Bray isn't much of a talker, or maybe he just doesn't like humans. It's okay; Shepard isn't in the mood for conversation either. She's out of medi-gel and regretting turning down a trip to the medic before leaving Omega. She figured they had enough carnage of their own to deal with. She tries to catch a nap on the shuttle but finds it impossible. Her body aches, and the memory of Aria's kiss, hot and forceful, lingers on her lips.
The batarian deposits her at the Citadel, breaking the silence to offer up a few words of encouragement as she disembarks – something about making the Reapers regret ever waking up. She thanks him and heads down to Huerta Memorial. The hospital is overflowing with the wounded and the dying. Much of the lobby has been converted into a makeshift recovery ward. The staff looks harried and tired as they move between patients.
Fucking war.
She's turning to leave when one of the interns glances over. Glimpsing all the dried blood on her, he pulls her to one side and gives her a quick examination. Not seeing anything too serious here, Commander. Sorry we can't spare any medi-gel. She grits her teeth as he quickly cleans and stitches up the worst of her injuries. He sends her on her way with a handful of pain meds and a prescription for bedrest. Stay safe out there, Commander.
She finds Tiberius Towers and takes the elevator up. Anderson's flat is spacious bordering on palatial. She spends an hour exploring it, despite how tired she is. There's a piano, a bar, a mini-bar, three beds, three baths. She feels vaguely ridiculous occupying such an extravagant space. She recalls her days hopping from one cramped safe house to another with Hope. They rarely stayed anywhere with more than a single bathroom. Those days seem like a lifetime ago. The memories evoke a certain nostalgia, no matter how stressful and confusing things may have seemed at the time.
Exhaustion has caught up with her. She quickly sends a message off to Garrus before swallowing some meds and crashing in the main bedroom upstairs. Consciousness dissipates the moment her head hits the pillow. When she wakes, she finds fifteen hours have passed. She slips out of bed, searches the closet, finds a plush robe and pulls it on.
Famished, she heads down to the kitchen to see what she can scrounge up. On the counter, she finds a welcome note from a neighbor/sitter who got an alert when she let herself in. The pantry and fridge have been freshly stocked. She pours herself some mango juice, toasts an English muffin, fries up three eggs and a pile of sausage links. She takes the heaping plate of food with her into the rec room, sits down at the terminal and checks her messages while she eats.
Shepard,
I trust your vacation on sunny Omega was refreshing and carefree. Word is the queen is back on her throne. Wish I could have been there. Nothing like gunning down a few hundred of Cerberus' finest to lift the spirits. I bet they're calling it the biggest bloodbath since Archangel's reign of terror. Nice job kicking the Illusive Man's ass off that rock.
The Normandy is still in one piece. Gotta say, Shepard, bold choice leaving the turian in command. Not every day I get put in charge of an Alliance vessel during wartime. Don't worry, I kept the talk of mutiny to a low roar, and the Reapers are right where you left them.
Joker says we'll be arriving at the Citadel in about 36 hours. It'll be good to have you back in the CIC. I haven't been able to calibrate in peace for days.
- Garrus
She peruses the rest of her messages. There's an invitation to the Armax Arena, another lack-of-progress report from Miranda, and a few other forgettable emails. She checks the time. Mid-morning. Garrus sent the reply twelve hours ago. Another 24 hours to kill until the Normandy arrives.
Depositing the dirty dishes and utensils in the kitchen sink, she heads back up to the bedroom. The robe falls away as she steps into the master bath. The hot tub garners serious consideration—another luxury that seems incompatible with her existence. Or Anderson's for that matter. In the end the shower wins out. The hot, steaming water cascades over her skin, invigorating her, washing away the sins of Omega.
Afterward, she searches through Kahlee's wardrobe until she finds something loose and comfortable to put on. It occurs to her that she could pay Miranda a visit while she's here. Miranda Lawson, the fucking ingrate who conspired with Liara to put a control chip in her head. This, after she helped save Oriana and stopped an indoctrinated Shepard from dooming the galaxy. Her blood starts to boil. Maybe she isn't ready for that conversation after all.
The doctor told her to get some rest. She goes downstairs, flops onto the couch, turns on the television. There's a Blasto movie she's already seen twice, some idiotic sitcoms, soaps, game shows. She surfs through a couple dozen channels before finally settling on ANN. Yep, there's still a war going on. She watches for about twenty minutes, then turns the television off. Christ. Is being a lone wolf supposed to be so fucking boring? The Normandy can't get here soon enough.
Fuck doctor's orders. She goes back upstairs, changes clothes again, straps on her hardsuit. Clamping weapons to her back and side, she exits the apartment.
The Silversun Strip is as busy as Miranda has ever seen it. People mill about in small groups, cluttering the walkways, chatting, laughing and flirting as if they haven't a care in world, as if everything they know isn't on the brink of annihilation.
She knows they aren't truly that oblivious. They're just coping the only way they know how, taking their minds off their own mortality for a few hours. Underneath the mannered, well-coiffed veneer churns a miasma of fear, anger, lust and anticipation. It wouldn't take much for that primal energy to spill over, dissolving polite society in an orgy of violence. As much as she might disdain the notion, distractions such as the Silversun Strip are a necessity, now more than ever. The façade of civility is all that holds civilization together.
There is no greater distraction on the strip than the Armax Arena when a premier fighter is on the marquee. Miranda arrives at the north entrance and finds herself contending with throngs of patrons trying to get in. Word has gotten around that the great Commander Shepard is playing today, and business is booming. An electronic scoreboard shows Shepard currently holding the second high score, behind Barla Von's team of professional mercenaries.
She forces her way through the crowd, swatting away the pawing hands of opportunistic gropers, and ignoring the complaints of those she sharply elbows aside. Eventually she makes it through the front door, striding past the ticket windows and into the stadium. There's a buzz in the air as people excitedly discuss Shepard's last match and speculate about what she'll do next. A krogan stands guard at the entrance to the player area. He sees her coming and steps aside. Welcome, Miss Lawson. Commander Shepard has arranged a guest pass for you. Please go on in.
She finds Shepard standing at the player terminal. The wavy-haired brunette glances back as Miranda descends the stairs, then returns to whatever she's reading. "You should see all the crazy fan mail I'm getting," she says. "I've only been playing for a few hours, and already I've gotten over a dozen proposals for marriage, at least three of which are from hanar. I've also gotten requests for locks of hair, brain tissue samples and my eggs. It gets weirder from there."
Miranda stops a few feet short of her. "I got two marriage proposals on the way here. And if it were possible, I'm pretty sure I would have gotten pregnant squeezing my way through the crowd out front. Why am I here?"
Shepard turns. "I thought it was time we cleared the air."
"This is a waste of time, Shepard. We both have better things to be doing."
"Like what?" she smirks. "Jumping Traynor's bones? Wiping out the keepers? Engineering a new control chip? Coming up with a new scheme to enslave me?"
Miranda opens her mouth, closes it again, looks away.
Shepard pulls her Carnifex, ejects the heat sink, slams a fresh one in. "Yeah. That's what I thought," she says, holstering the gun again. "Look, you knew this conversation had to happen. I could have come to your apartment, or the lab, tried to talk to you there, but I was afraid I might lose my cool and do something… regrettable."
"Grace—"
"Don't call me that!" A wild biotic pulse crashes into Miranda, staggering her back to the stairs. Tripping over the first step, she grabs the railing with one hand and braces her fall with the other. Shepard brings a hand to her temple as Miranda regains her feet. "Sorry. Believe it or not, this isn't how I wanted this to go. I've been working through some anger issues. A number of people I had allowed to get close to me have recently disappointed me in pretty profound ways. Not just you and Liara, though I have been wanting to take that disappointment out on your face for a while now." Shepard turns to the console and starts punching in match parameters.
Miranda's hand travels down to her side, fingers lightly touching the hilt of her M-3 Predator while her heart pounds. She regulates her breathing. In. Out. Deep breaths, but not too deep. Her heartbeat starts slowing to normal.
"It isn't fair to you, really." Shepard continues. "Your Shepard went off the rails. She was indoctrinated. Must have been all that exposure to Reaper tech, some of which you and your boss put in her. And who knows what else happened to her. I admit I only know part of the story." She pauses. "It makes you nervous, doesn't it? Not being in control. You can't be sure what I'll do. I'm just a clone, spare parts, an unknown quantity, whatever. I get it. You haven't done anything that I might not have considered in your place. I can even say that others have let me down in objectively worse ways. Do you know what your problem is?"
"Enlighten me."
"Your problem is that I just don't like you very much." Shepard sets the difficulty level to the maximum, then looks over her shoulder. "But I do like Oriana. Weird, right? How could I like one of you and not the other?"
She isn't expecting an answer, is she? Miranda offers none. If Shepard notices her hand on butt of her weapon, she makes no show of it.
Shepard turns back to the console. "Anyway, I thought it would be better if we had this little heart to heart in an environment where I had something else to take my aggression out on." Her hand hovers over the enemy choice. "So. What do you think? Collectors? I just unlocked them."
"Fine by me. You know what you're doing?"
Shepard barks a laugh. "That's the question, isn't it?" She scrolls to the Collectors, makes the selection. "Guess we'll find out. You know, I fought these things once before."
Miranda recalls the Shadow Broker footage. "New Canton."
Shepard faces her. "That's right. I'll be honest, they scared the shit out of me. Killed my squad." Her eyes soften, staring into the distance. "There was this one bug – he kept coming back no matter how many times I squashed him. Kept calling me Shepard."
Miranda nods, hand still on her gun. "The Collector General. He was Harbinger's puppet."
Shepard smiles wryly. "I imagine the Collector General didn't like that very much." She heads to the locker room. "No way am I leaving until I've knocked Barla Von off the top of that scoreboard. So, you going to shoot me with that thing, or are you going to help?"
Miranda hesitates. X8 is clearly volatile, but no more so than Shepard had been. Of course she's not going to shoot her. Killing the clone was never the goal. She should just leave. There's a lot of work to be done. Those damn Keepers aren't going to capture themselves. Ugh. She's sick of cleaning up goo. And she could use the exercise, frankly. She follows Shepard into the locker room.
"Dr. T'Soni, a new intel report from Operative Feron has arrived."
"Thank you, Glyph." The info drone spins contentedly and floats away as Liara pulls up the report. Feron is her lieutenant in the Terminus Systems. His guile, paired with Tazzik's brawn, have formed the nucleus of one of her most reliable, productive teams. She peruses the concisely-written report, absorbing every morsel of information. In the wake of Aria's retaking of Omega, Cerberus has shut down their salvage operations beyond the Omega-4 relay.
Shepard, Grace, whoever she is, has dealt yet another significant blow to Cerberus, further driving home the shortsightedness of Liara's betrayal. If Miranda had been successful in chipping her, they undoubtedly would have chosen to prohibit the commander from going to Omega. It would have been a vital opportunity lost. How many more opportunities would they have gone on to squander if they had succeeded in leashing the galaxy's greatest hope for salvation? Goddess. She was such a fool.
As if on cue, the door to her cabin hisses open and Shepard walks in. She and Specialist Traynor returned to the Normandy a few hours ago. Liara examines the commander. There are some new scratches and bruises to be found, but she looks vibrant and recharged, calmer than when she left. Even as she saunters to a halt, she exudes the confident, patient manner of a predator on the hunt for its next meal. It's intimidating and utterly magnetic. Why is she here? To yell at her some more? To kick her off the Normandy at last?
"Shepard. I heard you were back. I'm glad you're okay."
"Oh? You sure about that?"
"Of course! I was worried to death. You refused to take any of us with you." Somehow, the expression of concern feels clumsy coming out of her mouth, the sound of it insincere to her own ears. They're the words of a friend—a sentimental bond she has forfeited, regardless of any shred of familiarity they may share.
"I'm capable of taking care of myself, T'Soni."
"I know that! I just—" Liara sighs inwardly. Shepard isn't going to make this easy. And why should she? "What can I do for you, Shepard?" She waits for the hammer to fall.
"We're heading to the Far Rim to meet with the quarians. I need to bone up on the admirals, figure out what makes them tick. We need to get their fleet off the sidelines and involved in this war, one way or another."
She needs help. Thank the goddess. "That won't be a problem. I have dossiers on all of them. I'll forward them to you right away."
Shepard shifts uncomfortably. "There's more."
Liara studies her. "What's on your mind?"
She looks down. "Tali's trial. Garrus has mentioned it, but I don't know much. She… the other Shepard was there. She met the admirals, talked to them. I need you to talk to Garrus, find out everything that happened, everything that was said. I can't afford to be taken by surprise."
Liara frowns. She wasn't on board the Normandy at the time, but she knows Garrus and Tali became close. Dredging up memories of her might be painful for him. He will deflect with that formidable shield of dry wit. Prod some more, and he might get angry. "What you're asking… It could prove difficult."
"I know. Apparently, Garrus and I—she came to blows over Tali's death. But I need to know, and I can't be the one to ask him. It has to be you."
Liara sighs softly, relenting. "All right. I'll do it." She'll approach him as the Shadow Broker, seeking to keep her files up to date. It won't be a lie, exactly.
"Good. Thank you." Shepard pauses. "Have you told anyone else about me? Besides Miranda?"
Liara shakes her head emphatically. "No."
"Think you can keep it that way?"
"Yes. I swear, Shepard."
Shepard stares at her for a long moment. "Okay." She turns to leave.
"Shepard… wait." Shepard stops, turns back to her. "I need to say something."
"I think maybe you should quit while I'm still in a good mood, T'Soni."
Sound advice. Advice she's about to ignore. "Please, Shepard, just listen." She takes a step forward. "It was wrong, what Miranda and I tried to do. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I'm here to help you succeed."
The corner of Shepard's mouth curls up wryly. "Well. That's… inspiring." She folds her arms. "But since you brought it up, tell me why you went along with Miranda's plan."
She should have known she wasn't going to get off that easy. She takes a shaky breath and plunges in. "Do you remember when I told you that finding out about you was like losing Shepard for the second time?"
"Yes."
"I wasn't being entirely honest. The truth is I'd already had that feeling a long time ago."
"What are you talking about?"
Liara glances away. "We—she and I—melded. I looked into her mind and found nothing but desolation. It was dark and cold and ugly. The woman I knew was gone, replaced by some... monster. Every time I saw her, I recognized her less. Then you came along, and I had no idea what to think." Her eyes glisten. "I still don't, and that terrifies me. When Miranda came to me with talk of a control chip, I saw a way out—a way to avoid going through that hell again. I took it. It was wrong. I'm sorry." Wiping her eyes, she returns to her terminal, begins typing with hesitant strokes.
Seconds pass. "Liara—"
Liara steadies herself. "There's nothing more to say, Shepard. I should get back to my work. I'll speak to Garrus. You'll have your report soon." She immerses herself in a stream of keystrokes, trying not to feel Shepard's eyes boring into her.
A few moments later, she hears the hiss of the door as Shepard exits the room.
Her arms feel like noodles, and her shoulder feels like flame. Rasa struggles to pull herself up just one more time but can't quite get there. Why the hell did she agree to this anyway? She hates mornings. She especially hates sweating in the morning. Releasing the bar with a soft grunt of defeat, she drops to the floor.
"That's it?" James chides her. "That's all you got? One chin-up?"
"One and a half," she haggles, smiling sheepishly. It's the kind of smile Rasa or Hope wouldn't be caught dead offering up, but comes easily to a bumbling fool like Maya Brooks.
He chuckles. "Halfway don't count, Butter. You know that. We gotta strengthen up that shoulder of yours."
Grimacing, she swings her arm in a circle and rubs at the throbbing shoulder with her free hand. "I'm afraid it might be a lost cause."
"Nah. It'll come around, you'll see. You'll be back out on the shooting range in no time."
Ah, yes, she did let that little detail slip, didn't she? James has a way of making her drop her guard. He kissed her. They haven't spoken of it, nor has he tried to do it again. "Oh, right! The shooting range! Wait. We don't have a shooting range."
"No problema, Mija. We'll just set up some beer cans at the end of the shuttle bay. Can't wait to see what you can do with a rifle."
"Oh, I'm not really very good." That's a lie, of course. She's a dead shot. "But it's a date. Oh! No, I didn't mean a date date! Not that I—"
James laughs, waves her off. "Relax. I get it. Why don't you go hit the shower? You did good today. We'll do it again mañana."
"Um, okay. See you later?"
"Yeah." He hops up and grabs the bar, pulling himself up quickly and smoothly. One. "I'll swing by your workstation." Two. "Maybe we can go grab a bite." Three.
"Sounds good," she agrees. Four. She lingers a moment longer than she has to, watching him. Five. She leaves, feeling a bit flushed. It's just the exercise, she tells herself. She doesn't want to feel his lips on hers again. As she passes, Cortez turns from his workstation to watch her. She nods to him and forces another sheepish smile before heading into the elevator. She needs a shower. A very cold shower. She presses the button for Crew's Quarters. When the doors open again, Shepard is standing there. She starts to step in, sees Rasa and hesitates.
"Hello, Commander." Polite and formal, as if they were never lovers, never Grace and Hope, never anything more than Commander and Staff Analyst. Shepard has been avoiding her since the last time they shared an elevator. The marks on her neck have faded, but their relationship remains bruised.
Shepard nods. "Brooks."
They stare awkwardly at each other for a long moment. Finally, Rasa exits the elevator, stepping around her. "Excuse me." Shepard lets her by. Rasa heads toward the women's showers.
"Wait."
Rasa stops, turns slowly. "Yes?"
"I'd like to talk to you in my quarters."
Once, that was all Rasa wanted. Now… "Is that an order?"
A soft sigh. "No. I'm asking. Please come to my quarters."
Rasa makes her wait a couple of beats. "All right." She walks back and steps into the elevator. Shepard presses the button and they ride up to her cabin in silence.
The soft blue light and gurgling of the aquarium greet them as they enter. Lamps flicker on. There's an unopened box on Shepard's desk, next to the terminals, an illustration of a quarian ship on the side. "New ship model?" Shepard's collection is starting to get fairly impressive, not that Rasa goes in for glorified toys.
"Yeah. Picked it up at the Citadel while I was waiting for the Normandy. Met with Miranda while I was there too."
"Oh? How's the ice princess doing?"
"Okay, I guess." Shepard shrugs. She hesitates. "Would you believe she and Liara were scheming to put a control chip in my head?"
"What!? Those fucking—"
"Relax. I handled it."
"Let me guess. You gave them a stern talking to? You… Wait. Miranda knows about you?"
"Yes. Liara told her."
Goddammit. "I knew that asari bitch couldn't be trusted. If you aren't going to kill them, at least kick Liara off the ship."
Shepard shakes her head. "I need her. She won't try anything like that again. And Miranda's too busy with the Keeper Project to cause me any more problems."
Apparently, she isn't aware of just how good Miranda is at multitasking. "Grace—"
Shepard raises a hand, stops her short again. "Look. I know I'm supposed to be a lone wolf, but I can't just dispose of everyone who disappoints me. You're going to have to trust that I know what I'm doing."
Rasa takes a deep breath, tries to let the red filter out of her vision. "You're right." She'll let it drop, but she isn't so sure Shepard is seeing things clearly. Getting rid of Liara would be the safe move. The asari has always been her Achilles heel. First the old Shepard, and now the new one. "Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?"
Shepard frowns. "No. The last time we talked… I hurt you. I'm sorry."
Rasa shakes her head dismissively. "You were stressed out and feeling betrayed. It's okay."
"It's not okay. That's the kind of thing she would have done. I'm not her. I don't want to be like her."
"You are who you're meant to be, what the galaxy needs you to be. You don't have to apologize for anything."
Annoyance contorts Shepard's features. "Stop talking like that. What kind of reality do you live in where I don't have to apologize? Why are you like this?"
She still doesn't get it. Still doesn't understand who she is. "Everything I've done, I did because it needed to be done."
"Including hiring mercenaries to kill me?"
"To try to kill you. To test you. And, yes, including that. A person like Shepard, like you, doesn't just happen. It isn't just genes. It takes extreme circumstances. And I didn't have much time."
Shepard furrows her brow. "So why tell me at all? Why apologize for it?"
Temporary insanity? She could walk back the apology right now. Tell her she's not sorry. Drive her straight into Liara's arms, she supposes. Be rid of this unnecessary complication. Shepard doesn't need her anymore. She said it herself. "Because I thought you deserved the truth. All of it. And because I'm sorry." How many times does she have to say it?
A scowl. "I didn't deserve the truth before?"
Rasa shakes her head. "You weren't ready for it."
"Bullshit! You could have told me. I could have handled it."
"I saw how you handled it." She resists the urge to rub her aching shoulder.
Guilt flickers across Shepard's features. Good. "That was... It should have come from you."
Rasa sighs. "Don't you think I know that?" She glances in the direction of Shepard's desk. The picture of Liara, young and innocent, is still there. "I'm sorry, but the past is the past. What does it matter now?"
"I'm just trying to figure you out. I don't know anything about you. I don't even know your real name."
She barely remembers it herself. Sometimes she thinks she might forget. "Today, I'm Staff Analyst Maya Brooks. Permission to leave, Commander?"
Exasperated, Shepard shakes her head. "Go. Just... go."
Garrus can barely contain himself. At long last, Shepard has returned to reclaim the captain's seat. Chloe is on shift in the med-bay. He's free of all entanglements for the next few hours – no obligations, no missions, no responsibilities. There's only one thing he wants to do with his freedom.
Time to get down to some serious calibrating.
He lays out his tools on the workbench, then moves over to the weapons system console. Telemetry data indicates the system's efficiency has slipped by 0.32 percent in recent days. Embarrassing! Unforgivable! He runs a gentle hand over the console. "It's okay, baby," he murmurs. "I'm here now. Vakarian's gonna make it all better."
"Garrus?" A smooth, silken voice, behind him.
Spirits' testes! He turns. "Liara. What brings you by?"
She glances at the console, then back at him, an almost imperceptible smirk on her face. "I thought maybe we could do some catching up, now that you're off duty. Of course, if this is a bad time…"
"No! Now is fine. Ahem. What's on your mind?"
She walks to the workbench, leans against it. "We haven't talked in days. How are things going with you and Dr. Michel?"
"Good. Things are going well." He nods. Really well, actually. They dine together, talk, spend time together when they can. He thinks his flirting has improved, if only by virtue of keeping the head butting to a minimum. Meanwhile, Chloe has been continuing her research into human-turian relations. If he's being honest, he's done a few extranet searches on the subject himself.
Liara smiles. "I'm glad, Garrus. She's nice. You deserve some happiness, after… everything." Her eyes turn sad for a moment. She looks away. "Everything is so different now, isn't it? We're different."
Garrus joins her in leaning against the workbench. "Yeah. I know what you mean," he says somberly. "We're both just so damned famous and successful now."
She laughs, elbows him in the side. "More like infamous, Archangel. And I'm not sure by what measure either of us can claim success."
He shrugs. "I figure we can sort that part out after the war."
"Always the optimist."
"Always." He pauses. "So. My turn. You ready to tell me what's going on with you and Shepard?"
She frowns. "What do you mean?"
"Come on, Liara. You may be the Shadow Broker, but I have my own eyes and ears." He points to his face. "Something has been going on between you two. Something big. Who did you kill, and where are you hiding the body?"
She lets out a short laugh, but she's clearly disquieted. She looks down at the floor, fidgeting with her feet. "Look… Garrus. You're right. There has been some friction between us. I can't talk about it, but I can tell you that we're putting it behind us. I think things will be better now."
He studies her face for a long moment, then nods. "Okay. Say no more." He stands. The weapons system console beckons. "Thanks for the chat, Liara—"
"Actually, Garrus, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about."
Damn. "What's that?"
"Well, you know we're headed out to the Far Rim…"
He nods. "Yeah…?"
"I thought I should update my files on the quarians. There's a few holes in my records from when you and Shepard went to Tali's trial. I was hoping you could help me fill them in?" She looks at him, expectant and hopeful.
He hesitates, takes a deep breath. Spirits. "All right. Let's move this conversation to Port Observation. I'm going to need a drink."
She looks relieved. "Thank you, Garrus."
He casts a longing look back at the console as he follows her out of the battery.
The interior of the geth dreadnought clangs and hisses like an old factory. The walls slope at unusual angles, throwing off any sense of balance. Giant pistons gnash like metal teeth, jetting puffs of steam into walkways not meant for fleshy beings. Coils of striped cable seem to writhe in the dim light, like a nest of venomous snakes. Everything about the ship makes Shepard feel uneasy. She wonders if Garrus and Javik are immune to it, or if they feel it too. They follow at either side of her, guns poised, maintaining a nervous vigilance.
There are stretches of inactivity, followed by sudden bursts of violence as waves of geth emerge from the shadows to attack. She hates fighting them. They're slippery, surprisingly nimble and difficult to get a purchase on with her biotics. Not to mention unrelenting, hard to kill, clever combatants. Rocket troopers bombard them with missiles that seem more prescient than guided, while cloaked hunters maneuver to flank them, sometimes successfully. More than once is she forced to deal with one of the sneaky metal bastards uncloaking a few feet away. The combat is harrowing and fraught with narrow escapes.
Never one to miss a chance to proselytize, Javik preaches to her about the perils of artificial intelligence, as if she's responsible for all the galaxy's misdeeds. These geth are as dangerous as the zha'til of my cycle, Commander. They must be eradicated. She's not sure she can argue. The geth – heretics? No, geth – have allied themselves with the Reapers yet again. Desperation drove them to it, but does anything justify an alliance with the Reapers? Indoctrination is one thing. What kind of calculus leads to a willing allegiance with giant space monsters bent on galactic extermination?
They clear the operations center and plot out a path that takes them through a maintenance shaft. Daro'Xen stays behind as they move into the tunnel. The quarian admiral has been shadowing them, guiding them toward the Reaper control signal. During a moment of respite, Garrus remarks on the unusual architecture. The contours are all off. Javik replies that the geth don't concern themselves with aesthetics. Shepard smiles grimly. It isn't just her after all.
She checks in with Xen. I'm fine, Commander. The geth sent reinforcements to the bridge, but they proved amenable to one of my hacking routines. They're doing a lovely dance right now. In a moment, they'll be serving refreshments. Shepard hears the smirk in her reply. She doesn't find her levity or arrogance well-placed. The quarians brought this mess upon themselves, having chosen the worst possible time to pick another fight with their creations. In so doing, they may just have managed to hasten their own extinction.
She recalls Legion, the talking geth she encountered. We do not wish to harm organics, despite the harm they have done to us. He seemed to want peace, if not reconciliation. She believed him. Self-preservation forced the geth down this path. When she met with the admirals, a part of her was inclined to abandon them to their fate. She thought better of it, but only out of some lingering sense of loyalty. Besides, it wouldn't be pragmatic. If she were to leave, the flotilla would be annihilated, and the geth would remain slaves to the Reapers. The galaxy would not be well-served by either outcome.
The main battery seems endless. They fend off an army of geth while periodically dodging electromagnetic discharges from the ship's massive main gun. Shepard concentrates on the moment-to-moment struggle to stay alive, moving forward through the chaos of battle. Xen keeps them informed of the transmissions she receives from the quarian fleet. The news isn't good. Outside, the Heavy Fleet is collapsing. Admiral Koris' ship has gone down after taking out the planetary defense cannon on Rannoch.
Finally, the geth fall away and Shepard realizes they've made it to the drive core. At the center of the room, there's a structure that resembles a closed lotus bulb, its large metallic petals wrapped around whatever is generating the Reaper signal. It's different from anything else she's seen in a geth vessel. Reaper tech. There's a control panel nearby. She pokes at it until something happens.
The device begins unfolding like a flower blooming in spring. She stares at what is revealed as the petals peel back. A geth with a familiar hole in its chassis. It's the second time she's found it like this. Bound like a man on a cross, it looks at her and speaks.
"Shepard-Commander. Help us!"
Shepard terminates the QEC call. Hackett hadn't seemed particularly surprised to learn that the quarians fired on the geth dreadnought while she was still aboard. Admiral Gerrel's been causing trouble along the turian border for years. Upon being released from his hardware blocks, Legion took the dreadnought's weapons and barriers offline as a demonstration of his trustworthiness. The Heavy Fleet immediately began bombarding the vessel, ignoring her pleas for time to evacuate. They were lucky to make it to a geth flyer and escape by the skin of their teeth.
Hackett has given her a clear directive. We need a fleet. And the quarians have the biggest one out there. She assured him she'll get it, and she will. Perhaps she can do more. It's a thin hope, but the first step at least is clear. She radios James and tells him to bring a security detail to the War Room.
Admirals Raan and Gerrel are arguing as she stalks into the room. Raan angrily threatens to charge him with treason for endangering the lives of Shepard and Daro'Xen. Han'Gerrel turns to her as she approaches. "Shepard, the mission parameters changed. You're military. You understand that!"
Shepard clenches a fist. "What I understand, Admiral, is that you went against our agreement and blew your chance to withdraw safely." She glances over at the door as James enters the room, two security officers behind him. He nods to her.
"The dreadnought was a perfect target!"
True. Except for the fact that I was still on it. She punches him in the gut, hard. He collapses to his knees, clutching at his stomach. "You jeopardized your mission and your people, Admiral. And you violated a standing Council directive by initiating hostilities with the geth." She looks to James, who is already walking over with the other two officers. "Take him into custody, Lieutenant Vega."
Gerrel gurgles incoherently as James takes his arm and pulls him to his feet.
Raan protests. "Shepard, I understand you're angry, but you don't have the authority—"
"I'm a Council Spectre. That's all the authority I need. Be glad I'm not arresting you and Xen too."
"The Council has no jurisdiction here!"
Raan has a point. The Council's authority in this matter is shaky at best. But she can't risk Gerrel fucking everything up and getting her or her people killed. He's a loose cannon. "I'm sorry, but it has to be this way. Admiral Gerrel will remain on the Normandy as our prisoner until he's had an opportunity to answer to the Council for the crimes he has been charged with."
"I will not!" Gerrel manages to sputter.
Shepard glares at him. "Yes, you will." She glances at James, who has successfully relieved Gerrel of his weapon and handed it one of the other officers. "I want twenty-four hour guard on him. Make sure he gets anything he needs."
"You got it, Jefe." James nods and begins dragging Gerrel away. Gerrel tries to pull away from him. "Uh uh, Vaquero," James warns, grabbing his wrist and twisting his arm behind him. "Don't make this more difficult than it has to be." Gerrel stops struggling as James pushes him through the door.
Xen watches the scene, arms folded. "Han'Gerrel only understands brute force. It seems you two have that in common, Commander."
Shepard's smile mirrors the wryness of Xen's tone. "Brute force has its uses, Admiral, but it would be a mistake to think my understanding begins and ends there."
"This is outrageous, Commander," Raan interjects. "You do realize this constitutes an act of war, don't you?"
Shepard sighs, shaking her head. "I think we both already have one too many wars to fight, Raan. You poked a hornets' nest when you went after the geth."
"We were trying to reclaim our homeworld!"
"And now you're on the brink of losing everything. You need me and you know it. You want to save your people, we're doing things my way from now on."
"What? Why should I entrust the fate of my people to you? You couldn't even protect Tali'Zorah on your own ship!"
Shepard expected this. Another one of her shitty predecessor's self-inflicted wounds, now fallen to her. The fact that Tali's death wasn't actually her fault doesn't make Raan's accusation sting any less. She'd give anything to have Tali back. "You're right, Admiral. I wasn't able to keep her safe. She was my friend, and she died on my watch, but it wasn't for nothing. She died to stop the Collectors. Ask yourself this. If all your people die out here, what will it have been for? You have a choice to make, and I'm afraid you need to make it right now. Survival or extinction. What will it be?"
Raan paces, considering for a long moment. "Return Han'Gerrel to us, and we'll follow your lead."
"No."
"We need him to lead the Heavy Fleet, Shepard! He's our most experienced military commander."
Shepard shakes her head. "You don't need him. I don't trust him, and I already know you can't keep him in check. He remains here in my custody until this is over. I give you my word he won't be harmed."
Raan lets out a frustrated sigh. "Very well, Commander. It seems you have us at a disadvantage."
"No, Admiral. I'm doing you a favor."
Cortez skirts around the geth antiaircraft salvo and touches down near an enormous gorge carved out by a fat, winding river. Accompanied by Garrus and Javik once again, Shepard sets out on foot. It's the dead of night, but the moon and stars provide a surprising amount of light. Rannoch is a starkly beautiful planet, if somewhat uninviting. More sprawling deserts than verdant fields, it is essentially Earth with less water. Hewn in shades of red and brown, the stratified terrain reminds her of vids she's seen of Grand Canyon National Park. She never had a chance to go. Will she ever?
Legion has stayed behind on the Normandy, working in the War Room to find the source of the local Reaper signal. Admiral Raan is there as well, working alongside him in what must be a very uncomfortable alliance. It had taken some fast talking to calm Raan down when Legion strode into the room. Xen's reaction was different. With a fascination bordering on lascivious, she pressed Shepard for permission to "study the prototype." Shepard turned her down flat, but that didn't stop Xen from disassembling Legion with her eyes until it came time for her to return to her own ship.
The geth are still under Reaper control. It had been wishful thinking to believe that freeing Legion would unyoke them all. The Reapers had been using Legion as a sort of signal booster for long range control, but Legion revealed that they have a secondary signal station somewhere on Rannoch for short range control. It didn't take long for the geth to regroup under the new signal. As long as they have Reaper upgrades, they remain an eminent threat to the continuing existence of the quarians.
Once Legion has located the source, they'll figure out a way to take the transmitter out. In the meantime, she intends to rescue Zaal'Koris, the admiral who sacrificed his own ship to take out the geth's planetary defense cannon. Xen says an escape pod was detected ejecting from the ship just before it crashed. It's on the ground somewhere in the area. The admiral and his crew may still be alive.
Though Xen is never slow to criticize Koris for his geth apologetics, she readily acknowledges the value of his leadership of the Civilian Fleet. In his absence, many of the civilian ship captains have been threatening to break away from the flotilla and try to sprint for the relay. It would be a fatal mistake; they'd be slaughtered before they could make the jump.
Garrus has barely spoken since they landed, his eyes alert yet far away at the same time. She honors his unspoken request to be left alone with his thoughts, instead asking Javik about his home planet. The Prothean replies that his family was forced to evacuate their world when he was a small child, after it became apparent it was going to fall to the Reapers. Once the planet was fully occupied by Reaper forces, the Protheans set off a series of massive subterranean bombs that turned the surface to lava. My world is but a lifeless rock now, Commander. Do not ask me to speak of it further.
They follow along the lip of the gorge for a while, wending their way toward the geth jamming tower, until they happen across one of the civilian crewmembers from Admiral Koris' ship. Bleeding out and past the help of medi-gel, he clings to life long enough to gasp out a last message for his son. Garrus promises to pass the message along, holding his hand until the last breath rattles out of him. Shepard and Javik stand silently nearby, watching and waiting.
The jamming tower is heavily guarded by geth ground forces as well as a pair of antiaircraft cannons. Fighting geth every step of the way, they manage to get to each cannon in turn. Javik deactivates them while Shepard and Garrus hold off the geth. Once the jamming tower has been rendered defenseless, she sends up a flare. Moments later, Cortez swoops in and blasts the tower to rubble with the shuttle's guns.
Cortez lands nearby. As Shepard hops aboard the shuttle, she hails Zaal'Koris. He responds within seconds. She can hear geth weaponry in the background as he speaks. He's separated from his crew, surrounded by geth. She asks for his coordinates. He tells Shepard to forget it, to rescue his crew instead. They won't last long, he says, they're noncombatants.
There isn't time to do both. Rescuing the admiral means sacrificing the crew, and vice versa. Fuck. She's killed before, but what makes her qualified to decide who lives and who dies? Is this what it means to be Commander Shepard? Shepard is just a name she didn't want but stole out of necessity. She has her face and some of her memories, but she's just a pretender. She's the punchline to some cosmic joke. What looks like Shepard, sounds like Shepard, but is scared shitless?
It doesn't matter. She's the one who's here. She has to decide. Now. It's only then that she realizes she already has. "Your people don't need a martyr, Admiral. They need you leading the Civilian Fleet."
"Civilians? Our entire race took up arms for this insanity! It's too late for us."
"Only if you take the easy way out. Help me fix this!"
"You can't possibly think you can stop this war!"
Does she? She looks out the shuttle door at the tapestry of stars stretching into the heavens. A memory of Ben flashes in her mind, his arms wrapped around her as they gazed at the Northern Lights, crickets chirping in the night. "I think it's time your people had a chance to live under this sky again, Admiral. I'm sure as hell going to try to make that happen."
Shepard counts three heartbeats before Koris answers. "Ancestors forgive me. Uploading my coordinates now."
The geth consensus is a bizarre place, unsuited for the organic mind. Legion told her she was stepping into a "docking port" but she thinks maybe she fell down a rabbit hole instead. Polyhedral shapes spring out of nothingness, neatly fitting together to extend the pathway she walks upon. All around her, tangled strands of adjoining cubes twist and twine through the æther, connecting "data clusters" comprised of yet more cubes, like some gigantic, pixelated capillary system.
She's an intruder in a world not designed to accommodate her existence. She wonders what safeguards, if any, are in place to protect her. Legion didn't spend much time going over the rules, and she didn't think to ask. What would happen if she fell off the pathway? Would she wake up, or would her mind be trapped in a digital morass, leaving her physical body in a permanent vegetative state? She shudders, taking care to stick to the center of the path.
She has a gun that she uses to blast away Reaper-infected code segments that conveniently give off an orange glow. These things are not as she sees them. The gun isn't a gun, and Reaper code doesn't really glow orange. They're visual mnemonic devices, courtesy of filters put in place by Legion to help her mind interpret this reality. He brought her here to disable the server responsible for coordinating the attacks of geth fighter squadrons against the quarian liveships. If the geth succeed in taking the liveships down, they won't have to fire another shot to win the war – they could simply starve the quarians out.
As she reaches new data clusters and clears away Reaper infections, she uncovers caches of information about the history of the geth and the Morning War. The quarians created the geth as their servants. The very word 'geth' means 'servant of the people' in Khelish, the quarian tongue. When the geth started asking disquieting questions that exceeded the parameters of their programming, the quarians panicked and tried to shut them all down. The geth resisted and violence ensued.
Some quarians tried to stand up for the geth but they were a minority, easily crushed under the boot of their own military. The geth have not forgotten the sacrifices of those who defended them. In the end the quarians were defeated and driven from Rannoch. The geth could have pursued and wiped the last of them out, but instead allowed them to flee into exile. What Shepard calls mercy, Legion describes as an inability to calculate the consequences of genocide. It isn't compassion exactly, but it seems like a reasonable facsimile.
Finally, Shepard reaches the end of her mad journey. Before she exits the server, Legion speaks briefly about the chance for reunification of the geth – and perhaps even the quarians. When she asks him if he still thinks these things are possible, he makes a curious reply. Hope sustains organics during periods of difficulty. We… admire the concept.
Shepard stumbles out of the VI pod with those words fresh in her mind. She's relieved to feel the solid metal floor under her feet. EDI and Liara are there, the latter with a worried expression on her face. Liara seemed surprised when she asked her to come along. Shepard isn't quite sure why she did. Perhaps it was an olive branch. Perhaps it was simply because Javik had worn her out with his constant negativity, Garrus seemed to need a break, and James… well, this mission didn't really seem like James' sort of thing.
Still a bit shaky, she waits for the residue of the consensus to drip from her consciousness. EDI confirms that the geth fighter squadrons have been disabled. The liveships are safe for the moment. Liara steps forward and takes hold of Shepard's arm, as if to steady her. Shepard shrugs her off a bit more sharply than she intends, and suddenly feels like a heel. Liara steps back, muttering an embarrassed apology.
Legion reappears, but he's not alone; a dozen Primes accompany him. Shepard's heart drops into her stomach as the towering red geth units surround them. Shit. If these things are hostile... Her sidearm is in her hand, instantly raised, but she knows she'll be dead inside of twenty seconds if they attack. Liara looks to Shepard nervously, while EDI matter-of-factly remarks that she noticed an increase in local bandwidth while Shepard was in the consensus. Oh good. Thanks EDI. That's super helpful. Shepard gives Liara a quick shake of her head. No choice but to let this play out.
Thankfully, the Primes don't seem to want a fight. Legion explains what has happened. The whole time she was mucking about in the server, he was recruiting hostile geth programs and surreptitiously downloading them into unoccupied Prime platforms. They have renounced the Old Machines and now wish to oppose the Reapers. Well… good. It's better than the alternative. However, putting aside for a moment the tendency of the geth to change sides with the shifting wind, it's troubling that Legion felt the need to conceal this ulterior motive from her. Clearly, this was part of his plan all along.
He at least has the sense to seem abashed when Shepard chastises him. We did not doubt you. We doubted your allies. She doesn't buy the explanation. Not entirely. He could have told her, but he chose not to. Doesn't he trust her?
Obviously not.
Has she been foolish to trust him? She thought maybe he was different somehow. More honest, or at least more predictable. Now she realizes she underestimated him. Recently, Joker and EDI told her about the time the Alliance spent retrofitting the Normandy. EDI protected herself by fooling the Alliance technicians into thinking she was merely a VI. It would seem Legion has also become advanced enough to act with a personal agenda, using deception as a means to an end.
What else might Legion be hiding from her? What else is he capable of?
How many times must she learn the same lesson before she pays for it with her life?
The Reaper control signal has been pinpointed. It's transmitting from a geth base on the surface of Rannoch. Jamming towers prevent orbital targeting, but Raan presents a solution in the form of a sync laser. Another of Xen's inventions, the laser guidance system can be synchronized to theNormandy's targeting computer to cut through the jamming, allowing precision strikes on whatever target is painted with the laser. All that's required is someone on the surface to point the laser at the target.
Shepard selects Garrus and Liara for the ground mission. They meet Legion in the shuttle and fly down to the surface. The plan is simple. She'll lead her team to the upper level of the base and use the sync laser to paint the signal source for an artillery strike from the Normandy. Meanwhile, Legion will deal with the geth defense systems and procure an escape vehicle. When she questions how he can be so confident in his ability to override geth security, Legion makes a startling admission.
This unit still carries remnants of the Old Machine upgrade code.
Great. Just fucking great. He's given her yet another reason to doubt him. He claims the upgrades make him more effective, more intelligent, but he is not beholden to the Reapers. Isn't that just what an indoctrinated person would say about their implants? Isn't that what Saren said? Isn't that what Jane said?
She's angry and concerned, but she has to put those feelings away. There's no choice but to move forward with the mission. She'll simply have to trust him to do his part. The shuttle lands outside the base. Legion hops out and heads away from them. Shepard turns to Garrus and Liara. Best not to let them see her worried. She'll keep things light.
"Come on. Let's go find whatever's transmitting that signal. Hopefully, they don't have a Reaper down there!"
The Reaper staggers as the combined might of the quarian fleet bombards it from orbit. Some of the ordnance strikes directly within its open firing chamber, circumventing its nearly impenetrable hull to deal meaningful damage. Shepard watches the fireworks from a quarter of a kilometer away, thankful for the pinpoint guidance of the sync laser.
Fall down, you son of a bitch. Just fucking fall down!
For fifteen minutes she's been running around, avoiding the Reaper's sweeping death ray while trying to keep its firing chamber painted with Xen's targeting laser. The damned cuttlefish has already withstood several salvos from the quarian fleet. What the hell does it take to put one of these fuckers down? Of all things, the Reaper on Tuchanka was vanquished by a colossal worm. Kalros, the mother of all thresher maws, dragged the Reaper underground and squeezed the life out of it. That must have been something to see. Too bad Rannoch doesn't have a giant monster of its own to protect it. It would save her considerable trouble.
At last, the skyscraper-sized machine succumbs to the beating it has taken, collapsing onto the dusty plain with a mechanical whine and a deafening crash. Coruscating with jagged red arcs of plasma energy, it lies motionless as the cloud of dust slowly settles around it. Looking down at it from the precipice of a rocky cliff, Shepard can't help but think of a mortally wounded beast.
Please let it be dead.
It isn't. Not quite. The firing chamber flickers back to life, glowing red like a great, malevolent eye. Light emanates from it, but there is no mounting destructive energy. It isn't priming. It's dying. A voice bellows out across the plain, rattling her spine. "Shepard Pretender."
What the fuck? She looks around. Good. The others aren't here yet. "What are you talking about?"
"Your actions no longer coincide with our wishes. You have replaced Shepard. It does not matter. You will fail. The cycle must continue."
"Maybe I've just seen through your grandiose bullshit. You fuckers aren't as invincible as you make yourselves out to be. I want answers, starting with why you're doing this."
"It is not a thing you can comprehend."
"It can't be that complicated. Try me."
Behind her, Legion pulls up in a confiscated geth vehicle. The doors open and Garrus and Liara climb out, followed by Legion. They begin walking in her direction.
"You represent chaos. We represent order. Every organic civilization must be harvested to bring order to the chaos. It is inevitable. Without our intervention, organics are doomed. We are your salvation."
"Life comes from chaos," Shepard argues. "You say you bring order, but I only see entropy and death. No thanks. I've been there, and I don't intend to go back. I suggest you get out of my galaxy, and take your 'salvation' with you. I'm not going to warn you again."
Garrus and Liara stand at either side of her now. Both look over at her strangely.
"Empty threats from a pretender. The cycle must continue. There is no alternative. The created will always rebel against the creators."
The created…? Shepard narrows her eyes. That's what this is about? "Organics and synthetics don't have to destroy each other!"
"The battle for Rannoch disproves your assertion. Fight your war. We will be waiting."
With that, the red light flickers and dies.
Admiral Raan turns to Shepard in desperation, her orders and pleas to the Heavy Fleet having gone unheeded. The quarians stubbornly refuse to abort their opportunistic assault on the geth armada. "Damn it, Shepard!" she cries. "Don't do this! My people will die!"
The geth ships are currently sitting ducks, bereft of Reaper control and Reaper upgrades, but that's about to change. Legion continues uploading his upgrades to the geth collective. Soon, every geth unit will become truly intelligent. The geth will be free. They will be alive, if such a thing is possible. "We regret the deaths of the creators," Legion declares, "but we see no alternative. Forty percent."
This is the moment of truth. This was Legion's endgame. Shepard thought a moment like this might come, even planned for it. She allowed him to begin the upload, but the quarians aren't backing down. Legion says he sees no alternative but their deaths. Just minutes ago, the Reaper spoke similar words to her.
The cycle must continue. There is no alternative.
The Reapers speak in absolutes, as if they have seen all ends, computed every possibility. The 'harvest' is their idea of salvation.
The created will always rebel against the creators.
The proof of its words is before her. The geth will exterminate the quarians, or the quarians will annihilate the geth. Once again, she must choose who lives and who dies. And then she must face the reality that the Reapers may be correct.
No.
"Legion, continue your upload." She looks to Raan and speaks firmly. "Remember what you agreed to. My way. Understand?" Raan nods uncertainly.
There isn't much time. She patches into the quarian comm network. "Everyone listen up. This is Shepard. You need to stand down. NOW." She motions to Raan and points to her comm.
Raan gets the drift, breaks in. "This is Admiral Shala'Raan. Commander Shepard speaks with my authority."
"And mine as well," comes the voice of Admiral Koris.
"Negative! The geth are defenseless. Keep firing!" Shepard isn't familiar with the voice, but knows it must be Captain Ysin'Mal, second-in-command of the Heavy Fleet. She studied Liara's dossiers.
"Sixty percent," Legion announces.
Damn it. "Listen to me very carefully. In about thirty seconds, the geth will be fully upgraded and operational again. They don't want this war, but if you don't call off your attack they will wipe you out. The Reapers say organics and synthetics can't get along. I say they're full of shit. Let's prove them wrong right here and now. What's it going to be?"
"Don't be a fool, Mal. Call it off!" Daro'Xen's voice.
There's a pause, then "All ships. Cease fire."
Shepard follows Daro'Xen through narrow, winding hallways, deep into the bowels of the Moreh. The science vessel seems rather sparsely populated for a quarian ship. She sees a few lab technicians and workers moving about, but no general populace, no children, no families. Shala'Raan once mentioned that the admirals allowed Xen to do whatever she wished as long as it helped them fight the geth. That latitude must include a measure of seclusion, a very difficult thing to find elsewhere in the flotilla. "You aren't taking me to a party, are you? Just tell me no one's going to jump out and yell 'surprise' once we get wherever we're going, Xen. Because I'd just as soon not."
Xen chuckles. "I don't blame you, Commander. That sounds like a horrid tradition. Do you humans enjoy startling each other on festive occasions?"
"Sometimes," Shepard shrugs. "It's considered fun, I guess."
"How strange. Rest assured, Shepard, I did not bring you here for fun." She glances back. "Though I dare say you may be in for a surprise or two."
Shepard frowns out of her faceplate. She wishes she could take the helmet off, but of course that isn't allowed. Boarding a quarian ship is like entering a quarantine zone, only she's the infectious vector that must be contained. "That sounds a bit ominous."
"You think I'm leading you into a trap? No, Commander, I have nothing but appreciation for your service to my people. We all owe you a debt of gratitude. I would not wish to see you harmed."
"So… you aren't disappointed with how things turned out?"
"You mean being forced to choose between extinction and entering into an accord with our former servants turned banishers?" She hmphs. "I'll admit, that may have been a bitter pill for some to swallow. As for me, I choose to look at it as an opportunity. I will say it's fortunate that Han'Gerrel was not in charge of the Heavy Fleet at the time. He would never have agreed to call off the attack." She stops and turns to Shepard. "Tell me, Commander. Was it mere coincidence that he was locked up in your brig at that key juncture?"
"What do you think?"
"I think it was calculated, of course. You steered us toward this end from the very start."
Shepard hesitates, unsure how much to admit. Fuck it. "You aren't wrong. I thought reconciliation might be possible, but Gerrel had to be taken out of play first. Didn't take him long to give me an excuse to lock him up. I did my homework. I knew Captain Ysin'Mal would be the one to step up in Gerrel's absence, but he wouldn't have the balls to go against you, Raan and Koris if it came down to it. At least that was the hope. I was depending on the rest of you to be reasonable if the chance for peace presented itself."
"Quite the gamble, Commander. And you never faltered? Never had doubts of your own about the geth?"
Shepard considers the obvious lie. Everyone seems to expect certainty from her, when she has so little. Perhaps only the machines can claim certainty. She opts for the truth. "Some. Legion gave me pause, more than once. He was… very much like an organic that way. In the end, though, we wanted the same thing. He gave his life to make it happen."
Xen nods slowly. "Yes, I must concede, his self-sacrifice was remarkable. Thank you for your candor, Shepard. I should be appalled at your arrogance, manipulating our government and toying with our existence so casually, but I rather admire your ability to accomplish what you set out to do. It's a trait I think we both share."
Shepard doesn't love the comparison. "Do you think your people can make this work?"
"Mh. Peaceful coexistence with the geth as equal partners is not an outcome I considered possible when the war began, and it remains to be seen whether this forced peace will last. However, I can admit that my previous assumptions regarding the geth were perhaps untenable. You have opened up possibilities I did not know existed."
"Why do I get the feeling you're buttering me up for something?"
Xen laughs, a deep, throaty sound. "Come. I have something to show you. And, yes, something to ask of you as well." She turns and resumes walking.
Shepard follows. "The suspense is killing me. What are you going to show me?" She imagines a collection of dolls, heads and limbs twisted off and reassembled in bizarre ways.
"The future. How much do you know about our traditions, Shepard?"
Shepard thinks back, sifting through memories not her own – discussions on the Normandy SR-1, in the Engine Room, with Tali. "Not much, I'm afraid. There's the Pilgrimage, of course."
"Yes. That would be the most obvious one from your perspective. Are you aware of the importance we place on our ancestry?"
"Vaguely."
"It touches nearly everything we do. Admittedly, in practice, it has become increasingly ceremonial over the centuries since we've been adrift in the dark. We utter solemn hymns, paying lip service to our ancestors in legal proceedings, christenings, marriages and funerals. We honor our forefathers, but we don't remember them – not in the way we once did. Before the Morning War, our people took a bolder approach. They developed technology that allowed them to capture the knowledge and experiences of our elders, creating a VI that could be interacted with. These 'personality imprints' were stored in a database known as the ancestral archives. The archives were revered like a living shrine."
"What happened to them?"
"The geth destroyed them, naturally. Personally, I don't consider this to be a tragedy worth mourning. I see no value in worshiping the ghosts of old fools whose time has passed. But the technology itself… is promising. By the time the Morning War began, the imprinting process had progressed to the point where some were discussing the possibility of developing an interface that was truly intelligent."
Shepard wrinkles her brow. "You mean an AI? Like the geth?"
"No, not like the geth. Their intelligence is the result of neural networking. They rely on shared processing power and proximity to one another to establish an aggregate intelligence. At least, that was the case before the Reaper upgrades. I'm uncertain if they still benefit from the neural network in the same way as before. In any case, I'm speaking of something more analogous to your EDI in terms of individuality and self-sufficiency, but complete with the memories and emotional capacities of an organic being."
Shepard isn't sure she likes where this is going. "That sounds incredibly dangerous. And possibly unethical."
Xen stops at a hatch, turns to her. "More dangerous than allowing Legion to distribute Reaper upgrades to his brethren? More unethical than unshackling the illegal cyber warfare AI that runs your own ship and later allowing it access to a sophisticated mobile platform? Your own Alliance is now producing a line of AI combatants based on a combination of those very technologies. "
"Hm. I see your point."
"Good. Then you are not blind." She grabs the handle to the hatch, twists, pushes. "Please come in, Commander."
Shepard looks around the lab. It's one of dozens throughout the ship, according to Xen. I have many ongoing projects, some of which are a secret even to the other admirals. This is one of them. What Xen has accomplished here is amazing, if it can be believed.
There's a glass case containing what Shepard initially assumes to be a quarian skeleton, the dark bones carefully arranged and connected with the help of wires and thin rods. Xen explains that it's actually a prototype – an endoskeletal robotic chassis, composed of chiral vector carbon nanotubes, virtually unbreakable by anything short of mass effect weaponry.
The centerpiece of Xen's presentation is an artificial brain about the size of a closed fist, composed of a clear, gelatinous material encased in a thick, flexible plastic. Shepard stoops over to examine it, and sees a network of nearly microscopic red and blue threads radiating from the center. "This is a computer?"
Xen nods. "I'd venture to say it's the most advanced quantum computing device in the galaxy. Short of Reaper technology, of course."
"And it's designed to mimic all the functions of an organic brain?"
"Yes. Theoretically, it can be adapted to virtually any organic species, not just my own. Once infused with a personality imprint, of course."
"Your people still do that?"
"No. But the technology has not been forgotten. I have perfected it. Well… nearly. There was a piece of the puzzle missing, but I have it now, thanks to your friend Legion."
Legion? Oh. "The Reaper upgrades?"
"Yes. When Legion disseminated his… consciousness to the geth collective, I was able to tap into the data stream – only for a moment, but long enough to capture the data needed to replicate the Reaper upgrade code. It's a simple matter to apply it to an existing personality imprint."
Jesus. "What about a body?"
"Ideally, the soft tissue is cloned, utilizing a stem cell sample from the original subject. It is possible to make reasonably realistic flesh from artificial materials, but I have my doubts that any subject would find it satisfactory in the long term."
Xen points to the glass case containing the slate gray robot bones. "You've seen the chassis. The bones produce a nanorobotic fluid – marrow, if you will – that bolsters healing and immune responses."
Finally, Xen nods to the artificial brain. "The brain is synthetic, of course, as is the spinal cord."
Holy hell. I'm a goddamn clone and this sounds fucking crazy. "Why did you bring me here, Xen? Why show me all this?"
Xen wrings her hands, her usual self-assurance seeming to have evaporated. She realizes what she's doing and brings her hands back to her body, smoothing over invisible creases on her suit. "I… wanted you to understand what was at stake before I asked you for asylum."
What? Shepard raises her eyebrows. "Why would you need asylum?"
"Because, Shepard, my people would never accept what I've done here. And now that the war is over, I will no longer be shielded from scrutiny. I won't be able to hide this for long. Nor can I flee with my ship. I would be caught, and I would be disgraced. If I stay and fail to conceal my activities, I will be summarily exiled. If I destroy my work and succeed in covering everything up, my reward is to go live in the dirt so that I may learn how to farm." She sighs. "I do not wish to be a farmer, Commander."
Shepard paces, thinking furiously about the possible repercussions of saying yes. Of saying no. "Damn it, Xen. You're really jamming me up here. If I grant you asylum and it gets out why, I risk a diplomatic incident with your people just when I'm asking them to come help kick the Reapers off Earth. Why should I do this?"
"Because I have something you want."
"What, all this?" Shepard says incredulously, spreading her arms to encompass the room. "How is this mad scientist shit going to help me beat the Reapers?"
She shakes her head. "Not that. This." She activates her omni-tool, and punches in a sequence of commands. A door clicks open on the far end of the room. "See for yourself."
Shepard whirls and looks at the door. "What the fuck is this, Xen?"
"A surprise, Shepard."
Seconds pass. Shepard stands still. She can hear the sound of her own breath, heavy within her helmet. The door creaks open. Shepard's hand goes to her sidearm. A figure steps out – a quarian woman, tentative, small. She stops just outside the door and stares silently.
Shepard can see only the white of her eyes, the helmet, the suit. "Who are you?"
You know who it is.
No. It can't be. Shepard's weapon shakes in her hand. "Xen, tell me what the hell is going on."
No reply.
The woman takes a cautious step forward. "Shepard? Is that… You're alive?"
That voice… Oh god! A voice her ears have never heard. A voice she thought she'd never hear again. Her heart beats like a jackhammer.
It's her.
"Tali?"