I was beginning to think we would never reach Tuchanka. After leaving Sentinel aboard the Evanescent, I’d had more free time than I knew what to do with. Granted, that wasn’t saying much since we had been fighting, uniting the galaxy and undergoing dangerous genetic experiments non-stop since Vancouver, but it was still a daunting prospect. When you’ve run past your usual breaking point, you don’t want to stop; you want to keep going to see how far you can push yourself, as if adrenaline and enthusiasm are all there is to life. I was just waiting for something terrible to happen so I could jump back into the fray.
After our commencement launch, Vigor suggested I rest or get to know the crew, and seeing as I’d done nothing but rest for six days after the implants went in, talking to the crew was my only option. Evidently the turians didn’t think it smart to entrust us with a bar and an endless supply of alcohol like Cerberus had on the Normandy.
All in all, it was a good crew. I couldn’t say that with absolute certainty because I knew next to nothing about military operations or how to run a ship smoothly, but everyone seemed much more confident in their job than I did. Even the technicians and ship operators—the low-level guys in this operation—had all served in specialized programs of their respective military groups. There wasn’t a single person aboard Evanescent that hadn’t earned the right to be there a dozen times over, and they knew it.
More than once I was forced to ask myself how the hell I’d landed there. Adison made a damn good soldier and Troy had surprised everyone with his marksmanship abilities, Garrus included, but I was a mediocre fighter at best. I didn’t belong on the battlefield, despite how ready I was to do something useful.
Maybe Hackett had realized that my use as an intelligence asset was waning, or maybe he just wanted to send Troy and Adison on this mission and didn’t feel right leaving me out of the loop. Shit, he might have just needed guinea pigs for his experimental armor and we were the most expendable soldiers he had. If we died, back to the drawing board. If we survived and kicked some ass, mass produce the damn things and give them to the soldiers who actually knew what the fuck they were doing.
But I knew Hackett wasn’t that cold or desperate. He only cared about the hardsuits in the respect that they would make us more effective on the battlefield. So either he had a hell of a lot more confidence in me than I had in myself, or he was sending us along hoping we could streamline the process of curing the genophage. Fat fucking chance.
There was a plan brewing in my mind, but with everything going so dramatically different than I’d thought it would, I wasn’t sure what I could rely on to be real anymore. Nothing is harder than when you plan for something with solid expectations and then realize you can’t trust any of the evidence you formed your plan around.
“Mister Womble.”
Speaking of plans.
“For the love of God, Vigor, I told you to call me Donovan. Mister Womble just sounds weird.”
“Of course, Donovan,” the AI’s distinctly turian voice replied, emphasizing my name. Amazing how lifelike he could be despite lacking a physical presence. “Spectre Vakarian has called for a mission briefing in the conference room. All combat personnel are required to attend.”
I knew the rest of the crew was getting the same message simultaneously, so Troy and Adison would be waiting for me in the hall any moment now. No use delaying. “On my way,” I said as I stood from the desk. “How long until we reach the Aralakh System?”
“Approximately twenty-two minutes.”
Twenty minutes? Damn. I’d expected a warning an hour or so out so we’d have time to prepare. I’d have to break the habit of making assumptions now that I was part of a legitimate military operation led by a turian.
Well, maybe not all my assumptions. Troy and Adison were waiting for me just outside my room. At least that went as expected.
“Twenty minutes til drop,” I told them as we began heading for the elevator.
“Twenty-two,” Vigor corrected.
“Do we have a plan?” Troy asked. Likely he’d thought about it just as much as I had, and had no doubt come up with just as unstable a solution. Or with any luck maybe he’d had a better one. Creating a plan and creating a plausible plan with some degree of success are two different things after all, and I’m not well experienced at the latter.
“I’m sure Garrus has something brewing,” I answered. “I just figured we’d tell him about the Shroud, the Destroyer, and anything else that might get in our way. We can leave the strategizing to the people that are experts at that kind of thing.”
“Sounds good to me.”
God above did I hope it would be that simple. Assuming Mordin was close to finishing the cure we’d just need to get past the Destroyer and disperse it through the Shroud. And hopefully if we warned Mordin about the salarians’ interference with the Shroud’s controls beforehand, he could find a way to overcome that obstacle without blowing himself to hell.
I really needed to stop making assumptions. I was more likely to jinx myself than derive any hope from the process.
We reached the conference room a minute later after bumping into Claire and our resident biotic expert, Silana Antarom, the asari that not only broke the mold but destroyed it with her mind and tossed it out the airlock. Generally you can stereotype asari as extremely polite, shrewd diplomats, powerful biotics, and philosophic intellectuals. Antarom fit half the bill, and I didn’t dare ask what happened to the other half for fear that she would pull my spleen out through my mouth. Smart, dangerously powerful, and with a disposition rivaling that of an aged krogan warlord, she was not the kind of person you struck up a friendly conversation with during an elevator ride. I was happy just to stroll to the conference room in complete silence.
It seemed we were the last to arrive, as everyone had already been seated in anticipation while Garrus, Wrex, and Mordin stood at the back of the room. How the hell had everyone gotten there so quickly? Vigor had literally just given us the notice two minutes ago.
“Good, everyone’s here,” Garrus said. I took that as my cue to find an open seat and settle in for the briefing.
Dammit, the batarian? Nice planning, Donovan.
I’d been the last one to both enter and take a seat, and that left me with the option of crossing the room to claim Garrus’s unused chair or taking a seat by J’kal, our armaments and long-distance heavy engagement specialist. I’d like to say I had properly introduced myself, but in reality we’d passed each other in the hallway once and he snarled at me in such a way that I wondered if he hadn’t planted an IED under my bunk. One of the crewmen had informed me that he was one of the Hegemony’s best demolitions experts, and whether he was two or two thousand meters away from a target, he always made sure they went out with quite a display.
So, after a brief internal debate in which I seriously considered taking Garrus’s chair, I ignored my better nature and sat. At least Adison was on my other side, so if J’kal did decide to do anything I could just use him as cover.
“I’m sure Vigor has told you all by now that it won’t be long until we hit the Aralakh System,” Garrus continued. At least my discomfort wasn’t so noticeable that it drew attention. “We have a cure, but we won’t know whether or not it works until we can disperse it. Mordin.”
The crazed salarian with one cranial horn nodded, acknowledging that he had the stand. “Yes, cure ready for use. Should work, might not, won’t know until used on krogan. Problem is dispersal, and . . . Reaper threat on Tuchanka also difficult. Won’t be easy.”
“The Reapers have arrived on Tuchanka?” Antarom asked.
“Better yet, are we planning on delivering the cure to the entire krogan race at once?” This coming from the salarian on our team, Inam Gorun. Good guy, intelligent like any other salarian, and damn but his pistols were shiny as hell. “You have to realize that’s impossible, Professor.”
“Ah, yes, doubt,” Mordin replied, answering milliseconds after Gorun’s statement. “Understandable; young, naïve, eager to prove yourself. Always find a way. STG should have taught that.”
It was like watching a hamster jacked on meth and cocaine at the same time, minus all the negative side-effects that would entail.
“The STG taught me to be realistic,” Gorun countered. “Unless this is an aerosolized cure that can disperse through the planet’s atmosphere in a matter of hours, it will take weeks to properly deliver it.”
“The Shroud.”
Every set of eyes in the room turned to Troy. I’d gotten the vague impression that the crew saw the three of us as jokes in comparison to their years of experience, so naturally they’d be shocked when one of us offered a suggestion. I just hadn’t expected the look he got from Antarom. It was the same one Wrex and Gorun couldn’t have been more obvious about.
“How the hell do you know about the Shroud?” Wrex growled.
“That’s why we’re here,” Troy said, motioning to Adison and I. “Intel. I mean sure, we can shoot stuff like the rest of you, but our biggest strength is knowledge.”
Mordin didn’t miss a beat, running through scenarios without a care in the world before stopping to give thought as to how we knew about the Shroud. “Interesting idea. Could release cure through last surviving tower, particles disseminate into atmosphere, reaches global population in single rotation—roughly twenty-one hours. Might work. Angry krogan has point as well; information not widely known, not available on extranet. Does Alliance have data on Tuchanka? Impossible, never been there, not welcome like everyone else. Certainly not a leak in STG, would’ve heard. Possible interference from cloaca in salarian government—not likely . . . ”
A very large part of me wanted to do a paragon interrupt and save us all the wear and tear on our ears, but that would mean convincing yet another room full of skeptics to believe a preposterous lie. I was already dealing with enough deception; I didn’t need to add any more to my life by lying to the people I’d be fighting alongside.
Luckily I had Garrus to bail me out.
“It’s not important who knows what or how they know it, just that we have a plan. Everyone in this room was brought on board for a specific reason; some for your combat expertise, some for your intel. If we stop to question each others’ abilities every time we’re surprised by them, the Reapers will make quick work of us. So unless anyone has a better idea, we’ll disperse the cure via the Shroud.”
No one argued. It may have been Garrus’s first command, but the crew respected him and knew better than to pry too much when the entire galaxy hinged on this mission.
“All right,” he continued after sensing no objections. “Wrex, what do we need to know about this place?”
The krogan grumbled, unappreciative of the fact that his concerns had been so readily dismissed. If it had been anyone other than Garrus or Shepard he probably would have just left the room.
“The tower stands at the edge of an old krogan arena,” he said, leaning back against the wall at the far end of the room. “It was originally a shrine to Kalros, the oldest living thresher maw on Tuchanka. Legend says she’s the mother of all thresher maws. We’ll need to navigate through the ruins until we reach the arena and hope we don’t accidentally wake her.”
“There’s another problem,” Gorun added, fiddling with his omni-tool before projecting the display onto the table in the center of the room. Surely enough, the Shroud appeared from thin air along with the surrounding thresher maw shrine and endless desert.
But what really caught everyone’s attention was the war that was already raging there. I’d expected one Reaper, maybe two simply because they always seemed to be going overkill with everything they did. There was absolutely no call for the half-dozen visible in the limited display, not to mention several more ambling in and out of the screen. Three of them stood in a triangular formation just next to the Shroud, blocking attacks from every angle while the rest attempted to break the defense and bring down the tower.
How the fuck are they always one step ahead?
Everyone watched in silent awe as a veritable Reaper civil war unfolded in front of us. Even J’kal the batarian leaned forward, a small display of incredulity lighting his eyes. Of all the unforeseen events we’d witnessed already, this was by far the most shocking. After Jerusalem there were more than a few second-guesses on my part as to the Reapers’ true motives, but seeing this in action shattered pretty much everything I’d always known to be truth. That Reaper had been serious. They really were going to try to find an alternative to harvesting us.
And perhaps more importantly, I had been right about one thing. Not all the Reapers agreed with this method. I’d gone through a dozen different scenarios in my head while we were back on Sentinel regarding how events would play out if that stasis-dream had been real, but none of them could have prepared me for the bombshell displaying from Gorun’s omni-tool. I’d assumed that even if the Reapers didn’t want to harvest us, they would continue to do so unless we could come up with another solution. Instead it appeared they had turned on each other to defend us.
Did we really have a chance? For God’s sake, if half the Reapers were willing to turn on the other half they had to see something in us. Some flicker of hope that against all odds we could find a way to stop the destruction of the galaxy.
“It appears your Reaper friend was telling the truth,” Gorun continued, pointing his statement at Garrus. “There are nine Reaper destroyers surrounding the shroud, four of them appear to be defending it. Several more Capital ships are fighting in orbit—it’s impossible to tell which side they’re on.”
Garrus sighed, leaning in to the table to survey the scene more closely. “We can’t even tell which of the destroyers might be on our side. They could be defending the tower so we can get in safely, or they may be trying to keep us out. We won’t know until we engage them.”
“I can get in contact with the other clan chiefs when we reach Aralakh,” Wrex said. “By the time we arrive at Tuchanka they can have a company of my best soldiers waiting for us. I’ll make sure they don’t engage until we do.”
“Good,” Garrus replied. “We’ll need the backup. The Turian Sixth and Asari Second Fleets are meeting us at the relay, but we won’t have any ground support. If your people can get us to the Shroud, the fleets should be able to keep the Reapers busy long enough to let us slip inside and disperse the cure.”
Backup? Holy shit. The Council was really taking this war seriously. I suppose after the destruction of the Citadel they’d honestly realized looking after themselves wasn’t going to get them anywhere.
“There may be one more problem,” Troy said. “The Shroud’s sabotaged. Salarians wanted to make sure no one interfered with the genophage after they’d worked so hard to spread it. We can still use it to release the cure, but the way those Reapers are going at it we won’t have much time before that tower falls. Whoever goes up there probably isn’t coming back.”
Wrex scoffed. “Of course.”
“Sabotage likely to be problematic,” Mordin interrupted. “Know how STG thinks, can counteract sabotage if given enough time. Will need assistance. Gorun would be most useful, only one who knows salarian protocols well enough. Reaper threat more problematic.”
I loved how unfazed he was even knowing that this mission could possibly be the death of him. He was a guy who had seen a lot of morally ambiguous shit in his life and it didn’t matter to him what it took to set the record straight. The urge to find atonement is a powerful motivator, and in Mordin’s case it did wonders.
“Mordin, even with both of you up there it’s still a suicide run.” Garrus would know. The man had been on his fair share of suicide missions. “We can find another way.”
“Mm, not sensible. Already have solution. Good one, bit dangerous, can work around that. No need to look for another. Besides, want to see Reapers’ reaction to squad presence personally. May provide valuable insight if ally faction presents itself.”
He was brave, I had to give him that. Completely ambivalent about setting everyone else in a position of extreme danger, but every genius has his flaws. We had a battle plan and apparently a good amount of support on the way, so there was no reason to not at least give it a shot. And now that Mordin was aware of the risks involved with using the Shroud, maybe he and Gorun could find a way to disperse the cure before getting themselves blown up.
Garrus seemed to be the only one who didn’t like that idea. He’d been faced with the peril of losing people before, but working with Shepard undoubtedly left a savior mentality imprinted on him. She was the woman who’d ventured into the galactic core to fight the Collectors, not only without suffering a single casualty, but also saving the crew that had been taken hostage during a surprise attack. The operatives sitting around that table, on the other hand, more than likely lost allies on a regular basis. The prospect of losing another—and one they didn’t know well, at that—didn’t have the usual impact.
Noticeably quiet during the entire briefing was the N7 operative, Koenig. Of all the crew aboard Evanescent he was the only one I hadn’t had any interaction with, and apparently I wasn’t alone in that respect. The only thing I knew about him came from a human crewman that had served with him on a mission, and that was that he kept to himself. Didn’t fraternize with the crew, didn’t offer much in the way of conversation, even during missions. And there wasn’t much in the way of physical tells to get a read on him. Military crew cut despite reaching the rank of N7—which I’d learned pretty much bought you a free pass to do whatever the hell you wanted with your appearance as long as it wasn’t off-the-charts unprofessional—suggested he’d grown accustomed to wearing his professional façade at all times, not letting a single miniscule display through to show what he really thought. Even his full dark beard was hardly revealing; most Alliance personnel preferred to stay clean-cut, but his appearance was so precisely maintained it was hardly worth mentioning.
Either way, his personal opinions on the mission didn’t matter so much as his ability to see it through. J’kal had remained equally silent, although his hostile glares conveyed easily enough that he was there simply because his ranking officer had demanded it. The batarians didn’t want it to be said that they weren’t doing their part, after all.
But for whatever reason, my mind was wandering in too many different directions. Hell, I’d been so preoccupied with observing everyone’s input to the briefing that I hadn’t offered anything useful myself. Thankfully Troy had picked up in that department, otherwise I may have completely neglected mentioning the trap set at the Shroud. It was all so overwhelming and mind-bogglingly different from what I expected that I was having trouble just keeping up with the moment.
“If you’re sure,” Garrus said, resigning himself to the fact that we had all settled on this course of action. “Then we have our objective. Once we’re on Tuchanka we’ll rendezvous with Wrex’s soldiers, and from there we make our way to the Shroud. We’re almost certain to run into trouble along the way, so stay close and watch each others’ backs. When we encounter resistance, I trust each of you to do what you do best.”
My omni-tool pinged, causing me to wonder what the hell that meant. Anyone who could possibly need anything from me was sitting (or standing, in Garrus’s case) in the room with me. I swiped the application open and saw a brief message from Shepard, starred as urgent.
Shit, I hadn’t even thought about that. While we’d spent the better part of a week acclimating to the gene mods and prepping to launch the Evanescent on her maiden voyage, Shepard and her crew had been out in geth space dealing with the conflict over Rannoch. And I’d already had a hundred ideas fly through my mind as to how we could smooth over that entire ordeal.
“Vigor,” Garrus called, reeling me back into the moment. “How long until we reach the relay?”
As always, the VI’s response time was right on point. “We are on approach now. Less than ten minutes until arrival at Tuchanka.”
“That settles it, then. Everyone gear up and meet at the cargo bay in five. Time to put this crew through her first test.”
With no further objections or clarification needed on the mission, everyone began filing out of the room headed for the elevator while Garrus, Mordin and Wrex stayed behind. Likely they wanted to chat privately before we touched down. One of the side-effects of being part of Shepard’s crew: they’d established a trust that the rest of the team didn’t share yet. Not to mention everything hinged on the three of them—Mordin’s ability to deliver the cure, Wrex’s ability to get us there safely, and Garrus’s ability to keep us all alive.
It was surreal to be a part of something like that—just knowing that I was expected to hold my own against an onslaught of Reapers and contribute to the working dynamic of an elite squad that probably had more kills between them than I had hours spent with a controller in my hand.
Well, that may be a stretch, but you get my point.
Being that I was closest to the door, Troy, Adison and I were some of the first to leave, but rather than heading straight for the cargo bay I strayed down the hallway a bit toward the CIC. Troy and Adison followed, naturally, wondering why I wasn’t going along with the rest of the crowd, and I brought up my omni-tool to legitimately check the message this time.
“Never thought I’d be involved in something like that,” Adison said, letting out a bottled breath. At least I hadn’t been the only one not entirely comfortable in that room.
“You guys okay?”
My first instinct was to shut the omni-tool and pretend like nothing was happening, but then my brain kicked in and I realized it was just the innocent voice belonging to Claire.
“Yeah, we’re good,” I managed. “Be down in just a minute.”
She gave me a look, one that I couldn’t entirely read the meaning of, but left it alone well enough. “Okay, see you there.”
Once she’d left, and the rest of the team had disappeared inside the elevator, I checked the message.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Donovan,
I’m sure Hackett’s told you about my mission with the geth and quarians. We arrived three days ago and have been beating around the bush with the Admiralty Board. They refuse to give us a single thing until we can either destroy the geth or convince them to abandon Rannoch. I’m hoping you have some inside information, something that will stir the quarians to action or help with the geth. Otherwise I don’t see this ending anytime soon.
--Shepard”
Fuck. Fucking Goddamn fuck!
The message was so ambiguous and lacking in detail; had the quarians attacked first causing the geth to retreat to the Reapers, like it should have happened? Or was there even an open conflict? All the message had said was “hostilities.” That could just mean the geth still didn’t want the quarians to take back Rannoch.
“Guys, we might have a problem,” I announced. “Just got a message from Shepard. She wants anything we can offer about the geth and quarians.”
“The who?” Adison asked. Damn, for a minute I forgot he wasn’t at all familiar with any of this.
“They’re a race of tech specialists and the artificial intelligences they created,” Troy explained. “Centuries ago the geth drove the quarians off their homeworld, and now the quarians want to take it back. Did Shepard give you any details? We need to know what’s going on if we want to help.”
“Yeah, I dunno,” I replied. “It sounds like maybe they’re already fighting.”
“Well make sure. We can’t do any good if we don’t know what the situation is.”
Right, no use being information brokers if you’re handing out intel that applies to an entirely different set of circumstances.
“Come on,” I said, heading for the elevator. “We need to gear up. I’ll talk with Shepard on the way.”
----------------------------------------
No matter how many times she saw it, Ella never stopped being fascinated by the enormity of the Quarian Flotilla. Seventeen thousand ships in all their glory. Some were nothing more than frigates barely larger than a fighter, while others were dreadnoughts capable of tearing straight through an Alliance cruiser in a single blow, but the testament to the quarians’ ingenuity was the fact that any of them were still running, let alone ready for combat. Ship maintenance isn’t something that most people thought about if they didn’t regularly go on extended excursions into space. Vessels had to constantly undergo regular repairs and standard operating length for an Alliance vessel was six months, after which it reported to dry dock for no less than a week of round-the-clock maintenance. At maximum a vessel could go fourteen months without needing to go down for repairs. The quarians, however, had maintained an entire fleet for three hundred years without a safe harbor to shut down, and their ships seemed pretty well-off for the most part.
Their inhabitants, on the other hand, were some of the most thick-headed individuals she’d ever seen. God she hoped the cousins could give her something—anything—to force the Admirals’ hands. As much as it was beneficial to have Tali arguing the point alongside her, the insufferable natures of Han’Gerrel and Daro’Xen were too much to handle for any stretch of time. And Shala’Raan only made matters worse with her indecisiveness. Zaal'Koris was really the only one Ella could trust, and for some personal reason she couldn’t stand the man. If not for the fact that he was the only other Admiral aside from Tali who wanted to spare the geth, she might have cracked his helmet open after one of his pompous remarks.
Her omni-tool pinged, and despite her skepticism she was relieved to see it was a message from Donovan.
“Shepard,
I’d be happy to help, just need some more details. What’s the situation like? I know the majority of the quarian people want to destroy the geth outright, but their minds can be changed, believe it or not. Has there been a violent conflict? If so, who initiated it? And are the Reapers involved?
We’re getting ready to touch down on Tuchanka now, so I don’t have much time. Get me as much information as you can and I’ll see what I can do to help.
--Donovan”
Ella read the line “I know . . . ” several times before finishing the message. So confident, as if he’d seen a vision of several different ways the war could play out and was just trying to figure out which scenario he was dealing with. And the Reapers. He was expecting them to be part of this mess despite the fact that there wasn’t a sign of Reaper presence in the entire system.
Still, it was her best shot at getting some actionable intel. Shifting to a more comfortable position at her desk, Ella began writing her response.
“To hear the quarians tell it, everything is the geth’s fault. The truth is, that countermeasure you mentioned a few days ago did more damage than anyone anticipated and the geth have retreated, opening fire on any ship within range of Rannoch. It hasn’t escalated to full-scale war yet, but some of the admirals are pressing for it. They think they can win.
I had a geth fighting with me while I was hunting the Collectors, but I can’t get through even to him. If there were a way to contact him, we might be able to open a line of communication and establish terms for a peaceful negotiation. Otherwise I was hoping you might have some dirt on the Admirals I can use as leverage. Liara’s been digging up everything she can, but they’re a paranoid and reclusive people. At this point I’ll take anything.”
She sounded too desperate, and she knew it. Or maybe not so much desperate as informal and pissed beyond hell that she was stuck playing diplomat while there was fighting to be done on Tuchanka and pretty much anywhere else in the galaxy except the quarian system. Negotiations were a necessary part of the job considering the colossal threat presented by the Reapers, but every time a drone went down in combat there was an instant sense of accomplishment. One more step, however small, toward beating the Reapers. There was no such gratification to be earned from attempting to keep the peace in a room full of petulant Admirals.
The door to Ella’s quarters chimed and she allowed access, not bothering to check who was requesting entry. She liked to keep a literal open-door policy with her crew, and it had served her well. On the rare occasions she didn’t wish to be disturbed, everyone knew to leave her be.
“Shepard.” Liara’s soft, soothing voice brought a quick moment of relief. If anyone could calm Ella during times like these, it was her.
“Liara,” Ella said, spinning her chair to face her. “Did something happen with the Admirals?”
“No, nothing like that. Just wanted to check up on you. It’s been a long few days.”
It had been a long two weeks. Hell, might as well count the last six months while she was at it. Being a “guest” of the Alliance pending her trial for treason was hardly the easiest thing in the world knowing that the Reapers were spending that time crossing dark space to initiate this brutality. Even more taxing had been the Parliament’s complete disinterest in this fact, choosing rather to focus on Ella’s alignment with Cerberus as the greater issue. And then, of course, the ten-odd days that had been spent fighting, persuading, and getting the galaxy in motion to stop this madness.
I need a vacation when this is all over.
Ella’s omni-tool pinged yet again. She decided that if this one wasn’t good news, she was going to call it a night and tackle the problem after a few hours’ sleep. She hadn’t gotten a decent amount of rest since the initial attack on Earth.
“You contacted the information brokers?” Liara asked. She’d come a long way from that shy, socially inept scientist Ella had met on Therum two years ago. Even after only six months of being the most powerful information agent in the galaxy, she had enough experience to make a decent assertion about almost anything, even trivialities like these.
“Figured we could use some help on this one. The quarians aren’t budging and the geth are still blocking us. Any information they have could come in handy.”
She swiped her omni-tool and brought up the new message. Damn but it was a long one.
“Okay, this could be good or bad. If the geth aren’t attacking, it might mean the Reapers haven’t gotten to them yet, or they’re just getting prepared. My best guess is that there’s a Reaper on Rannoch, you just can’t detect it. It’s likely come up with an innovative way to block scanners, like hiding underground. Check for an industrial facility, probably somewhere the geth fabricate physical platforms as soldiers. If you can find anything resembling an underground facility with roughly two hundred and fifty square meters of open space, that’ll be where the Reaper’s hiding.
As for Legion, I have my theories about that as well. He’s a specially-designed construct, capable of interaction with hundreds of thousands of geth programs simultaneously. The Reapers may be using him to amplify their control signal, which will enhance geth programming to the point of individual sentience. They’ll also be much more efficient in combat, so if you have to engage them, be careful. As for finding him, look for the largest, most well-fortified geth area you can find—maybe a dreadnought or a major geth city. You know, if geth have cities.
Unfortunately I can’t offer you much on the Admirals. I know Daro’Xen is a bit off her rocker, so you may be able to undermine her credibility with the quarian people. Shala’Raan feels like she has to be the unbiased third party, so her opinion will always be neutral, but she has a connection to Tali. Use that. Zaal’Koris is already on your side, I’m assuming. And the last one—I’m blanking on his name right now—he’s the one advocating geth genocide, right? If you find Legion and manage to show the quarians his perspective, they’ll be more open to peace and ignore the Admirals. It’s about hearts and minds, Shepard. Do what you do best: kick the Reaper’s ass, convince the quarians that they can retake the homeworld without destroying the geth, and save Legion. You’re the only one who can.
Sorry, won’t be able to talk more. We just landed. Good luck, Shepard. We’ll get a drink when this is all over. Or ten.”
Ella wasn’t sure what to think. There was absolutely no reason to believe the Reapers had a hand in any of this, and yet she was supposed to look for one hidden under Rannoch’s surface? Not to mention Legion; Ella had managed to goad a few bits of information from him, but not even she knew that much, and she was the one organic that he’d interacted with most. It simply wasn’t possible that three people could have such a wealth of information on something that left none to be learned.
But on the other hand—the very irritating one that tried to think this through logically—he made a few good points. They weren’t going to learn anything by patrolling just out of the geth’s reach, and Legion was a critical part to reuniting the geth and quarians without bloodshed. Geth technology was certainly more advanced than the rest of the galaxy, but not so advanced as to detect a cloaked vessel with a Reaper IFF. Normandy could slip into the system on a reconnaissance run, find where the geth were keeping Legion, scout possible locations for a Reaper to hide on Rannoch, and develop a tactical analysis before any decisions were made. It was better than waiting until the end of time for the Admirals to come to their senses.
It’s interesting that one idea, no matter how ridiculous it is, trumps no ideas at all. Better to be taking some form of action rather than wait for something to inevitably go wrong, even if Ella didn’t fully trust her informants.
“Anything useful?” Liara asked.
“A few good leads,” Shepard said, standing from her desk and heading for the elevator. “If we’re going to get anything done, we need to find Legion.”
“Legion? The geth you encountered during your hunt to take down the Collectors?” The two of them stepped inside the lift and Ella hit the button for the CIC. “He hasn’t responded to our hails so far. What makes you think he will now?”
“Because we’re not going to hail him. We’re going on a search and rescue mission.”
Liara looked at her for a moment, something similar to concern and confusion drawn on her face. “Shepard, the Admirals are still aboard. I doubt they’ll take kindly to wading into the thick of geth space without being consulted.”
“They should be happy that we’re doing something,” Ella replied. “We’ve spent the last three days trying to do things their way without stepping on any toes. It’s time we make a move.”
That did absolutely nothing to lessen the impact of Liara’s gaze. She knew Ella better than anyone and she had always stood behind her no matter how insane the mission was. It was unusual to see real doubt coming from one of her crew, let alone the person she trusted most.
“What?” Ella asked when she received no response. “You think I’m being too reckless?”
“I’m worried about you.” Ella’s stomach twisted. Guilt, maybe. “You were the only one prepared for this, but even then you couldn’t have possibly expected any of the horrors we’ve seen already. I’m worried that you’re pushing yourself too far because you blame yourself for every loss we take.”
Though Ella wasn’t the kind of woman who would admit to something so crippling, she knew Liara had hit the nail on the head. No one with a healthy grasp on their emotions trudges into battle with no plan or consideration as to what might go wrong. She was being reckless, and she knew it.
But she also knew that the Reapers had crossed every line in the book when it came to warfare, and to survive such a vicious onslaught, Ella needed to cross a few lines herself. Screw the Admirals.
The elevator door slid open, revealing that the galaxy map was already being used. No one but Ella could order the Normandy to travel to a destination, but for someone like Tali it served as an efficient means of seeing her homeworld without the Admirals looking over her shoulder. No doubt each of them had been whispering in her ear, attempting to win her over to their side because they thought she was young and easily influenced. Luckily for Ella, Tali was one of the strongest people she’d ever met. The Admirals should have aspired to be more like her.
“I’m fine,” Ella told Liara as they left the elevator. “Right now we just need to focus on winning this thing.”
She’d almost made it to the galaxy map when Liara stopped walking. It wasn’t even something she actually knew had happened; she didn’t see or hear it. Rather it was an almost preternatural knowledge brought about by the emotional intimacy the two of them shared. Bonding with an asari was unlike anything Ella had ever experienced in a relationship.
“Shepard,” Liara said softly. “You’re doing the best you can, better than anyone else. It’s not your fault.”
And then she headed back to the elevator, leaving Ella to untwist the knots that had formed in her abdomen. Liara was right; she took every death in this war as a personal failure despite having led the charge against the Reapers for the last three years. Or maybe because she’d been leading the charge, and it still amounted to nothing now that the entire galaxy was under occupation.
Emotions aren’t usually something soldiers have a good working relationship with. In fact most of them tend to get buried or completely snuffed out during bootcamp. One of the first things the sergeants teach is that emotion always, always gets in the way of rational thought, and rationality was a necessity on the battlefield. When soldiers go around thinking with their hearts is when people start dying.
Ella had probably had it worse than most soldiers, given the specialized training she’d undergone during the Alliance SpecOps program and Spectre initiation. Going into programs like those, if you still have your emotions intact when you come out the other side, you didn’t do something right. Calculating efficiency was a must, and anyone who let their judgment be clouded by emotion was dismissed without warning or a second chance.
Still, to completely lack emotion would be inhuman. They still existed, just buried beneath seventeen metric tons of duty, responsibility, and training. In all honesty the argument could be made that in the long run, concealing emotion did more harm for soldiers than good. Especially when conflicts arose between the feelings trying to stay buried and the ones attempting to dig their counterparts out of the rubble.
It isn’t your fault.
Four words had never hit her so hard before. She’d heard them half a dozen times in the last few years alone: after Eden Prime, after losing two colonies to the Collectors, after the Reapers decimated Vancouver and half a dozen other Earth cities. But it had never been something she’d needed to hear coming from someone who knew she didn’t want to hear it. Liara knew she’d be upsetting her bondmate, but she did it anyway for Ella’s benefit. There was something to be said for that.
She’d have to surprise Liara with a show of appreciation later, and she had a few ideas of what that might entail.
For now though, they needed to take action. Reckless and impulsive and unlikely as the plan seemed, it was the only one they had. Hackett had expected progress two days ago. It was past time to make some.
“Holding down the fort for me, Tali?” Ella asked as she approached the galaxy map.
Tali closed the display of Rannoch quickly and stepped down from the commander’s stand, not wanting to give the impression that she was stepping beyond her boundaries. “Oh, Shepard. Sorry, just had to get away from the Admirals for a moment.”
Her polite and skittish nature produced a light laugh from Ella. “You don’t have to apologize, Tali. If I were in your position I’d need to take a breather from time to time too. Besides, you’ve had my back more than anyone the last few years. That more than earns you the right to access anything you want in my book.”
“Thanks, Shepard. The Admirals can be a bit difficult to deal with sometimes.”
That’s putting it lightly.
Ella stepped up the ramp of the commander’s overlook and brought the galaxy map to life where Tali had left off. The Tikkun system sprawled itself before her eyes, all five planets—or maybe that one was just an asteroid—and the dimming star at the center. And of course, the sizeable geth armada hidden in the innumerable artificial constructs floating in orbit just beyond Rannoch’s atmosphere.
It looked peaceful, if not a bit chaotic. Getting a reading on the planet was going to be almost impossible with all that tech surrounding it.
“Are you planning on going somewhere, or just admiring the view?” Tali asked.
“The geth have a lot of stations and satellites orbiting Rannoch.”
“And more than a few surveillance outposts scattered throughout the system. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a monitoring station tailing the relay. I don’t know if even Normandy could enter the system without being spotted.”
She caught on quick. The quarians had the technical ingenuity of the salarians, the spirit of the krogan, and the philosophical inclination of the asari, and Tali was an exemplar of these traits. Of course, having served with Ella on and off for three years contributed a good deal to her insight as well.
“We don’t have much of a choice at this point, Tali. Either we go to war with the geth to win your people’s support, or we find a way to convince them peace is a possibility. The only way we’re going to do that is if we can find Legion.”
“Legion?” Ella hadn’t expected the note of surprise in Tali’s voice. “You think he’ll help us?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“Because the geth operate on consensus. The majority vote determines every action they take. If the rest of the geth don’t want to give up Rannoch, he—it—won’t have any choice. Besides, you’re talking as if it’s an individual capable of making choices for itself. Last time it was on Normandy there were over a thousand programs operating in one platform. Imagine if you had a thousand voices in your head, each one fighting for its opinion to dictate your actions. The only reason it works is because they’re machines capable of processing data, forming a consensus, and not letting emotions interfere with the decision of the group. Logic and reasoning subvert any organic desire to oppose the majority vote. So even if Legion did want to come to an agreement with my people, he—agh, it—won’t risk upsetting the consensus if they decide against it.”
There she went again, overcomplicating things the way she always did. True, Legion had explained as much to Ella when she’d asked about geth government, but there was more to the story than that. The geth had evolved beyond their original programming. They may not be emotional and irrational like organics, but Ella had seen more than just circuits and wiring when she would head down to the AI core for random chats with her resident geth sniper. He’d shown loyalty and respect—even admiration by strapping a piece of N7 armor to his chest.
Besides, this was all moot point if Donovan was right about the Reapers already taking control of the geth. In that case there was no point in playing it safe; they would have to find Legion, get him to safety, and work on a way to take down the Reaper parked on Rannoch no matter what the consequences.
Again, if. The cousins had been right about pretty much everything so far, and as much as Ella disagreed with their secrecy, there was really no reason to doubt them. But a Reaper hiding in a cave somewhere just below the planet’s surface? They were just as likely to find a volus in a jacuzzi full of asari strippers.
There were so many details to consider, so many scenarios to plan out and so many things that could easily go wrong that Ella’s head spun when she tried to put it all in perspective. Everything had been so spur-of-the-moment when fighting Saren and the Collectors; when something came up, they acted with the first plan that came to mind. With the Reapers, there were a dozen if questions to be asked before every single action, and twice as many then possibilities and consequences to contemplate.
Screw it. Ella was tired of waiting, tired of asking questions and trying to analyze every decision to make sure it was one hundred percent infallible before acting on it. She was at her best with a rifle in her hands, anyway.
“Joker,” she called out, knowing EDI would relay the communication to the cockpit. “Hit the relay. Take us as close to Rannoch as you can without giving away our position.”
Within seconds the flight path was laid out on the galaxy map, no doubt EDI’s doing. Joker was never one for following procedure or even laying out a flight path for such a short jump.
Odd that he hadn’t responded yet, though.
“I apologize for Jeff’s delay, Shepard,” EDI’s robotic voice said. “He seemed to think it was a good idea to take a nap at the helm. We should approach the relay momentarily, so long as he can remain awake long enough to fly the ship.”
“Yeah I’m gonna call bullshit on that one, Commander,” Joker quickly replied. “EDI’s just lashing out because she wanted the body from that AI you shot down on Mars. You did destroy that thing, right? Because the last thing we need is an unshackled AI with the ability to go wherever the hell she wants.”
“Rest assured, Mister Moreau, I am fully content to assist you in running the Normandy’s systems. There is nowhere I would rather be.”
“Well that’s not creepy at all. Hitting the relay, Commander.”
Ella turned to head for the cockpit when she caught Tali’s gaze. It was still hard to read her body language due to the completely concealing face mask, but crossed arms and leaning back on one leg is pretty universal.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Shepard.”
Believe me, so do I.
----------------------------------------
Not a sign of progress in almost seven days. Of course, one could easily say that shouldn’t have come as much of a shock considering the nature of what they were dealing with, but Miranda Lawson wasn’t the kind of woman who accepted failure, no matter what the goal. And make no mistake, it had been a complete failure. A disaster, really. Getting a dozen of the most powerful biotics in the galaxy in one room and hoping for a solution? Especially given that there were six different species all trying to get their ideas at the top of the list, or some not contributing ideas at all—what the hell had Hackett been thinking?
The only thing that could calm her was a nice long shower. After thirteen hours of hearing from the asari how impossible such a thing was and Jack throwing it in their faces with mockery and obscenities, anyone would have needed a break. Then there were the turians, who had nothing to offer but refusals of every idea; the krogan, who had suggested they create an enormous sphere of biotic power and launch it into the galactic core; the drell, who seemed to think prayer was the answer; and the batarians, who—as always—wanted no part in this cooperative effort but were forced to be there by their commander. It was the galaxy’s worst nightmare.
When Miranda had first heard the recording from the Reaper during Hackett’s conference, she’d thought it was nothing. The Reapers had always tried to appear so mystical and above comprehension that it seemed like more of the same arrogance. But upon listening to the recording over and over, and re-reading Garrus’s official report at least ten times, she’d found something that made her interested.
During its conversation with the three young men Miranda had met in the conference, the Reaper had said they were all doomed to extinction. It claimed that it wanted to save the galaxy from some form of natural disaster, but that harvesting organics was the only way to do that. Yet in his stasis-induced interaction, Garrus mentioned that the Reaper wanted to put an end to the harvesting and allow organics to find a solution. There was only one possible explanation for this discontinuity: they had spoken to both Reapers on the battlefield in Jerusalem. The first one had attempted to destroy them, and the second one had preserved them in order to get its message out. The Reapers were divided, and organics had to make a move.
Thus the need for a biotic committee to determine how best to proceed. One of the Reapers had said the only way to reverse the damage done to the galaxy was with an equally powerful reaction; did that mean as powerful as the damage it was currently sustaining, or as powerful as the damage it had sustained since its creation? If it was the former, that was a tall order. If it was the latter, physically impossible. Even if they had every biotic that had ever lived in the last hundred million years creating a biotic atom bomb like the krogan had suggested, the galactic core was nothing but black holes and stars continuously exploding and being reborn. It likely consumed and emitted enough energy in an hour to keep the Citadel activated for the rest of time.
Then there was always Jack’s ludicrous idea of learning to harness matter rather than dark matter. The anti-biotics, as she’d cleverly named their group.
It all came down to a heaping pile of rubbish. Unless they had some sort of guidance from the Reapers—the good ones, anyway, if that term even applied—Miranda didn’t see any viable option in sight. Just insane theories that were more likely to hasten their demise than save them.
The shower had gone on long enough, she decided, so she shut off the steam jets and dried herself before heading to her new quarters for a glass of wine. She’d half-expected Sentinel Outpost to adhere to common Alliance standards which essentially amounted to four walls and a cot, so it was at least pleasant knowing that at the end of each day she had a cozy room to come back to, always stocked with her favorite drink.
On a whim, Miranda brought up her omni-tool and found a novelization of Vaenia, an asari film that had received huge critical appreciation. Wine glass in hand, she curled up in the nearest lounger and cast the display onto the projector on the far wall. Time to settle in, finish the wine, and fall asleep comfortably after a chapter or two.
Five minutes in she was bored. The wine had gone down easily enough, but even that wasn’t making the writing any more bearable. The thoughts were fragmented, characters made up their minds altogether far too quickly, and there were enough plot twists within the first fifteen pages to fill an entire elcor drama. Maybe the film would be more tolerable.
Miranda skimmed through the extranet until she found it, purchased the license for one viewing, and began casting it to the holoprojector. Or, would have, if the thing had worked properly. Instead nothing but static greeted her, perforated occasionally by a bit of feedback coming through the channel.
“Dammit, just my luck,” she breathed. Accessing the projector’s systems via omni-tool did no good; she would have to call someone from maintenance in the morning to check the physical hardware.
But just when she’d given up hope, the static condensed until it disappeared, replaced by a very clear image that did not at all allay Miranda’s irritation.
“Miranda,” the Illusive Man said. “It’s been a while.”