Downfall
Chapter Four: Answers
Zakera Ward, Citadel – four days later
"It's not easy to forget, is it?"
Liara turned a thoughtful gaze to Garrus as the Turian spoke, noting the weariness etched into his face – a weariness and exhaustion that hadn't been there a few weeks ago. They now sat in the hub of the Silversun Strip – before Sovereign's attack on the Citadel, one of the most luxurious parts of the entire station. Now, the strip was a shadow of its former self, its epic glass skyscrapers charred and damaged by debris and weaponry during the attack. Though the streets were once again clean to walk on, large chunks of wreckage continued to litter the area. Still, the strip was slowly stirring back to life, with restaurants and theatres gradually reopening themselves to the world as repairs continued.
"No," Liara sighed simply, "it isn't." She tilted her head, "you too?"
Garrus nodded, "it's strange. I should have a focus – Spectre training should do that, but it isn't. It feels," he paused for a moment, collecting his thought, "hollow, almost empty, like the core of it has been torn out." He spun his fork in his food, willing himself to eat yet unable to do so, "something's missing with Shepard gone."
"What do you mean?"
"After my father vetoed the possibility of receiving special training when I was in the Blackwatch, I thought that chapter of my life was closed," Garrus mused, "but Shepard reopened it. I was only in a place where the training was a possibility because of Shepard. And not just because we defeated Saren and made a name for ourselves in Citadel space. For the first time in a long time, there was purpose – a direction."
"Shepard had a way of instilling that in us," Liara said softly, forcing her tears to remain beneath her eyes.
"It's strange. I've spent my entire life being hamstrung by obstacles and restrictions. Shepard made me see past that – see that I could be of value to the universe, leave it a brighter place than I found it. Spectre training should simply be a continuation of that. But it isn't. It feels directionless without him there, almost like there are other things I should be doing."
"I understand, Garrus. I don't have the answers, but I understand." Liara smiled weakly as she felt the same feelings of weariness and weakness flow through her. "Any word from the rest of the Normandy survivors?"
"Very little. I bumped into Kaidan three days ago, but he seems to be filled up with assignments and missions from the Alliance – they're keeping him very busy. Most of the rest of the surviving crew is awaiting reassignment – some have already been redeployed." Garrus sniffed with bemusement, "it's almost like they're trying to make the Normandy go away, pretend it never happened."
"But why?"
"Human quirk, or so I've been told. They jump into moments of euphoria much more readily than Turians or Asari do, but then jump out just as aggressively."
"But Shepard wasn't like that – he was measured, and reserved, and hesitant."
"He wasn't exactly an ordinary Human though, was he?"
"No, I suppose he wasn't." Liara sighed again, "and now even his body has disappeared. We don't even have anything to remember him by – just a few pieces of charred armour." She looked at Garrus, the muted panic still clear in her eyes, "what happened to him?"
"I wish I knew, Liara. My contact networks aren't what they used to be – too many C-SEC agents died in Sovereign's attack on the Citadel."
All their conversations since the reading of Shepard's will had gone like this – always dodging around the question of where Shepard's body was, if it still existed, or who had it.
"I know, it's just-, I even just wish I could close that chapter. If this is the end of our story, I want to be able to end it on my own terms.
Garrus glanced around the Silversun Strip, craning his neck to the sky for a moment, "I need to get back to Spectre headquarters – they expected me a half-hour ago." He tapped his omnitool and quickly paid his bill, leaving his food half-unfinished. "take care of yourself, Liara."
"Thank you Garrus, I will."
Liara stared off into the distance as Garrus departed from her table, watching as he hailed a cab that would take him back to Spectre headquarters further up the Wards. She suddenly felt tired – tired of not knowing the answers to the questions that burned in her heart, tired of feeling as if her own life was spiraling out of her control. Everything seemed to be falling apart – the crew of the Normandy, the final wish of closure, even Garrus's Spectre Training – and she didn't know how to stop it.
Liara pondered the strange circumstances she found herself in as she paid for her meal and departed for the Citadel's rapid transit. Asari were taught from birth about the mortality of everything around them – a product of their thousand-year lifespans. All relationships that they treasured would end well before their time came. Be they Human, Salarian, Turian, or even Krogan, those whom an Asari held dear to her would depart this universe before them in all but a handful of circumstances. Hold onto them while they last, she'd been told, and treasure them while they exist. View every relationship within its context, but be adept and ready to depart form it when its time is up. This was the way of the world, but it was one that Liara was having a difficult time accepting.
But our time wasn't up, Liara thought to herself mournfully as she boarded the Citadel shuttle. It was taken from us – he was taken from the world, from me. It would be different if this was the end of a long journey, but it isn't. It was a journey cut short by fate.
Liara sat in silence until she reached the stop by her hotel in the Shalta Ward, quietly thanking the driver as she disembarked. She looked up at the crumbling façade of the building, sighing to herself as she entered the lobby. It was abuzz with activity but she paid it no mind, making quickly for the elevator and blocking the door when others tried to join her. She took a moment to try and collect herself as she ascended to the twelfth floor, yet succeeded only in bringing more tears to her eyes.
I cannot go on like this, she thought to herself, it will be the death of me.
She slowly walked down the hall to her room, hearing her footsteps echo through the empty chamber as she did. The building was old, even by Citadel standards, and it showed in the peeling paint and rusted metal that lined the walls. She would never have been caught dead here normally, but the damage to the Presidium meant that the high-end accommodation on the Zakera Ward was booked for months. Besides, the scratched and scarred interiors of this place fit the aura of malaise that seemed to have hung over her these past weeks.
Liara reached the door to her room and quickly opened it, crossing the threshold quickly and leaving it to silently close behind her. She made her way to the windows, staring blankly out of their faded glass to see the still-wrecked vantage of the Citadel unfolding below her.
Why did you have to die? She asked herself, why was it you that had to rescue the last of them? She knew the answer all the same: it was part of who Shepard was. She'd always known that he would be the last off his ship if it were to go down in flames. That dedication and willingness to die was part of why she'd loved him, but it was far too painful now to have lost him because of it.
Her back stood on edge as she heard the door open behind her. She spun as if on a knife-edge, ready to unleash her full anger on whichever of the hotel's staff had dared ignore her order.
Her confidence faltered as she beheld the figure in front of her. A lone Salarian stood in the doorway, covered from neck-to-toe in combat armour the colour of fine obsidian, with a gold lining that glinted off the edges of the armour and ran down the chestplate. Liara could see a heavy military background in the way he stood, and she noted two weapons clipped into his waistbelt – one of them was definitely a pistol, but the other was unrecognizable. Even in his armour, she could tell that he was more powerfully built than the average Salarian, yet his frame still looked wiry enough that he would be an opponent of considerable agility and skill. More unsettlingly, his jet-black eyes seemed intently fixed on her, almost as if she were a specimen in a lab.
Or a target.
"May I enter?" he asked simply. Something about the tone suggested he was not here to kill her. Hesitating a moment, Liara nodded. "You are Doctor Liara T'Soni, formerly of the SSV Normandy, are you not?"
"I am."
"Your commander perished in the frigate's destruction – one John C. Shepard," the Salarian noted, his words flowing crisply. He cocked his head to the side, "I understand that the two of you were close."
"We were," Liara whispered almost to herself.
"I see," the Salarian paused, "I am sorry for your loss."
"And who are you?"
"A colleague of Commander Shepard - of a sort" he responded, taking a step into the hotel room. "My name is Jondum Bau, Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch."
"You're a Spectre?" Liara had to admit that he looked the part. Even from this distance, she could see his mind at work. He seemed to notice everything – his eyes darted across the room, hovering in any one space for only a moment before his gaze shifted elsewhere.
Jondum simply nodded, "I never had the pleasure of working with Shepard. My duties frequently take me into the Terminus Systems, well beyond the domain of most Spectres."
Liara's eyes widened, "you're on of the Arbiters?" Jondum simply nodded. "Then what are you here for? Surely not just to pay your condolences to a mourning Asari?"
Jondum reached to his omnitool and quickly keyed something in. The door immediately sealed behind him, the light on its indicator switching to the red 'locked' position. The windows behind Liara shifted, blocking out virtually all light and humming with a strange glow. As he walked towards her, Jondum placed a small object on the island of the room's cramped kitchen; Liara watched with fascination as the device lit up and began to send a pattern of lights across the ceiling.
"What is-,"
"I'm never entirely sure who is trying to track me. Caution is the better part of wisdom." Liara nodded silently in understanding, "now, to the matter at hand: my reports indicate that something has happened to Shepard's body."
"It disappeared," Liara said simply, "the salvage team deployed to the Normandy only found the burnt-out remains of his armour, and their thermal scanners suggested the body was taken before they got there."
"I see," Jondum observed, "and is there any possibility of the Alliance recovering it?"
Liara shook her head. "They have no leads, no evidence, and no idea of where to start. His body could be anywhere in Citadel space, and we'd never know it."
"I see. And is there any possibility of you recovering it?"
"You think the thought hasn't crossed my mind? It's not a question of wanting to; I looked, but I couldn't find a way."
"Then look harder."
"I-, what? No. No, I can't. I don't have the resources, I don't have any leads, and I wouldn't even know where to begin."
Jondum took a step towards her, drawing the silence out as he stood beside her. "You could start in the right places."
"What are you talking about?"
"Shepard is beyond the reach of the Council, his body deep in the heart of the Terminus Systems, and in grave danger of being lost forever." Jondum's eyes focused intently on her now, his words clicking out rapidly, "Shepard's body can be recovered, but you must move quickly."
Liara regarded him coolly. "You wouldn't be standing here if you didn't know where the right place was."
"You must go to Omega Station, to the nightclub known as Afterlife."
"What will I find there?"
"On the lower level, you will find an Elcor security guard near the far door. Ask him if there has been news of the Human Frigate, and he will direct you to the person you need to speak to."
"And do you know who I am looking for?"
"A Drell that goes by the name of Feron. I can't say more than that at this time."
"But-, but how will I get there?"
"The Shadow of the Hegemon is an independently-owned Batarian freighter currently docked on the Citadel." Liara felt the familiar ping of her omnitool as Jondum transferred a profile of the vessel to her files. "It departs for Omega in nineteen hours. Buy passage on it – pay extra for discretion if you have to." He walked the length of her hotel room, surveying her few belongings. "Do not travel under your name. To anyone other than your contact in Afterlife, you are not Liara T'Soni – that name will not be safe on Omega." He turned on his feet, moving for the door and picking up his sonic cloaking device as he did so.
"Wait!" Liara shouted at him as he was about to leave, "that's it?! You throw a hundred things at me and just expect me to absorb it?"
"Do you have questions?" He almost seemed surprised that she did.
"Why me?" it was the first thing she thought of when he told her to go to Omega. "Why not someone with experience in the Terminus Systems? Why not Garrus – or Kaidan? Or Wrex? Why me?"
"Wrex is on Tuchunka and unlikely to leave for some time, Alenko will soon be reabsorbed by the Alliance bureaucracy, and Garrus has too many conflicting issues and problems to be able to focus. They have their lives. If I'm not mistaken, Shepard became yours these past six months."
"So you just expect me to go alone?!"
"You must enter Afterlife unaccompanied by anyone else, but you will never be alone. Not completely. That I can guarantee you."
"And what happens on the other side?"
"I don't know. I can't see that far ahead. If my intel is good, a chance at peace – for Shepard's memory as well as you."
It wasn't much to go on, and they both knew it. Jondum turned to go, but one last question gnawed at Liara's heart. "Why help me?"
"Because this is too important not to. Look around you," he said eagerly, forcing Liara's gaze to snap back to attention, "if you don't do it, who will?"
"The Alliance," Liara said firmly.
"Only a fool would believe that. The Alliance was badly battered in their conflict with Saren, as were the Hierarchy's fleets. Neither has the military muscle to pull this off. Even if they did, a deft touch has never been the Hierarchy's strong suit. They prefer to hammer their enemies across entire star systems, not meet with shady contacts alone in the darkest corners of Omega. And the Alliance is still too keen to ingratiate itself to the Council. They won't do anything seen as brash or reckless – and an act such as this certainly would be."
"And why won't the Council help?"
"They want this finished. Whoever has Shepard's body isn't working strictly on their own; they're an agent of a far greater power."
Liara gulped, "the Reapers."
"Possibly. When Shepard brought the reality of Saren's plan to the Council once the Battle of the Citadel was over, what was their response?"
Liara's face darkened, her thoughts recalling the stirring emotions of anger and exasperation that had gripped Shepard in those weeks. "They laughed at him. They called him a fool, declared the war over, sent us to fight Geth." She blinked back tears, "got him killed."
"They want this war over. They want to believe that peace can return. You know better than that, as did Shepard."
"But you're an agent of the Council – by the Goddess, you're one of the highest-ranking Spectres in Citadel Space. You swore an oath to follow the Council!"
"No," Jondum shook his head, "I swore an oath to protect Citadel space. If they're not going to do what is expected of them, then I will."
Liara looked at him for a moment, trying to read his face, his movements, to see what made him tick. He was a frustrating enigma, marked only by those easiest of physical characteristics to identify. She found nothing, Jondum's intentions in helping her impossible to discern.
"Whatever your motives, I thank you for helping me."
"I must depart," Jondum remarked quickly, "take what time you need to prepare yourself, but remember: nineteen hours, Shadow of the Hegemon, ." He turned to look at her once more as he stood in the frame of the door. "This is more important than just recovering a body. This is also about recovering a soul." In a flash he was gone, the door hissing shut behind him as if he had never been there.
Liara stood transfixed, her gaze focused on the door and her head cocked at a slight angle as she tried to comprehend the whirlwind she had just emerged from. Her suspicions were correct – someone had taken Shepard's body! But who? The Spectre had been oddly silent on that particular point; either he didn't know, or he wouldn't tell her. Besides which, another question lingered in her mind: who was Jondum Bau? He certainly carried himself with an air of authority and power that suggested his Spectre Status was real – the sophistication of his weapons also spoke to that. What was his stake in all this? Salarians rarely acted without utilitarian motives; what did he stand to gain from this? And then there was her supposed contact: how had Feron come into possession of information about Shepard? Who did he work for, or who had he crossed paths with?
The caution given her by Bau rang in her head: She could not be accompanied into Afterlife. But why? Would her contact panic if she wasn't alone? Would the deal be called off? Were there other forces watching for her to arrive?
Liara stared out the reopening windows that lined her hotel room and sank to her knees in despair. What did this Spectre honestly expect her to do? She wasn't the soldier he clearly thought she was – she'd had experience under Shepard, but nothing near the commando training of Kaidan or Garrus, let alone of a top Spectre operative like Jondum himself was. She couldn't do this. If the whole galaxy was counting on her to find Shepard's body – if the consequences of her failure were really as terrible as Jondum had insinuated – then she wasn't sure what he was doing trusting her.
You will never be alone. Not completely. Jondum's words rang through her mind, as cryptic as they were discouraging. How much did the Spectre control? I can't do this alone, was all she could think as she pondered the Spectre's words.
Wait! The thought entered her head like a bolt of lightning. Jondum's instructions turned from a puzzle into a loophole, the skeleton key that unlocked the problem. You must enter Afterlife alone.
Nervously, almost afraid of what she would hear when she committed herself to this next act, she activated her omnitool, shuffling through her contacts until she found the name she needed. She dialed apprehensively, her world going silent save for the ringing of the tone. When she heard the call picked up on the other end, she gasped in relief. She wasn't alone. Not anymore.
"Garrus?"
Zakera Ward – One Hour Later
"Wait," Garrus asked as he tried to process the whirlwind of information Liara had just thrown at him as they sat back at the café. "So you're telling me you know where Shepard's body is?"
"No," Liara corrected. "But someone does. And I know where to find them."
"And who gave you this information?"
"A Spectre – Jondum Bau, he called himself. I'm not sure whether that's a ghost-name or his actual one. He claimed to be an Arbiter," she tilted her head as she refilled her drink from the pitcher of water beside her. "What have they told you about them?"
Garrus shook his head, "not much. My only real exposure to them was back at C-SEC. There were a couple of occasions where we needed a presence in the Terminus Systems, and it got sent to Citadel higher-ups who said they'd pass it along to one of them. The four times we needed them, they found what we were looking for very quickly." He paused for a moment, shuddering internally at the thought of what her mysterious contact had been through. "Whoever this Bau is, he's extremely dangerous. Any indication as to why he's helping you?"
"He seemed to think that Shepard was onto something regarding the Reapers," Liara answered. "That whoever's behind Shepard's body disappearing is working for extremely powerful forces."
"Did he seem like he would be able to help you?"
Liara shook her head, "I don't know. He said something about serving Citadel Space rather than just the Council itself."
"A soldier who isn't just about ticking off the boxes," Garrus remarked under his breath. "That's a rarity these days. Even the supposedly individualistic Humans seems more than willing to fall-in-line eventually." He drained his own glass, which was quickly refilled by the bartender. "Where are you supposed to meet?"
"Omega, in a bar called Afterlife."
The word hung in the air like an unwanted pest – a sudden wall between them. "Have you ever been to Omega?"
She shook her head, "I've only ever heard stories."
"They call it the Terminus Systems' version of the Citadel, only with no law enforcement, no true rulers, no semblance of order, no rules, and a murder rate that makes Tuchanka look pacifist. I spent five years in C-SEC, and Omega was the source of probably sixty percent of the smuggled weapons, drugs, tech, counterfeit products, and slave rings that we managed to seize in the time I was there. It's ruled by drug cartels, mercenary armies, and gangs of ruthless killers. Even the Special Tasks Groups and Blackwatch avoid the system." He regarded Liara coolly, "are you sure you want to go there?"
She nodded, "the Spectre was very adamant that it had to be me who went."
Garrus considered her insistence for a moment, breathing deeply before letting out a long sigh. "Then I'm coming with you."
"Garrus, I have to enter Afterlife alone! If I'm with anyone, the contact will go dark and we'll lose Shepard's body!"
"Liara, it's madness to go to Omega alone – even I wouldn't consider doing it and I spent three years in Blackwatch!"
"Garrus, I can't just ask you to pick up your life and follow me. You have duties now – you're training to be a Spectre, for Goddess's sake!"
"That's just it," Garrus said sadly. "My heart's not in it. It's like I was telling you earlier – I find myself staring down the abyss of just more training, more regulation, and more orders that I don't want to follow. Besides, if the rumours about the Council's behaviour towards Shepard's depth are an indication so far, I don't want to serve an organization that considers me a lying maniac."
Not just that, the nagging voice in his head whispered to him. You're still afraid – still afraid of your own power and its destructive potential. Still afraid of stepping beyond the lines of black and white that being a Spectre demands. You're a soldier, not a leader. He sank back into his chair in resigned recognition. The voice was right: to be a Spectre demanded judgment calls he simply couldn't make. He thought of the dozens of decisions Shepard had made in the spur of the moment – to spare Corporal Toombs on Ontarom, to ensure Liara wouldn't have to kill her own mother, or to give the Rachni a second chance at existence or to spare as many colonists on Zhu's Hope as possible – that Garrus wasn't confident he would have made. Even the monumental decision to try and save the Destiny Ascension, a decision that was likely to have political and military consequences for generations, was uncertain to him. Would he have done the same? Did he have what it took? I still don't know what to do with shades of grey. Not one or two, but hundreds upon hundreds of them, each with consequences too profound to fathom. I can't deal with that. But this? This was straightforward: recover the body of a friend – a comrade-in-arms, a brother – to ensure that it would not be misused; help Liara find the inner peace she so desperately needed yet could not reach.
"Besides," he said simply, "I told you I'd help you in any way I could. This is that way."
That was rich. Not exactly the full explanation she deserves, but she doesn't need to be saddled with my problems as well.
"I-, thank you Garrus," was all Liara could manage. She seemed struck by his loyalty. It's not loyalty to her, the voice said again. It's loyalty to Shepard. Be honest – you're not helping her for her sake – you're helping her because it's what Shepard would do.
"This Spectre said you had to enter Afterlife alone. Did he say anything about entering Omega alone?" Liara shook her head, causing Garrus's eyes to sparkle momentarily. "Then that's your loophole. I can't go into this 'Afterlife' with you, but I'll be damned if you're going in there without any backup."
"Jondum said I would never be truly alone when I got there – I'm not sure what he meant."
"Who knows with an Arbiter involved, and a Salarian one at that?" He finished his final drink and at last motioned to the server for his bill. "He at least has an appreciation for the dramatic. They've always been big fans of the whole 'layers of intrigue' thing." He looked at Liara again as the server left. "How are you travelling to Omega?"
"I'm booking passage on the Shadow of the Hegemon – it's a Batarian freighter that's heading to Omega via stops on Bekenstein, Anhur, and Illium. I'll pay extra for discretion, and won't be travelling by T'Soni."
"A smart choice, if whoever's after Shepard is as powerful as your Spectre friend thinks." Garrus stood up from his chair, regarding Liara thoughtfully as he made to leave. "If I'm going to meet you on Omega, I have to get things in order – cancel Spectre Training, get my affairs in order. I will keep you updated."
Liara simply nodded and continued to stare off into the distance as he walked away, his footsteps slowly carrying him away from the cafe and towards the nearest CRT stop.
So, he thought to himself, looks as though that path is off-limits again. That's twice I've gotten within touching distance of the Spectres, and twice it's been cut off. He cursed his luck again, as he saw the paths of life sink once again into the greyscale that so cofounded him. When Shepard had urged him to begin the advanced training that would allow him to eventually become a Spectre, he had been so certain that this was the path, yet already he was disillusioned. The Alliance, the Hierarchy, even the Council; all of them saw the same threat that Garrus had, the same attack on the Citadel, and yet they refused to believe. They refused to do what was necessary to safeguard those who could not do so themselves. I can't be a part of that system. Not again.
They never would have believed Shepard, even if he'd survived. The Reapers aren't finished, and they will come for us; it's just a matter of when. The Council could have bolstered their forces, required mass-requisitions and arms buildup, abolished the Treaty of Farrixen and prepared for all-out war with the Reaper and their allies. They could have had a thousand operatives in the Terminus Systems trying to stabilize the region to prepare for a conflict that's inevitable. But that would have been too easy, and nothing ever is.
Temporary Spectre Headquarters, C-SEC Forward Operating Base, Zakera Ward, Citadel
The automated voice was music to his ears as he entered the long hallway that led to the headquarters of his organization, a timely reminder that after more than a year in the field, he was finally home.
"Spectre Status Recognized. Welcome, Arbiter Bau."
Jondum briskly covered the distance of the long hallway, quickly entering the temporary Spectre headquarters. With the considerable damage inflicted on C-SEC headquarters by the Geth and Sovereign during the attack on the Citadel, the former HQ of Spectre Operations and Requisitions was now charred rubble. The Council had ordered a complete rebuild of the operations centres for both organizations, necessitating that the Spectres work out of one of C-SEC's forward operating bases on the Zakera Ward. It had taken Jondum far longer than he expected to find the place: the FOB was wedged between two massive skycar networks, yet was surprisingly difficult to get to. Probably chosen for its remote access, he thought to himself, my agency is nothing if not predictable in their internal logistics.
Even amongst the cramped confines of the Wards – still teeming with temporary migrants from the Presidium and damaged sections of the Citadel – the temporary HQ was well-provisioned and well-supplied. Gone was the hustle and bustle of C-SEC's old headquarters, replaced by quiet corridors of muted blue light. The old HQ had seen hundreds to thousands of individuals pass through it every day; this one saw maybe fifty.
He walked into the atrium, liking what he saw in their choice of location. Three electronic VI booths sat empty and waiting, each capable of serving a specific Spectre to cater to their needs. Though Jondum had gotten in with ease, he could tell that the place was locked up tighter than a Volus bank's deposit records: the thermal scanners on his omnitool were picking up dozens of pieces of highly sophisticated software and hardware monitoring this room alone – a simple welcome area designed to direct one to where they needed to go. If the wiring schematics are correct, they've rigged the place with enough high explosives to incinerate everything within a two-block radius, he noted approvingly. Even if you break through their systems, you're never getting out alive. He stepped into one of the booths, pausing for a moment as a screen of protective light lit into place around him, concealing his actions from anyone not sitting at the feed-room of the security tapes.
"Arbiter Bau, it has been one standard year, one galactic standard month, one week, four days since your last visit to Spectre Headquarters," the VI program noted, "two assigned work-logs have been filed as COMPLETE. Confirm status of assigned missions?"
"Confirmed."
"Arbiter Bau, which department of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance do you wish to contact?"
"Requisitions."
"SR Branch is located through the corridor to your right. Second airlock on the left. Have a pleasant day, Arbiter Bau."
To Jondum's right, he spotted a slowly-opening airlock – one that led deeper into the facility. He took the door and found himself in another corridor, this one dotted with doors and airlocks on both sides. As he stepped through, the door immediately sealed behind him, leaving him in a thoroughly empty chamber with nothing but a myriad of doors. The walls were thick, likely triple-weave ores that had been soundproofed and laced with carbon fibres; anything short of frigate-level weapons wouldn't be able to penetrate the hallway. None of the doors gave any indication of what was on the other side, and there were no windows to speak of. Jondum walked slowly, his booted footsteps echoing through the corridor as he approached the second door on his left.
"Please remain still," the VI's voice requested, "scanning to confirm isolation." Lines of light hovered up and down his body, scanning the area immediately around him. "Confirmed." The door shot open, and Jondum stepped into the elevator. It was a small space, the dark-blue and grey frame closing in around him. The lights returned, quickly scanning the interior before the door shut and the elevator began to descend.
The last time I was at Spectre Headquarters, SR Branch just had a locked door. Given the research that took place within, he preferred it this way.
"Welcome to Spectre Requisitions," the voice said as the door opened to reveal a large room lit by a dim blue glow. The central area was filled with row upon row of work-tables, with various weapons and pieces of armour and equipment strewn across them. The right led to another set of labs, where SR Branch continued their development of high-end weaponry and technology for exclusive use by the Spectres. A fully stocked firing range was fitted along the left wall, with a wide variety of targeting exercises that allowed for extensive training with new weapons. The far wall exposed a set of hologram windows that created an artificial view of the Citadel's skyline.
"Mr. Bau, it's been a long time," the familiar voice of Titus Victarion – SR Branch's research lead – came into earshot as the Turian entered from one of the adjacent labs. "Almost thirteen months, in fact." The Turian – a former top researcher with Cipritine Armory – eyed Jondum with curiosity, "I trust your operations were successful?"
"All things considered, yes." He eyed Titus back, "I hear your labs have been busy."
Titus nodded. "That we have. Our current work is based off of Geth technology captured in the Armstrong Cluster, now a joint research project between Cipritine, Elkoss, Kassa, Aegohr, and Armali. Completely revolutionizes heat-load distribution and absorption in virtually all weaponry. Even by the standards of conventional thermal clips, it'll make overheating a thing of the past, and add significant kick to just about every weapon in the galaxy. In exchange for not ordering STG to infiltrate the project, they gave us access to their prototypes."
"Which you then reverse-engineered and made better."
"Precisely. Your old colleague Dr. Halon made the breakthrough about two weeks ago – it's a good thing you came back to the Citadel when you did. You'll have a leg up for some time."
"How long? And how do you know unless the STG infiltrated the project anyways?"
"They obviously did," underneath the muscle-restricting mandibles, Jondum could sense Titus's smirk of amusement. "Thermal clips were probably the biggest modern revolution in weapon heat-load distribution in the last three decades – externalized heat-sinks mean you can fire a lot more even if you have an overall finite ammo supply. But we've always had trouble figuring out how to combine the high-ammo capacity of older systems with the substantially greater firepower of disposable thermal clips."
"And they figured it out?"
"They have," Titus replied. "Geth pulse weapons use a mass field generator that operates on a sine curve, giving them greater variance in firing rate and range than anything we've seen before. When we tried to apply it to a standard Lancer, it completely burned out the heat distribution framework."
"Incompatible or just in need of modifications?"
"Well, the Geth adopted external heat-sinks well before we did, so their heat-load technology is still significantly ahead. It took us a few weeks to figure out how to overcome the gap, but we eventually settled on using nanotubes of carbon polymer to fill out the excess heat."
"Did it work?"
"Wonders. Now, Geth rifles also use significantly smaller slug-shots than most weapons we've seen, but compensate by encasing them in a phasic envelope – penetrates shields far better, but against armour it's not particularly good. We kept the larger slugs and scrapped the phasic envelope. Doing so solved most of our heat distribution problems and greatly improved the armour-piercing capacity of the average shot."
"I take it this means a new gun?"
"Sort of." Titus drew a small carbonite carrying-case from below the weapons-bench, the mark of the Spectres emblazoned on the front. Inside was a seemingly identical handgun to the Paladin he was currently carrying. "We kept the prototypes – we got excellent feedback from you and the other Spectres we tested them with, and just tweaked the interior heat systems to work with the new tech."
"How well does the new system work."
Titus spun the case to face Jondum, pushing it across the bench to him. "Extremely well."
Jondum lifted the weapon from its case and felt it in his hands. "Impressive. Remind me why we haven't gotten into arms sales?"
"Because then everyone would have our nice toys. We wouldn't want that," Titus quipped. "Right, now: several improvements to your existing weapons. We've been working on upgrading the Locust for quite some time –it's a good weapon, but there were some flaws in the heat distribution and firing mechanism that we've been trying to correct." Titus produced a second case, opening it to reveal another Locust submachine gun. "The original models used gold conduction rods to keep the mass-accelerator in sync. We've replaced it with a platinum-iridium superconductor, which substantially lessens the heat-discharge. With luck, it will double the firing capacity of any given thermal clip. We've also upgraded the targeting VIs with newer versions that provide for much less recoil and more penetrating power; each shot will now be custom-energized to penetrate the given kinetic barrier." Jondum picked up the weapon, admiring it almost lovingly. "We managed to find one of the original-run Locusts for you – it even matches your Spectre code."
"A04," Jondum muttered to himself, "fitting." He clicked the mechanism that unlocked the weapon, and found that he couldn't tell the difference between it and his old weapon – it felt the same in his hands, balanced identically, and even had the same rough edges shorn into it. "It's a shame the Locust had such a limited run. It's a superb weapon." Titus merely nodded. "Anything else for me?"
"We have this as well," Titus led him to an adjacent table, where an old – but polished – stubby gun lay on the table. The size and shape of the frame suggested that it was an assault rifle, but the barrel was far shorter than any he'd ever seen. Some of the mechanisms were also utterly alien to him.
"That looks ancient."
"That's because it is – or is built as if it is. It's an old E04 Herstal Short-Barreled Carbine – Human weapon used during the First Contact War based off of technology and schematics they found in Prothean ruins in the Sol System. SR Branch found it in an abandoned weapons-dump at a Human colony during post-op recon. It's only about thirty years old, but the tech itself is generations behind," Titus pushed the rifle across the table towards Jondum. "Dr. Shala and I decided to use it as our trial run for installing the new heat discharge system – it's an ancient gun, so it wouldn't be a huge loss if we destroyed it during testing."
Jondum lifted the Carbine off the working table and felt his way around its systems. It balanced well, with the fulcrum point near the centre of the weapon. When he brought its short stock in-line with his shoulder, the manual sight forced him to tilt his head slightly to the right – less than ideal. "You wouldn't give this to me if it was just a test weapon."
"No, we wouldn't," Titus nodded his head. "But we found that the weapon had a substantial kick to it when we integrated the new system. Try it."
Without hesitating, Jondum briskly walked to the firing range, lifted the rifle to his shoulder, and fired off several shots. Even through his armour, he could feel the stock kick against his shoulder. The mechanism seemed extremely powerful though, and when Jondum lowered the weapon he was pleased to see five target-rings reduced to smouldering ash.
"Thought you'd like it," Titus quipped. "The new Avengers will put a bunch of small holes into your enemy's shields. If you're really lucky or good, it'll penetrate armour. This Carbine will punch a hole right through both. It's got the kick of a shotgun, but with the range and versatility of an assault rifle."
"This will do nicely." The mercenaries in the Terminus Systems were renowned for using crude armour with kinetic barriers designed to detect small, incoming projectiles. Shields were typically calibrated to the density and weight of a standard bullet from long-range; shotguns could shred kinetic barriers, but only at short distances. The best of both worlds, the voice in Jondum's head said.
"Anything else?"
"Just this," Titus passed him a small clip of solid metal. Jondum recognized its purpose immediately, unclipping the bottom of the Paladin's grip and letting the previous clip of ammunition fall onto the table. "Tungsten-Carbide infused with superconductors. A single hit on any part of armour will knock out their kinetic generation. In all likelihood, it will also do enough damage to their skeleton that their shields being knocked out won't be an issue," Jondum's eyes widened in silent admiration. "Of course, you will go through thermal clips faster than before – keeping the energy field electrified consumes more energy, so use it sparingly."
Jondum replaced his Paladin on his weapons-belt before clipping the E04 Carbine onto his back.
"One other thing," Titus noted. "After getting knocked offline by Saren's attack, the dead drop system is back up and running. Send your lists and required system and planet over encrypted channels. We will respond when a location has been established – no more than four Citadel Standard Days within a five-relay radius."
"My thanks, Titus."
"Think nothing of it. I live to serve the Spectres," Titus replied as Jondum turned to leave. "Spirits guide you, Arbiter." That was the last Jondum heard from him as the door to the elevator closed.
Jondum stared directly ahead as he ascended back to the surface of the Citadel Wards. Sixty soldiers and twenty researchers, he thought to himself. That's all that stands between Citadel space and the utter anarchy of the Terminus Systems.
"Spectre VI," he called out. "Arbiter A04 Jondum Bau. Log completion of meeting with SR Branch with current timestamp."
"Very well, Mr. Bau," the VI's voice responded. "Is there anything else you require?"
"Yes. Change my Status to Active and Engaged."
"Very well, Mr. Bau. No assignments below Priority Two will be sent to you." The elevator door opened, "Have a pleasant day." He quickly crossed the threshold of the Spectre Headquarters and back out into the open world of the Citadel Wards, ignoring the two VIs that noted his departure from the place.
From in front of the façade of Spectre HQ, he could behold the majesty of two vast skycar networks moving in perfect synchronization with one another. The flickering light of the Widow Nebula bathed the vast arms of the Ward in a soft purple glow, casting shadows wherever it touched. Even despite the damage, the Citadel looked as Jondum had remembered it: the hub of galactic commerce and civilization, the pinnacle of the politics of fifty thousand years of civilization, and the heart of the incredible legacy of the Prothean Empire. Yet as he stared out across the Citadel, the majesty faded a bit, scarred by the reminders of Saren and Sovereign's attack. You'd think peace had returned, he thought to himself, that nothing had ever happened. Less than two months after they were nearly brought to their knees, the Citadel is ready to again embrace the lie.
It was a lie he had been brutally exposed to during his service in the STG, and then as a Spectre operating in the Terminus Systems. The Citadel created a sense of security, of peace, of certainty. Scratch beneath the surface – venture but a system beyond the borders of Citadel Space – and the façade crumbled. The number of close calls – of cartels nearly amassing enough forces to carve a bloody path through Citadel Space, mercenary wars threatening to spill over into the Attican Traverse – was staggeringly high. They had stopped a few of them in his time with STG and the Spectres, yet many more had seen their names etched into a history of infamy on the borders of Citadel Space – Mindoir, the Skylian Blitz, Torfan, the Anhur Rebellions.
When the Council sought to rally support for the latest security endeavour, Sparatus liked to rage that galactic peace 'stood on the edge of a knife', ready to fall at the slightest slip in the balance. That's only half-true. Galactic peace is always on the edge of a knife. Though he intended to serve the Citadel until death took him, he regarded the veil of ignorance the institution created with disdain. They sleep so softly at night, thinking themselves safe, yet only because those like me visit terrible violence and vengeance on those that would do them harm. He felt comfort where that brutal truth was openly acknowledged – that the pit of chaos was moments from engulfing all, where the myths and fantasies of the Citadel gave way to a stark and horrific view of the universe. As strange as it seemed, he felt reassured among the honest violence, anarchy, and death of where he was now set to return:
The Terminus Systems.
Next: Beyond - the conclusion to Act I.
