"That was reckless," Hope says disapprovingly as they watch the smoke and dust curl around it.
"We're alive. It's not. Keep a lookout for more." She makes her way back to the turian. He pulls back from the console, anguish on his face. "What's wrong?"
"Cerberus hacked the detonation mechanism. It's set to go off."
Grace pales. "Is there a way—" The turian is off not an instant after saying the words, clambering up the apparatus and onto the clawed platform. He moves with remarkable grace, yanking back panels and ripping out the canisters within. "What's he doing?" she asks Hope.
"Disabling it manually."
"He won't survive," Samara comments, appearing unbothered by the prospect.
"We've got incoming," Hope warns.
More Cerberus goons, creeping forward, desperate to take the turian out. They hold their ground, picking the soldiers off, buying time. Grace dares a glance to the countdown. The screen flashes red and reads zero. She looks up. The turian clings to the massive device with one hand, the final canister pulled free. "Victory at any cost!" he yells. The device collapses into the pit, taking him with it.
A violent explosion shakes the ground. For an instant, Grace thinks they failed, that this is the end. The shockwave knocks them back. Relief floods over her. She gets to her feet and walks to the edge of the pit. Fire burns below. Relief turns to anger. She didn't know the turian but now he's gone. Cerberus' fault. Shepard's fault. She dusts herself off and heads to the shuttle, knowing what she has to do.
Victory at any cost.
The krogan convoy rolls toward the Shroud. Shepard stands, gripping an overhead pipe as the tomkah pitches and lurches its way over the remnants of what used to be krogan civilization. A civilization they willfully obliterated in nuclear fire.
The turians radio in. Artimec Wing is ten minutes away from the Shroud, where a Reaper awaits them all. They're like an army of ants and mosquitos, gathering themselves to attack a pissed off rhinoceros. She thinks of Sovereign. You exist because we allow it, and you will end because we demand it.
She ended him, but she knows they aren't going to win this war with guns and ships. The Illusive Man says they can change the Reaper paradigm altogether. That the Crucible may help them do that. Fine. She'll start recruiting scientists. Maybe then Liara will stop harping on her about it.
Mordin sits behind her, muttering over his omni-tool as he goes over his work for the millionth time. He's been brimming with nervous energy ever since they got to Tuchanka. He thinks he's about to cure the genophage. It's important to him on a personal level, a chance for redemption. Shepard can admit to feeling a pang of guilt for what she has to do, though it won't deter her. The salarian doctor is a singular genius. They wouldn't have defeated the Collectors without him. He deserves better.
It doesn't matter. Nobody gets what they deserve.
When Dalatrass Linron contacted her, it was like a miracle delivered from the blue. Salarian operatives sabotaged the Shroud years ago. Let it dispense a fake cure, she urged. How you deal with Mordin is up to you, Commander.
It's an ingenious plan. The krogan are placated, the turians get their help, the salarians agree to pitch in some scientists for the Crucible, and the galaxy doesn't have to worry about being overrun by krogan in a couple centuries. The Illusive Man told her to have a little faith. To think she nearly laughed at the words.
Eve sits across from Wreav, chastising him for his repeated threats to exact revenge on the galaxy. Our people were made for war, he says. It's what they want. Shepard thinks of Wrex. He was a hell of a lot smarter than Wreav, but he also couldn't think straight when it came to the genophage. Ashley had to put a bullet in his brain in the end.
Eve's got a good head on her shoulders. And a spine of steel. Shepard barely spoke to her on the Normandy. Maybe she should have. When all the males were baring their teeth and growling at each other like a pack of hungry varren back at the Hollows, it was Eve who brought them to heel and got them back on mission. The female krogan turned out to be the one with the biggest quad.
Not surprising really.
Eve says Tuchanka used to be some kind of paradise, a cultural marvel. We had dreams… a future to look forward to. Shepard has a hard time imagining it. They annihilated their civilization out of boredom. Life was too easy. They needed a challenge.
Wreav continues to bluster. As long as the rest of the galaxy thinks we want revenge, we'll have power. They'll fear us, the way krogan are meant to be feared. He chuckles, pleased with himself.
Shepard frowns. Eve looks to her. "Commander, you look troubled. Is there something you want to say?"
Shepard releases the pipe she's been holding onto. "Yeah, actually, there is something I need to get off my chest." She takes a deep breath and steps forward. In one smooth motion, she pulls her Carnifex and presses it to Wreav's face. His eyes barely have time to register surprise before she discharges the first shot. She pumps three more rounds into his brain for good measure. Krogan don't die easy.
Wreav slumps over in his seat, blood and ichor dripping onto the floor. Shepard whirls to Eve – who is just starting from her chair – and points the hand-cannon at her face. "Find someone else to lead your little renaissance." She holsters the weapon. "Better yet, do it yourself."
"It's too soon," Hope says.
Grace hops off the shuttle before it even lands. The Shroud is within sight. The skies are a sickly grey. Hope follows after her, ignoring the throbbing pain in her shoulder. Not one full day on Tuchanka and she's already sick of it. Too much fighting, too much dust and now Grace is running off, determined to find Shepard and put a stop to her. "Don't tell me what I can and can't do." She holds the Paladin tightly in her hand, walking so quickly Hope has to half-jog to keep up with her.
"You stopped the bomb. That was the most important thing. We need to regroup. We need to think about this."
"There's no time."
"Grace!" The woman slows. Hope catches up, stands in front of her. Grace tries to walk around her. Hope puts a hand up, grazing the bullet pecked chest armor. "You're important. Too important." She takes a breath. Swallows the bitterness she feels. "You're not ready." Tries to correct. "What if you're not ready?" It's not a great recovery. Hope doesn't know whether to take satisfaction from the doubt that flickers on her face, the moment of hurt. It means she means something. That she can still affect her. "I know what happened before. I know what I've said. But you're not Shepard. You're not Shepard."
Grace's eyes grow cold. She puts a hand on her shoulder and pushes past her. "If you see an N7 suit start shooting."
"Grace!" Hope follows after her, legs numb but she's out of sight too soon. She can't breathe. She can't identify the fear coursing through her. Her stomach is clenched. She's dizzy and nauseous. Afraid. She's afraid.
The bitch stopped the fucking bomb. That fucking cunt is on Tuchanka. You need to stop her. You need to kill her. She lets her run free and she'll screw up the war and the Reapers will win. Her hands are already bloodied. One more won't make a difference. She's doing the right thing. She's doing the right thing. You sure about that, Skipper? Shut up.
Shepard yanks the Carnifex out of its holster, pointing it at Mordin and following after him. "Mordin." He stops, halfway to the elevator. The Shroud is racked with explosions. Chunks of debris fall down around them. He looks at her. She never thought of salarians as particularly expressive. Their eyes are large and black. What's there to see? His eyes widen only slightly before going flat. She smiles apologetically. "Walk away."
He takes a breath. His scorn washes over her. "Will not. Genophage cure imperative. Will not be stopped." He steps closer to her. She doesn't flinch. "Owe this to krogan. My work. My responsibility." The barrel touches his chest. He's mocking her. "You working with dalatrass for salarian aid? You working with Cerberus?" His voice rises, angrier. "You afraid of krogan? Killed Wreav. Not enough." Shepard's nostrils flare. "Coward. Coward. Coward." He turns his back to her. "Will go up. Genophage must be cured."
"Mordin!" She doesn't recognize her own voice, loud, hoarse, enraged. She's lost more than his respect. She's lost much more than he can ever know. His loss is nothing. His death is everything. "I'm giving you a chance here. Don't test me."
He turns. Considers. Eyes wider than usual. "Ah. Shepard. Yes. Understand now. Help me."
Shepard laughs. "Help? You're cracking, Mordin."
"Was not talking to you. Was talking to her."
A heavy, paralyzing chill moves over her. She turns swiftly. A brutal blow knocks her to the ground.
The elevator rises slowly, Mordin staring down at both women. Debris continues to shake loose from the Shroud. It falls like cannonballs around them, smashing into the silver control panels. Shepard hops onto her feet quickly. "About time you showed up. Morinth's not here to help you now, bitch." She takes a hard swing. Grace dodges, keeping her distance. She can't let her get too close. Shepard's nose dribbles blood. "I'm going to have fun killing—"
Grace slams her with a biotic throw, hurtling her into the elevator entrance. The glass shatters and Shepard collapses to the ground with a huff. Grace follows. Shepard gets to her feet, shakes her head. Pounces. A wave of biotic energy flows around her before Shepard slams her fist down hard on the ground.
Unbelievable. She's more powerful than before. You're not Shepard. Shepard grabs on to her, pummels a fist into her stomach before physically tossing her into a wall. The wall crumbles. She's not normal. She's something else. She's Shepard. She doesn't have Morinth. This is the woman who all but destroyed her before, turned her bones into something as fragile as twigs. She was bruised for months.
Get up. Get up. She gets up. Shepard's fist crunches into her face. Grace tests her jaw. Still intact. She blocks the second swing, delivers a hard kick to Shepard's stomach. The terrain continues to erupt, the Shroud quickly disintegrating. Grace sends a forceful knee into Shepard's face. Shepard falls onto her back, the Carnifex tumbling out of her hand. She unclips the Eviscerator from her back, a blast fired, barely dodged.
Grace rips it from her, clips her on the side of the head with it. Shepard claps a hand to her head. She turns only slightly, but it's enough. Grace strikes, her fingers digging into the back of Shepard's neck, ripping the biotic amp from her. Shepard fumbles, groping wildly, eyes wide. Grace smirks. Shepard focuses hateful eyes on her, screams, charging. Her arms wrap around her and then they're falling into the black.
She doesn't know how long they fall. They land hard. Dust filters down in the light. Explosions can be seen and heard overhead. Dirt sifts down. Shepard groans, pushing to her feet. Grace starts to stand. The air has gone out of her lungs. Shepard kicks her. She takes a step back and kicks her again. Grace tastes blood. "You think you can beat me?" Shepard asks. "You're spare parts!" she kicks her again. "You're nothing!"
Grace's vision blurs, the edges going black. She's not Shepard. Anderson was wrong. Hope was right. She shouldn't have left Earth. She considers lying still. Her body thumps beneath Shepard's boot. Kick. Kick. Kick. Shepard sinks to her knees, straddles her, wraps her hands around her neck. "It's over," she says.
It's over.
She thinks of Liara. She thinks of Hope. She thinks of Anderson back on Earth. The air is going out of her lungs. Behind Shepard explosions rock the skies. She remembers the explosions, the blackness creeping around her. But there are no stars. Cerberus is going to win. Shepard is going to win. The Illusive Man is going to win. And she's going to die. Maybe everyone's going to die.
Shepard's grip lessens. She brings a hand to her forehead, eyes closed, grimacing. Her head bows, face inches away, as she exhales shakily. Grace's lungs burn. She head butts Shepard. Shepard makes a gasping sound. Grace manages to sit up. Her limbs are heavy and tired. She grabs the neckpiece of Shepard's armor and pummels her face with her fist. Once and her hand flares with pain, again until her fist is bloody. Her hands are already bloodied. One more won't make a difference. Shepard flails, knocking the Paladin from Grace's holster. Grace doesn't stop hitting her until Shepard spits out a glob of blood.
Grace crawls away from her. She doesn't know how long it takes for her to get to her feet. Her face is bleeding, her body battered. Everything's numb. Everything hurts. She doesn't feel better. She doesn't feel anything. What was the point of it? What was the point of any of it? She hears Shepard's erratic breath behind her. She can't do this anymore. She can't kill her. She can't kill another one. Another X20. "Just go," Grace manages. A plea. "Just go be someone else."
There's a scuffle. Grace turns slowly. Shepard's lunged for the gun. It's in her hand. Her face runs red. Her eyes go silver. "Fuck you."
The air goes out of Grace's throat.
The crack of a pistol illuminates the black. The Shroud spews a golden mist over Tuchanka but Hope doesn't see it. She doesn't call out her name. She's lost the ability to speak. Her body tingles. There's no piece of herself she can feel.
She doesn't know how much time passes. Minutes. Hours.
Scraping. Scratching. Grunting. A sound in the dark. "Grace…?" she breathes it like a prayer.
She waits. For redemption. For forgiveness. She wants to be wrong. Please let me be wrong.
A black armored glove shoots out, fingers splayed, searching, and then another. The figure pulls herself out with a grunt. N7 armor. Shepard.
Her heart stops. She clambers backward, her fingers wrapping around the Carnifex left discarded on the ground. If you see an N7 suit start shooting. Shepard rises. Bloodied. Dark eyes. Pull the trigger. Her eyes water. Do it for Grace. Do it because she asked you to. Do it because Shepard's working with the Illusive Man. Do it because you owe her this, if nothing else. Hope gasps, a stifled sob. For all her talk, she can't. This is all that remains.
Shepard stands before her, eyes like nuclear winter. Her gaze shifts to the gold haze filling the skies before her focus returns to Hope. She snatches the Carnifex from her, twisting Hope's fingers painfully in the process. She can't cry out. Shepard holsters the weapon and then, deeming her insignificant, turns away, leaves her.
Hope's limbs are numb. No. No. No. She fights to get to her feet, half crawls before she can manage it. She tries to make it to the ledge. She needs to find her.
"Rasa."
Hope turns.
Samara stands there, eyes as unfeeling as ever. Where did she come from? Where was she hiding? Why didn't she help? Hope wants to scream at her. Emotionless bitch. Samara moves closer, peers down into the abyss where Shepard was just birthed from, bloody and battered. "I am sorry," Samara says. Hope's throat is tight. All she can do is shake her head, feel her eyes burn, cover her shame with a hand. She can't let the tears fall.
A fist pummels into her stomach. Her hand drops. Her knees buckle. She takes a breath, like a drowning fish out of water. The pain is crippling. It spreads in a wave. She folds over, all remaining strength sapped out of her. Samara smiles. It's not Samara. Oh, God. It's not Samara. Morinth catches her before she falls. "There, there," she coos. Her voice is far away, light. There is red and then black and then, mercifully, nothing.