The shriek in the abandoned monastery pierces like a cry in the night.
Cold sweat swaddles Shepard. No matter how she fights, she can't get warm. Her thoughts beat like a caged bird. The monastery is a tomb. Liara, beside her, appears unnerved, her face tight but refusing to relinquish any emotion. Morinth walks confidently ahead, Vindicator ready to mow down the cannibals that have come before them. "Through here," she tells them in her flat, soothing way. She hurries onward into the darkness.
Liara grabs Shepard's arm. "Why is Samara here?" Shepard pulls free. Liara frowns. "I know about her daughters but the timing is… curious, wouldn't you say?"
"Maybe the asari government contacted her. You're not the only hotshot asari around." Shepard shrugs when Liara scowls. "She's a justicar." Liara is unconvinced. "How can you possibly have a problem with this?" she waits, remembers what Morinth told her, how Shepard abused Samara's oath. "Shepard fucked her. It wasn't me." It isn't even Samara with them. "Get over it."
"Something doesn't feel right." Another wail fills the darkness. Liara straightens, looks around uncertainly, stands, unconsciously, closer to Shepard. "Goddess, what is that?"
"Whatever it is, I doubt it wants a hug." She looks around the monastery, the Carnifex flashlight shining on the blood coagulating on the floor and walls. Skin tissue hangs like veins to the walls. A heart lies like a discarded stone on the floor. The smell is thick and rusty, the air heavy and oppressive. "Just be ready to kill it."
"Violence isn't the only solution."
"It's fast and it works." She moves ahead.
Liara quickly follows on her heels. "You need to be focused."
"You saying I'm not?"
"Something's happened. I know when you're distracted."
Shepard barely suppresses a sneer. Liara only pretends to know her when it works in her favor. Grace… there's something I need to tell you. Hope's voice is low and uncertain. When she finally meets her eyes, there's so much emotion in them that Shepard doesn't recognize her. "Mind your own business, T'Soni."
Ahead, Morinth waits, beckoning them closer, her eyes luminescent and hungry in the dark. Something tickles in Shepard's mind, crawling, massaging.
Shepard, I am pleased to see you. The voice is a show for Benezia's daughter but Morinth makes sure to put a possessive hand on Shepard's shoulder and murmur in her ear, eyes trailing over Liara as she does so. You'll never guess what Miranda and your little asari are planning for you.
The Reapers are after Ardat-Yakshi. It's practical. Morinth knew it would only be a matter of time. The Reapers' plans to dominate her kind interests her. Those machines hunger—a surprisingly sentient act. They ache to feed, absorb, become more powerful. She has no intention of letting them continue their cycle but a mind can be curious. What kind of abomination will they turn the asari into? Or is it only the Ardat-Yakshi they desire? No doubt they'll be monstrously beautiful, powerful. But not Rila, not Falere. They're hers.
Although… it is their own fault, abandoning their freedoms because their mother's poison got into their heads. She taught her daughters to be ashamed and afraid of themselves, instead of applauding them for their uniqueness and power. Jealous bitch.
The asari diplomats are shitting themselves. For millenia the Ardat-Yakshi have been the dirty secret of the regal and always uptight asari. Ardat-Yakshi were kept hidden away like soiled linens and now…
The Reapers have noticed them. It speaks to the Ardat-Yakshi's power, long taught to be buried. How will they spread, Morinth wonders. The Ardat-Yakshi will serve no master. The Reapers would no doubt use them to sweep throughout the galaxy like a pestilence, consuming everything in their path. But that would be a waste of their considerable talents. The Reapers, ultimately, are machines. They lack creativity, they lack chaos. They want order. To the Reapers, life is an algorithm – a mathematical equation. 'Perfect,' dull, like Miranda. It is the same reason she will not go along with Miranda and Liara's plan, even if she has agreed to. A chipped Shepard is no Shepard at all.
Miranda and Liara will not have the control they desire just as the Reapers will be denied an end to chaos.
Morinth will not let them have her sisters. Better they join her on the Night Winds, help stop the Reapers and then, take what is theirs, what they have long been denied, their need to feed.
"You look deep in thought," Shepard comments.
Morinth smiles. Usually when people say things like that to her, they're trying to figure her out, an impossible task that only idiots attempt, usually, when they're hoping to get into her pants. She thinks of her physical unions with Shepard and wonders of Samara's and Shepard's. What were those melds like? Justice, justice, I will avenge this injustice, (no, she won't) justice? Morinth was once jealous of normal asari who could enjoy those things. Now she knows she has been blessed with limitless power – all she has to do is take it. Do the kisses of this Shepard taste the same? Shepard left her unsatisfied and hungry but Morinth has fed. Her sisters must be starved. "How's Staff Analyst Maya Brooks?" Samara asks.
"That's not up for discussion."
Trouble in paradise. Samara reveals nothing of Morinth's smile. "You know, it's usually the purebloods you have to worry about." She glances at Liara, who stands by a computer console in the distance under flickering lights, digging through its contents. Liara looks at them trepidatiously. Samara nods soberly. "Guess she got off lucky." So did Shepard. Both of them.
"So did you."
Morinth's eyes dance. "After we finish here, we should return to the Night Winds. Just the two of us."
"Why? Come back to the Normandy. We could use you."
"I'd rather have you to myself. What I have to share with you about your 'friends'… is private." She touches her fingertips to Shepard's chest plate and steps back. Liara notices because Morinth waited until she would.
There's growling in the distance. They ready their weapons and move ahead, eager for a fight. Liara scrambles to get to them.
I did something. You were young. You weren't a person. You weren't even a thing. I needed to be sure you were worth the time… the investment. I needed to be sure you could be Shepard. I initially planned to wait until you were ready but soon realized that would defeat the purpose. Shepard should be able to overcome anything. Waiting until you were ready would prove nothing. It would be sentimental. I'm not sentimental.
The shrieking asari snaps Shepard out of it.
The cannibal has wrapped a meaty arm around the asari's arm. The stench is unbearable. Shepard lifts the Carnifex but Morinth's faster. She flows, seems to disappear from where she is, reappear behind the cannibal, shooting him back with a flare of biotic energy. The asari shrieks, falling to the floor and backpedaling. Morinth stalks forward, positioning herself before the cannibal, slamming a glistening black boot into its skull. The skull crunches and shatters, the cries immediately dying away.
Shepard sees the look on the asari's face. She knows Morinth. She knows it isn't Samara. Shepard speaks before any damage is done. The last thing she needs is for Liara to find another reason to get on her case. "Nice job, Justicar," Shepard approaches, looks at the obliterated skull on the cannibal. Morinth's power is incredible. What was that trick she did, the way she moved? She previously compared Morinth's biotic strength to her own, considered her an equal. She realizes now that she had it wrong. Morinth is stronger.
Morinth stoops beside the asari, young, perhaps still a maiden. Morinth touches her face carefully before wrapping an arm around her. "Falere. I'm so glad you're all right." Morinth closes her eyes and Shepard sees the genuine relief on her face, the way her body relaxes. In comparison, Falere is tense, her face strained, pulling back against Morinth before surrendering. Shepard flits her eyes between the two women. "Where's your sister?" The asari says nothing. "This is my daughter, Falere," Morinth tells them. "This is Commander Shepard and Liara T'Soni. They're here to help."
"I'm very pleased to meet you," Liara says with a nod. "Can you tell us what's going on? A distress signal originated from here. Asari High Command tells us several commando groups have been dispatched here but none have returned."
"They were here to help, I think. The Reapers," Falere scrambles away from Morinth's arms and gets to her feet. "They're here. They're … using us. Turning us into … into some of those Reaper things. They killed all those commandos who came here."
Samara shakes her head. "Direct combat has always been a weakness of the asari."
"I beg to differ," Liara says. The two exchange looks.
Falere ignores them. "They took Rila. My sister," she grabs Shepard's arm desperately. "Please, you have to help us. You can't let them take her. You can't let them turn her—"
"We won't," Samara says, "you have my word."
Falere looks at Morinth, ignores her, and turns back to Shepard. "Please."
"We'll do what we can," she tells her, a hand on Falere's shoulder. "I'm not sure how much time we have left. Guess we know now why the commandos were dispatched here. The note on that commando," she explains to Liara. Morinth has already grasped her understanding. "They weren't sent here for a rescue. They were sent here to stop the Reapers, to hide the evidence. Shrewd." Impressive.
"Goddess."
Falere pulls back. "There are bombs here?" she looks distrustfully at the group. "If High Command sent you… You're not here to help."
"Falere…" Morinth says. Falere turns and runs, leaping off the balcony, floating down in a nimbus of blue energy. "Falere!" Morinth gives chase.
The Normandy is within range of the monastery. An asari battleship hovers near. Shepard gave it the green light and James is glad, if not a little disappointed, that it's nothing to worry about. He can't remember the last time he got to see any action. Shepard decided to hit the monastery on her own with only Liara and some justicar as backup. Maybe she loves the blue ladies as much as he does.
Every mission seems to go on for hours when you're not in the thick of it. Now it's a waiting game. There's a bomb. There's always a bomb. But Shepard's a tough bitch. James isn't worried. Maya Brooks doesn't look to share his confidence. She went pale when the battleship was spotted and has said little ever since.
James finds her at her station in the War Room. She quickly closes all the windows on her monitor when she spots him, greeting him with a tired, wan smile. James drops down on the steps next to her. "Hey, if those extranet sites put a smile on your face, don't close them down on my account."
Maya laughs nervously. Her eyes are sharp, keenly intelligent, the sort of thing you spot in hotshot scientists that don't know how to interact with people. That sharpness is always there until she opens her mouth. "Oh! Yes. Sorry. I guess I'm a little distracted. Worried. Please don't tell Command Shepard. I just got onboard and I'd hate for her to throw me off. It's just… it's an Ardat-Yakshi monastery! Scary stuff. I've read about them. They're like vampires! I hope Commander Shepard is okay."
"Don't worry about a thing. She and Blue know how to take care of themselves." Maya's eyes cloud over, darkening. James taps her arm. "Sure that's all that's going on with you?" Maybe it's just as she says and she's worried about sticking around on the Normandy, worried about Commander Shepard. She wouldn't be the first one to develop a crush on the commander and he's sure she won't be the last. "You got your eye on the Commander?"
"Me? What? No." Another nervous laugh, her fingers lacing and unlacing nervously in her lap.
"Why not? She's easy on the eyes. Gets shit done. What's not to like about that?"
"Can't argue there. But I'm no one. I can't think of a single reason Commander Shepard would bother giving me the time of day." She shakes her head, frowning. "I don't know why we're talking about this. I'm not interested in Commander Shepard."
James looks at her. Maya Brooks eyes are rich brown but lack warmth. They're impenetrable, inscrutable. Weird, from the bumbling staff analyst. "If you say so." He shrugs and her shoulders relax, happy for the third degree to be over with. "How's that shoulder of yours? Michel patch you up?"
"Sure did. She even gave me some antibiotics. I guess I had a pretty bad infection. Outside of the scarring, it should recover nicely. I won't be able to use a sniper rifle again—"
"Again?"
She blinks. "Target practice. Always liked it. Pretty good on the range," she says assertively before giving another shake of her head. "But I'm afraid it's shot." Another bark of a laugh, with no hint of humor reaching her eyes. "Get it?" she looks at him. "Shot?"
He gives her a conciliatory smile. "Yeah, I get it." He lifts a hand to touch her but runs his fingers through his close cropped hair instead. "Glad it's healing up, even if it's not as good as you want." They look at one another for a long time, appraising. "You sure you're all right?" Maya stares at her blank screen. "I mean—you're—you keep to yourself but you're all right. Not like some of the wackjobs in engineering. I guess I'm just wondering why you don't branch out. Why you don't have any friends."
She's startled. "I thought we were friends."
"I hoped so." But she's changing the subject, without seeming to change the subject. "You seem tired. Like all the damn time."
"I haven't been a staff analyst for very long. It's a new role. It isn't what I expected. I wasn't expecting to be doing it for this long. It's exhausting to always be 'on.'"
"You'll get the hang of it." He reaches down into his pants pocket and pulls out a deck of cards. "Hey, at least we're not Commander Shepard." He chuckles. "So, how about a game? You, me, Esteban and some briscas?" she looks at him hesitantly. "You gotta get outta here. Being on your own every minute during war time isn't any way to be." He stands and offers a hand. She reluctantly grabs it and he pulls her to her feet. "Vámanos. Hope you have a decent credit line. I'm about to clean you out."
She smiles, the clouds fading from her eyes, the anticipation of a challenge brightening her demeanor. "You're on, Lieutenant."
The Great Hall is cluttered with explosives and corpses. Shepard makes her way to the head of the room, stepping around and over the charred, mangled corpses. The asari commandos failed their mission but they didn't go down easy. There's the usual assortment of cannibals, marauders and husks among the dead. None of those banshee things, as they've taken to calling the wailing, hideously tall asari creatures fashioned from Ardat-Yakshi students. The two banshees they encountered and killed on the way here dissolved in some sort of dark energy implosion, leaving no discernable remains beyond a dark stain and some ashes.
Falere crouches over the unconscious form of Rila, trying to rouse her. Morinth settles to a stop nearby and watches them impassively, her face inscrutable. Falere cast a wary glance at them as they entered the hall. She's distrustful, barely willing to acknowledge Morinth's presence. Shepard wonders what history led to their present animosity. Falere doesn't seem particularly grateful to be rescued.
The Ardat-Yakshi. The shameful secret of the galaxy's most enlightened species. Genetic undesirables rounded up and stashed away on this third-rate planet, hidden away from the galaxy. Shepard did some extranet research on the way to Lesuss, but found it virtually impossible to separate reality from fiction. She dug up some scary anecdotes, conspiracy theories, government denials and bureaucratic runarounds. She even stumbled upon an entire online subculture fetishizing the condition. There were numerous BDSM websites with dominatrices claiming to possess "the Ardat-Yakshi gene" or "Ardat-Yakshi training." Honestly, if Liara hadn't already confirmed their existence, Shepard would have chalked the whole thing up as just another way for people to get their jollies. Apparently, there's more to it than that.
She wonders what would happen if an Ardat-Yakshi were let loose on the galaxy. A predator that's truly dangerous, unfettered by morality, driven only to feed. Would she just be another monster in a galaxy filled with monsters, the kind that takes what it wants, whenever it wants? Or would she be that special kind of monster, the kind that betrays?
"I'm not sentimental. Or… I wasn't. I mean…" Hope shakes her head. "I don't know what I mean. I suppose if it wasn't for sentiment, this wouldn't be so hard." She takes a shaky breath. "Here goes. My first confession. Back on Omega, when the Blue Suns broke into the apartment and attacked you... That was me. I hired them."
Shepard isn't sure she heard correctly. "You... You did what?"
"I hired them. I told them to kill you." Hope's face is anguished. "It was a test. I had to know."
The words hit Shepard with the weight of bricks. She remembers the two mercenaries, a turian and a batarian. They fell upon her when she was recovering from surgery, listening to music. She'd had no training, didn't know how to fight. They almost killed her. Should have killed her. Hope hired them? Shepard shakes her head in disbelief, unable to speak. Just when she was starting to think that maybe she could have something good in her life. She was such a fool. Hope pleads with her. "Grace, please say something! I'm so sorry..." Shepard doesn't realize she's been backing away until she's at the door. She turns and exits, staggering out of the room.
Liara has wandered away. She stands near one of the crate-sized bundles of explosives, examining it. Shepard walks to her and touches her arm. Liara glances at her. "Shepard. The bomb is good to go. We just need to find a way to detonate it."
Somewhere in the distance, a banshee screams. Another soon answers. Shepard can't deny the nerve-jangling effect the sound has. She frowns, looks around. "The detonator must be around here somewhere. Check the commandos." Liara nods and moves to the nearest body.
There's a commotion. Rila has awakened and struggled to her feet. Falere looks upon her face with concern. Rila's eyes go black. She lunges forward and wraps her hands around Falere's throat. Alarmed, Shepard steps toward them, but Morinth bars her way with an outstretched arm. "No, Shepard. They are my responsibility."
Shepard scowls. Morinth claims responsibility, but makes no attempt to intervene? Thankfully, the struggle is brief. Falere breaks the hold and repels Rila with a gentle push. Rila staggers back weakly, stumbling, the darkness fading from her eyes.
"Rila!" Falere cries, rushing to her again, bracing her. "What's wrong with her?" she says, turning to Shepard and Morinth.
It is Samara who answers. "She has begun the transformation into one of the Reapers' creatures."
"No!" Falere protests. "I don't believe you! How can you know that?"
"I have felt the contamination in her," comes the cool, even voice of the justicar. "I am sorry. What has been done to her cannot be undone." She pauses for a moment, cocking her head. "Guard your sister, Falere." She turns to Shepard. "It's time to fight, Commander."
An instant later, Liara shouts from across the room. "Shepard!"
Shepard whirls. A banshee has arrived, teleporting past a wall. It leans forward, long arms stretched behind it, and emits a heart-stopping shriek. Behind it, another banshee appears, and a horde of husks lope into the room.
Liara plucks an Acolyte pistol from the floor and fires off a single shot at the first banshee. The creature jumps forward in that way that it does and swats Liara aside. The asari scientist hurls through the air, collides with a curved column and collapses to the floor in an unmoving heap.
Shepard stares in shock. No, no, Liara! She wants to hurl herself forward, to Liara's side, danger be damned.
"Not yet," Morinth says, as if reading her mind. "We must first attend to the threat, if we are to survive."
Shepard's done the math, seen the angles. She knows Morinth is right. Goddammit. She quickly checks Liara's vitals through the feed from the Normandy. She's alive, and the creatures are leaving her alone for now. That will have to be enough. She conjures up a singularity in the center of the hall, ensnaring several husks. A moment later, Morinth casually detonates it with a biotic throw, instantly disintegrating the husks. There are more, but they are inconsequential, easily dealt with. The second banshee shrieks. Shepard pulls the Eviscerator from her back, pumps it, turns to Morinth. "You shut the second one up. I'll take the first one."
Morinth smiles, Vindicator in hand. She's herself now, not Samara. "As you like, Shepard."
Pop pop pop the banshees jump forward, gobbling up five meters at a time as they advance across the hall. Shepard primes her banshee with a warp field, then closes the distance with a biotic charge. The WHUMP! of the resulting biotic detonation sends more husks flying. Nine feet tall and wreathed in a crackling purple-blue storm of dark energy, the banshee barely seems to register the collision. It looks down at Shepard and swipes at her. Shepard rolls out of the way, tumbling into a kneeling position and firing the Eviscerator at its face. She stands, retreats, rolls out of the way again when the banshee hurls an enormous warp ball at her. Shepard volleys with another warp of her own, BLAM! BLAM! pumps the shotgun, follows with a biotic throw to detonate the warp, WHUMP! No more husks. The banshee shrieks in defiance and lumbers toward her. It's far from done. At any moment, it will regain its strength and start teleporting again.
Shepard spares a glance behind her. The second banshee has shot past Morinth and made a beeline for the sisters. It's nearly to the spot where Falere shelters herself and Rila with a barrier dome. Pitiful protection against that thing. Morinth gives chase, flowing past the banshee at the very last, positioning herself between it and Falere. It's the second time Shepard has seen Morinth use that ability, a biotic feat she hadn't even known was possible before today. Morinth rises into the air, cloaked in biotic might, eyes darkening, until she is at eye level with the banshee. The banshee freezes, heaving and swaying in place, seemingly mesmerized. What in the bleeding hell is Morinth doing?
Almost too late, Shepard remembers her own danger. Having jumped forward, the banshee reaches out to wrap its impossibly long dagger-like fingers around her. Shit. If this fucking thing manages to grab her, it's all over. She extends her arm and pushes off from the banshee's hand. Enormously strong talons clutch at her, digging into her side, gouging body armor and flesh. Bleeding, she manages to squirm free. Shepard grits her teeth against the pain. Fucking careless idiot! Who's going to stop the Reapers if you die here today? With pain comes adrenaline and focus. She proceeds to systematically whittle down the banshee, finally dropping it with one last, spiteful shotgun blast to the face.
She turns to Morinth, who seems to be engaged in some sort of psychic duel with the other banshee. Morinth's face is a stony mask of determination, beaded with sweat. The banshee remains transfixed, captive to Morinth's gaze. Amazingly, it has started to quiver and shake. Suddenly one of its arms bends wrongly and breaks with a sickening crunch. From there, it ends quickly and grotesquely. The banshee's entire body starts to contort and collapse, limbs snapping, neck slowly twisting. As it folds in on itself, it gives one last shriek, different-sounding and somehow more terrifying, like the scream of a dying, tormented animal. Finally, it falls to the floor and dissolves like all the others, leaving only a stain.
Morinth lowers herself to the ground and turns to Falere and Rila, the blackness receding from her eyes. She extends both hands to them. "You are safe now. Come with me." The soothing voice of the justicar.
Rila seems sad. She holds Falere's hand and stares at the ground. Falere glares at Morinth with a mixture of horror and anger. "Stop pretending, Mirala. I know you're not her!"
Morinth blinks. "This is neither the time nor the place, Falere. We must leave at once."
"We're not going anywhere with you until you tell us what happened to Mother! Did— Did you kill her?"
More banshees scream in the distance.
"No," Morinth sighs wearily. "I did not. Mother," she practically spits the word, "is dead, but not by my hand. If it gives you comfort, know that she died a warrior's death, fighting a great injustice, and that Commander Shepard avenged her death. I have been helping her ever since, as Mother did."
Falere looks to Shepard. "Is this true?"
"Yes." It's true. Sort of. As far as she knows. Morinth intimated to her that the original Shepard murdered Samara. She believes it but maybe that's just because it's easy to believe. Morinth has only ever helped her. Mirala. Whoever. Why do the people in her life have so many names, so many secrets? It's exhausting. "Straighten out your personal shit later. I'm going to get Liara, then we're going to find that detonator and get the hell out of here."
The banshee screams are louder and more numerous than before, starting to overlap. They're moments away, closing in.
"I have the detonator," Rila says, producing the small cylindrical device from a pouch. "Go. Take the elevator. Leave!"
"No!" Falere exclaims, alarmed. "What are you doing, Rila?"
Rila squeezes Falere's hand before releasing it. "It's too late for me. Go now. They're almost here. There's too many to fight." She looks at Morinth. "You know I'm right."
Morinth returns her gaze for a moment, then gives a slight smile and a nod. She grabs Falere around the waist and pulls her away. "Rila!" Falere screams, thrashing to no avail as Morinth drags her across the room.
"I love you," Rila says with a beatific smile. She flips open the detonator, revealing the dead man's switch. With a nod to Shepard, she presses her thumb down and holds it.
Shepard turns and runs to Liara, barely breaking stride as she scoops the unconscious woman up off the ground. She meets Morinth and Falere in the elevator. The first of the banshees pop into view as the doors close. The silence of the elevator ride is broken only by Falere's sobbing.
Rasa waits outside of Shepard's cabin. There are very few locations on the Normandy where they can speak and act openly, places where EDI's eyes and ears have been expressly forbidden from prying. One such place is her quarters on the lower deck. The other is Shepard's cabin. She isn't sure that Grace will talk to her, but she intends to try. Was she wrong to confess her sins, to lay bare her soul? She doesn't know where the impulse came from. Maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut, swallowed the selfish need to unburden her conscience. This is new territory. She's never thought of herself as someone who had a conscience.
Shepard and Liara returned from the monastery nearly an hour ago and headed straight to the med-bay. She wasn't able to catch them as they boarded, but word quickly spread that Shepard had come back with some nasty scratches. She thinks she heard that Liara got a bump on the head or something, but she couldn't care less. She wishes Grace cared less.
She hears the elevator moving up and her heart beats faster. The doors slide open and Shepard steps out, arms cradling the pieces of her hardsuit, gouged and spattered with blood. Her shirt is bloody and shredded. Rasa can see angry welts on her torso, where flesh has knitted itself back together with the aid of medi-gel. Those are going to leave scars. Grace sees Rasa and stops, her face expressionless, eyes hazel. Rasa thinks she'd prefer to see anger in that face, the spark of green in those eyes. She stands in front of the door, blocking Shepard's path. "Commander! I'm so glad you're okay! I wonder if I might have a word with you in your quarters?"
"No," Grace states flatly. "There's somewhere I need to be."
Where? The Night Winds? Shit. "But this is urgent, Commander. I promise it will be worth your time." Her eyes plead. Please, Grace. Please.
Grace is unmoved, implacable. "I think you've taken up more than enough of my time, Staff Analyst. There's nothing left for you to say to me that could possibly be of any value." She steps forward, her posture becoming threatening. "Excuse yourself. Now."
Damn it Grace! She glares back at her for a moment, but steps aside, leaning into her ear to whisper. "Don't trust the justicar. She isn't Samara. Her name is—"
"Morinth?" There's a smug half-smile on her face.
Rasa is taken aback. "You know?"
Grace steps forward, the door sliding open for her. She stops, glances over her shoulder. "Haven't you realized? I don't need you anymore." She turns away and walks into the cabin. "You're dismissed." The door hisses shut behind her.
Morinth swims between irritation and grief. Rila is dead. Her sister. Her daughter. The stupid woman who wasted her life doing her sacred duty. What use is nobility anyway? Falere's sobbing has mercifully ceased. She has been reduced to sniffling and wiping an endless stream of tears from her eyes. Morinth wants to wipe those tears away, wants to slap her. She has always enjoyed the richness of the black void. Now she finds herself lost in the grey.
Falere should be happy. No longer will she have to live her life in a monastery, cursed and imprisoned simply for being born. Do you know Mother only thought of us as a disease to be purged? She wants to tell Falere that as she mourns and weeps for the dead. Or perhaps, her mother only saved those loving words for her. Bitch. Dead bitch.
"I shouldn't be here," Falere hiccups the words. Morinth looks at her impassively. "Mother would not want this. I took an oath."
"Mother," Morinth slides onto the couch beside her, "would prefer you be dead than free. Why stay there? So the Reapers can take your gifts and use them against the galaxy? So they can turn you into one of those things?"
"Maybe that would be better."
"Don't be stupid. What did they do to you at that monastery?" How did they make her so weak? "I won't allow you to stay there. You'll thank me in time." She takes a deep breath, smiling, touching her arm. Falere recoils. What poison did their mother fill Falere's head with? "Mother and Rila are gone but we still have each other." Falere doesn't look at her. She takes her face, Falere's tears surprisingly hot. Morinth smiles. "We shouldn't squander this." Does she hate her for being free?
Falere yanks away once more. "Shepard may trust you," she hisses, "but why are you dressed like Mother?" She shoves Morinth back. "Why, Mirala, if you had nothing to do with it? I know how you hated her."
Morinth's jaw is tightly clenched, the smile on her lips difficult to bear. "All I have ever given you is love. All I have ever wanted for you was freedom. I wrote to you often, you know. You never wrote back but I never stopped. You're important to me. You're my sister." Falere stands, going to the window to look to the night sky. "You have no idea what's out there. I'm working with Commander Shepard to stop this madness. After we've stopped the Reapers, I want to show you everything that's out there. It's a beautiful world, full of adventure and possibility. You have every right to enjoy it."
"Enjoy it? The way you have?"
It's not always enjoyable. There was the old Shepard. Morinth once tried touching her mind but couldn't. She tasted… like plastic. Battery acid. The banshee earlier was the same. Worse. Strange that something synthetic could taste so organic, like rot and hunger, like heartbreak and despair. And yet the contact has stirred something within Morinth. She's famished. It has been too long. "I don't know what Mother's told you—whatever it was, I'm sure it was an exaggeration," she stands, puts her hands on Falere's shoulders, rigid and tense beneath her fingertips. "I don't expect you to believe me. But I hope that in time you'll… come to trust me. Mother and I may not have gotten along but it doesn't mean I don't mourn her death."
"You hurt her so much."
"She hurt me."
The door to the cabin slides open and Shepard enters. "Is this a bad time?"
Falere answers before Morinth can. "No. No. I was just getting ready to retire for the evening. I am very tired." Shepard looks at her sympathetically. Morinth wonders if she means it, how much of it is an act. How much of that other Shepard, was the real Shepard? How much of this one is a fraud? Morinth doesn't know. They both fascinate her. The weaker Shepard is dead. The one who survives makes the reality.
"I can escort you to your quarters," Morinth offers.
"No. I'll find my way. I need to be alone."
Falere moves past Shepard who watches her go until the door slides shut behind her. Shepard no longer wears her hardsuit. She delivered Liara to the Normandy, making sure she got onboard all right after the banshee swatted her aside as if she were nothing. Liara is her weakness, just as she was the weakness of the other Shepard. What power Liara must hold, to have the savior of the galaxy wrapped around her little pureblood finger. A small trill of excitement moves over Morinth. She resumes her spot on the couch, patting it for Shepard to join her.
Shepard does, watching her curiously. "Are you okay?" Morinth stares back at her. "First your mother, now your sister. That's a lot to lose."
Morinth stretches an arm along the back of the couch. "I'm more worried about Falere. She's the youngest. She revered Mother and was closest with Rila. She was practically an infant—by asari standards—when they locked her away. I can't imagine a caged life."
"I guess you got lucky."
It's the second time Shepard has commented as much. Morinth isn't sure how ironic the sentiment is. "I made my own luck, Shepard. Sometimes all you can have is what you're willing to take." She eases closer. Shepard notices but doesn't react. "How's your little asari?"
"Don't call her that." There's a beat. "Why did Falere call you Mirala?"
"It was my name."
"Not Morinth?"
"What about you, Grace?" Shepard frowns and Morinth smiles. "We are what we choose. I've made my choices, so have you. You made your choice Shepard, when you went after that woman on Tuchanka. You took what you wanted. I don't question it. I won't. I understand you. I won't ask 'why.' Sometimes there's no answer to 'why.' Sometimes things just are." Morinth slides closer again and this time Shepard's body tenses a fraction. "Are you happy with the decision you've made?"
Morinth had not anticipated asking the question, did not know she was even curious and still, it slipped away from her and she finds herself craving the answer. Does Shepard get tired of pretending? Is it pretending? Has she evolved? Has the metamorphosis happened? "The choice was made for me." She frowns. "No one's ever asked."
"I sense you're troubled."
"How?"
"We're friends, Shepard. Friends pick up on things." She touches a hand to Shepard's sternum, feeling the shape of her bones beneath, imagining the flesh and muscle covering them, imagining crushing them, worshipping them. "You don't have to pretend for me. I accept you for who you are. Whatever you are." She eases her fingers along the curve of Shepard's jaw, catching fine strands of brown hair and tucking them behind her ear. Shepard's pupils dilate. "Did you want me to tell you what Miranda and Liara have planned for you?" In a way, despite her anticipation, her glee, the way she wants to see her face crack, Morinth has reservations. Words, facts, betrayals are weapons. She does not want to injure Shepard but she must know the truth. The truth that is an insult, that makes Morinth dance, that makes her want to throw her head back and laugh, the truth that Miranda foolishly entrusted to her, knowing of her 'distaste' for the woman that was Shepard.
"Tell me."
Morinth licks her lips. "Miranda and Liara want to implant you with a control chip. Miranda asked me to help," she says the last in Samara's voice, smiling ruefully. "She came to me after you denied her request to join the Normandy." Shepard goes very still, not even breathing. "It sounds crazy doesn't it? But she brought you back from the dead so I guess nothing's impossible." Shepard's dumbfounded, panicked, questioning. "They believe you are too much of a risk. With the Reapers loose on the universe and you… being what you are…"
"Miranda knows who I am?"
"She knows you are Grace, yes. I do not know how she knows—but she knows." That part's made up – Miranda made no mention of clones – but it makes the story more fun. Anyway, Morinth doubts Miranda would let that little detail stop any plans. Shepard is silent, her eyes thoughtful before she pulses. Biotic energy slithers out of her, thick, choking and dangerous, her jaw tight, her eyes cyan. "After everything you did for her, you are still only a thing."
"Why are you telling me this?"
I wanted to hurt you. I thought you should know. Miranda's a bitch. Because it's funny. Because it's the truth. Because you're in danger. Because chaos is everything. The thoughts buzz around her head, all true and confounding. "I don't know." That seems like the most honest answer. "I don't want you with a chip in your brain. Control is exciting—but only if we're the one to choose it. I wanted you to keep your guard up." Hunger snarls inside her as she says the words. It has been long since she fed and Shepard's power, hot and angry, washes over her and the room like an aphrodisiac. "I want to protect you from people like them."
"Them?"
"The Liaras and the Mirandas, the ones who need control, crave it. Like my mother. She killed for it. She destroyed anyone who stepped outside its bounds," her voice is hoarse, her breath short. "People like us cannot be caged. We should not be robbed of our potential, simply because others are afraid. We should take what we want," her fingers curl against Shepard's chest, her throat is raw and dry, "we should take what…"
Shepard stares at her, transfixed. "Your eyes…" she winces as if developing a migraine. "My head…"
Shepard's pulling away from her. Morinth grabs a fistful of her shirt. No. No. She cannot leave. Let her leave. No. She needs her. You don't need, Shepard. Let her go. "Look into my eyes and tell me you want me." Shepard breathes hard, her face pale, sweating. Morinth wants that more than anything. She wants Shepard to kneel, to beg for eternity. Morinth wants to give her the promise and crush it beneath her heel. Desire and an aching, corrosive hunger move over her. "Tell me you'd kill for me." Now she's breathless, "Anything I want."
"What are you doing?" The words are slow and painful. She takes Morinth's wrist but Morinth holds on tighter. No. She must have this. She must have her. She's resisting. That's good. She can get away. She can think she's gotten away. She'll be better than Shepard. She'll make Morinth something more. She'll make her unstoppable. She'll make her a god. Morinth can feel her. Taste her. The white rage. The hurt. Rasa. Liara. Miranda. Her. It grows so hot and piercing that her own head aches. "What are you doing?" Shepard shoves her away and scrambles back on the couch.
Morinth growls, eyes black. No. No. No. Stop. No. I need this. She's on the floor, catlike. She springs. Shepard rolls to the side as Morinth slams a hand laced with biotic power onto the floor. The coffee table flips over and Shepard kicks Morinth's legs out from under her, rises like a dark force, is suffused with biotic power, approaching when Morinth flings her back, slamming her into the wall with such violence that Shepard crumples with a soft grunt. Morinth's eyes widen. There's quiet and stillness. It seems to stretch forever. Shepard slowly forces herself to her feet, wiping the blood from her nose and mouth.
They must both look so surprised. Morinth doesn't breathe. She tries to say her name but she can't.
"You're one of them," Shepard looks at the blood on her hands, around the room at her, eyes cold and hurt. "You're a fucking Ardat-Yakshi."
Morinth curls her fingers and swallows. Shepard breathes. Her hand falls to the holster at her side. Morinth straightens. "Yes. I'm one of them. A fucking Ardat-Yakshi. Are you going to kill me, Shepard? Are you sorry I escaped before they could kill me? That's the choice, you know. Live in seclusion or die." Shepard's fingers hover over the Carnifex, as if it were a duel, only Morinth has no weapon. I don't need a weapon.
"Why? Is this why you run around pretending to be your mother? You do it because it's easy?"
"None of this is easy." Not in the beginning. "Is it easy to be Commander Shepard?" It's easy to kill. It's an addiction. An insatiable, uncontrollable addiction. Even now, despite the disgust washing over her, a disgust she's never felt before, she still yearns for her, wants to feast, suck her dry, to the marrow. No. She wants her friendship. Friendship? Pathetic. No. She wants to kill her. No. Fuck her. No. Kill her. Meld in every way, make her scream, good, bad, rasp until she's empty. Ingest her until they're one. "I didn't ask to be born like this, any more than you did. This is who I am, whether I like it or not." She's always liked it. Now she questions it. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You wanted to kill me."
No. Yes. No. Yes. "I'm sorry." She's never had a friend. Shepard would come closest. She's never wanted a friend. Even now she must fight through the hunger, even now she has to keep herself from throwing herself at Shepard. She imagines her hand on her chest earlier, it would have been easy to reach inside and snatch her beating heart from her, crushed it in her fingertips, stolen her mind. She salivates thinking about it. She wants to feed.
"Why did you bring me here? Why did you ask me to come?"
"You know why."
"I don't. Was it this?" Morinth shakes her head. No. It wasn't. "The stuff about Miranda and Liara—"
"All true. I wouldn't make that up. I wanted to tell you. I want you to be okay. I wanted you to know you couldn't trust them. But you can trust me."
"Trust you?" Shepard narrows her eyes and lifts an arm, a shockwave flinging the couch they were sitting on at Morinth, who sidesteps it easily, even as it smashes into the glass, cracking the window. "Stay the fuck away from me." She exits.
Morinth paces the room, her anger mounting, her disappointment, her hunger. She lets out a frustrated scream, a biotic burst sending everything in the room blasting back into the walls.
Liara exhales softly, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Michel attended to her but her head throbs; her thoughts swim against a current. The blast shook the walls of the monastery but Shepard held tightly to her when waves of dizziness made Liara incapable of standing. Shepard brought her into the Normandy and insisted Michel see to her first, even as the blood flowed freely from her side, her hardsuit shredded. Her concern was… That woman isn't Shepard. But…
Something is bothering her. Liara reasons its instinct to want to see to Shepard. That same instinct that prompted her to recover Shepard's body despite the impossible odds. Liara gave her to the enemy in hopes Shepard would be resurrected. She would have done anything. She has rejected the woman masquerading as Shepard. Plans are in motion. It's for the best. She cannot afford to be sentimental. Are you all right? Shepard's fingers tentatively skirting over her face in the med-bay before Michel moved her out of the way.
Brooks has been antsy since Shepard returned to the Night Winds. Liara has been much the same for weeks now. Shepard and Maya Brooks are… familiar. Someone like Shepard doesn't notice someone like Maya Brooks. The woman may be attractive but she's a bumbling idiot. And Brooks' history, the little of it Liara has managed to piece together is jumbled. Liara can't put her finger on it but it unnerves her. It's stupid. She isn't jealous. How could she be? Yet… when her mind is idle her imagination goes there. Her stomach knots and her throat dries. It is far too easy to imagine. She could confront Shepard but what would be the point? Shepard would only smirk and ask why she cared. Liara would not be able to answer.
"Dr. T'Soni, Commander Shepard has returned," Glyph tells her.
"Thank you." Liara pushes herself off the bed, powering Glyph down as she moves past him. She instructed him to alert her of Shepard's presence but does not want him rambling in that incessant way to her. Liara feels a compulsion to speak to Shepard and would prefer not to be interrupted.
She times it well, pressing the elevator button in time for the doors to open on her floor. The Normandy is dark save for the light that seeps out of the elevator. Shepard's bleeding. Her nose and mouth, the side of her shirt soaked through again. "What happened?" she reaches for her but Shepard avoids her touch. It wasn't more than a few hours ago that her fingers had grazed along her skin so carefully. "Weren't you with Samara?" Shepard stares back at her. "Did something happen?" Of course something happened. But what?
"Step out of the elevator, T'Soni."
"I won't."
Shepard walks out of the elevator, a hand cradling her injured side. It's the wound from earlier, the banshee's work. It's reopened despite the application of medi-gel. How did it happen unless Shepard was in a fight? Shepard takes the stairs up to CIC and Liara, still unsteady on her legs, follows after her. "I wanted to thank you for what you did earlier," Liara calls after her. Shepard doesn't slow though she doesn't move quickly. "I shouldn't have let that banshee catch me off guard."
Shepard scoffs. "You're not the only one to be caught off guard." She steps into the elevator and once again, Liara follows in after her. "What do you want?" The words are venom. Liara blinks as the elevator doors close. Shepard's eyes are magma. They're halfway to the cabin when Shepard slams a fist into the emergency stop. It leaves a smear of blood on the button. "I know what you and Miranda are planning for me."
Liara stills. "I don't know what you mean."
"The control chip?" Liara looks at her. She can't swallow. Heat rushes to her face. Shame. Yes. She agreed to the plan. Some part of her still agrees. Or does it? If it shames her so, makes her so guilty, can she truly agree? "So it is true." How did she know…? How can she know? Didn't Miranda agree that no one else must know? Her heart is beating so fast she feels nauseous. "And I suppose you're the one who told her I'm Grace."
"Grace?" She can barely say the word. Grace? Is that a name? Her name? Liara didn't know it. But yes. She did tell Miranda that this Shepard was the clone, even after promising she wouldn't. It had seemed necessary at the time. It was necessary for her self-preservation.
"I'm not even a person to you people. I'm just a thing." Shepard's eyes are blue, bright, piercing, as cutting as her voice. Part of Liara is terrified, another piece is enthralled. Jane's eyes. "I can't believe this is who you've become." Flat. Contemplative. "How did you get this way? I don't remember a woman who could have agreed to this. All I have of us is our memories. What we were on the original Normandy. It's not enough for you. You're satisfied, brain fucking me, for what that other Shepard did." She steps closer. "Do you know what I've had to go through since I came back? The things..." Her voice breaks, her eyes unfocused. For an instant, Liara wonders if she'll take her arm like Jane did, if she'll leave her bruised, her skin torn. "I won't let you. I won't let her. Call this plan of yours off. If you even think of following through I'll kick you off this ship. If Miranda breathes wrong, comes sniffing around this ship without my say so— I'll rip her fucking head off."
Shepard's anger has a life of its own. It fills the elevator like dark energy. Beneath all of it is hurt. Liara is sorry for it. So sorry for it. She was wrong. How does she say it? How can she make her believe it? Why should she believe it? She needs to try. She needs to speak. "Shepard…" she tries to gather her vocabulary.
Shepard slams the emergency override button. "Fuck off." Simple words and contemptuous enough to take the breath for Liara's lungs. "Whatever lie you want to spin, I don't want to hear it. I have enough shit to deal with. You've made your position perfectly clear."
She looks like she's going to cry. She doesn't. The elevator doors open and Shepard limps out, moving towards her room, Alliance shirt wet with blood. Liara remembers finding her when her insides were out, when she was torn open and still. She squeezes her eyes shut. Goddess. What has she done?