by Cole Price
I carefully closed my omni-tool and turned off the interface terminal, before he could see any of my results. “Illusive Man. Killing me didn’t work, so now you want to talk?”
“I don’t want you dead. I had nothing to do with sending that Phantom to Kahje.” He stared at me, sincerity painted on the lines of his face. “You have to trust me.”
“You know, it’s possible you’ve gone to that particular well once too often.” I gave him a cynical smile. “I’ve seen Cerberus do too many monstrous things, always followed by your assurances that it was just a rogue cell, not really under my control, I’ve taken care of it, don’t worry about it. You keep saying that you are Cerberus. Very well, take some damned responsibility for what your people do.”
He took a drag on his cigarette, let the smoke roll out in a film of holographic light. “Some of my people are frightened, and with good reason. You know as well as I do that the Reapers are on the march. No one can afford to take chances. This has led to some within Cerberus letting their concern overrule their better judgment. I’m reining them in. It won’t happen again.”
And I can believe as much of that as I choose to. Given past experience . . . I choose none.
“All right,” I said aloud. “What does any of that have to do with me? Why is Cerberus here?”
“We’re after the same thing you are, Doctor: finding a way to stop the Reapers. If we could work in tandem instead of independently chasing leads in the dark, perhaps the bloodshed there could have been avoided. I propose we call a truce.”
“I suppose it could prove beneficial,” I agreed, permitting my smile to grow. “Although you will understand if I’m a little cautious, after just having a Cerberus blade held at my throat.”
“What can I do to reassure you?”
“You go first.”
The Illusive Man’s eyes widened.
“Upload all of the information you have on ways to stop the Reapers. To this terminal, since I don’t trust you to drop clean data to my omni-tool. If I like what I see, I’ll do the same in return.”
I waited. He said nothing, watching me, taking a long pull on his cigarette. I could see his left hand slowly balling into a fist.
“I see,” I said at last. “So either you aren’t willing to share your information, or you don’t have any.”
“Don’t play games with me, Doctor. You’re out of your depth.”
I turned my back on him. “I’ve found what I needed here. Goodbye, Mr. Harper.”
He called after me, his voice so full of threat that it stopped me in my tracks. “Do you really want to push me?”
I waited.
“Your Shadow Broker game has been amusing and not without its benefits, but don’t think for a second that you’re in full control. Too many people have started to guess who you are. Your own operatives are forgetting to fear you the way they did your predecessor. A lot of people are saying that the Shadow Broker is slipping. Going soft.
“Do you ever wonder just how many knives are being sharpened for you? Do you lie awake at night, trying to guess just how much time you have left? You need me, Dr. T’Soni.”
I turned on him. “And yet here you are, trying to make a deal. Next time you decide to try to kill me, I suggest you send an army.”
A touch at my omni-tool, and the Illusive Man vanished.
Quoyle leaned heavily against the door frame, watching me. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“Hmm. Come on, let’s get you patched up. The last time a drell put himself at risk for me, it cost him two years of intermittent torture. I’d rather not have that happen again.”
“I find myself in agreement.” He sighed. “I found a first-aid kit and some medi-gel in a side room. I’ll hold together until we get back to the surface.”
“I saw some other submersibles in the docking bay. Think you can get one of them running?”
“Assuming that psycho with a sword didn’t do to them what she did to everything else down here? Sure. Let’s go.”
Chapter 5 : Mars
5 April 2186, Lowell City/Mars
I emerged from Themis into the docking bay, locking the ship down behind me. At the time I did not suspect that I would never see the little starship again.
Two humans waited at the end of a boarding ramp, presenting a study in contrasts: male and female, old and young, short and tall, corpulent and slender, pale and dark, rumpled formal wear and a crisply fashionable one-piece bodysuit. All of human variety embodied in two people.
The male human stepped forward to greet me, peering at me out of watery blue eyes. “Dr. T’Soni? I’m Dr. Harrison, of the University of Edinburgh. I’m currently the chief scientist at the Archives. Welcome to Mars.”
I shook his hand. “Dr. Harrison. Thank you for taking the time to meet me.”
“Please, call me Cameron, or just Cam, if you would. This is Faiza Tkele, a graduate student from the University of Nairobi. She’s been positively dying to meet you.”
Tkele grinned broadly and shook my hand with enthusiasm. “Too right, Doctor. I’ve been following your work for years.”
“Faiza has been doing very good work on phoneme inventory and manner of articulation for late-era Prothean dialects,” said Harrison. “She has a mathematical model for Prothean speech mechanisms that you may find interesting.”
“I’ve made fantastic progress since you and your colleagues released that draft lexicon,” said Tkele. “Soon I may be able to reconstruct how Prothean dialects were pronounced.”
“That would be interesting,” I said, enjoying the young woman’s enthusiasm.
“I’ve asked Faiza to be your assistant while you are here,” Harrison said.
I made a half-bow in her direction. “Thank you.”
Harrison nodded decisively, the social niceties handled to his satisfaction. “Well, I suppose we had best be on our way. We have a suborbital vehicle to take us to the Archives. I understand we are very pressed for time.”
“Yes.” I hefted my travel case and followed, as the humans set out across the starport. “What have you been told?”
“Very little. Only that your research project is vital to the security of the Alliance, and that we are to give you all possible cooperation. We’re taking that directive very seriously, you may be sure. It’s not often that the Prime Minister’s office shows a direct interest in our day-to-day research.” Harrison frowned. “I must warn you, we rarely see non-humans at the Deseado site. I think you are the first asari to visit in over a decade. Some of the other researchers may exhibit some unease.”
“Is that likely to be a problem?”
“I shouldn’t think so, but that’s one reason why I’ve asked Faiza to be your assistant. She doesn’t put up with any nonsense from the others.”
I glanced at Tkele, who nodded vigorously. “I’ve kicked too many of their arses at the weekly skyball tourney. They know better than to mess with me.”
“You’re a skyball player?” I laughed. “Goddess, it’s been decades, but I was an absolute fanatic when I was an undergraduate student.”
She smirked. “I know.”
“Careful, Doctor,” Harrison chuckled. “She’s done her homework on your vitae. You may find that you have, what’s the word? A new acolyte on your hands.”
Goddess, I hope not.
I kept my misgivings to myself and smiled warmly at the two of them, knowing they were only trying to make me feel welcome.
* * *
7 April 2186, Prothean Archives, Deseado Crater/Mars
I found the Archives facility an odd contrast of the ancient and the new. The original Prothean structure stood in the center of a crater, once buried some distance under the Martian surface. When humans arrived, they dug down to expose most of the structure, and then built their own facilities around the rim of the resulting deep pit. One could only access the Archives themselves across a secured tram and pedway.
At first, I had difficulty gaining a
dmission to the Archives. The Alliance officer in charge of the local garrison, a Major Vasilyev, refused to permit access to a non-human. Faiza began to argue vigorously on my behalf, but I restrained her and solved the problem myself. One call to Arcturus, and Major Vasilyev found himself on the receiving end of some very direct orders from the Minister of Defense.
Faiza went rather wide-eyed and silent for some time after that. I don’t think her mental image of me had included quite so much willingness to use power.
When we first entered the Archives chamber, I hoped to be able to access the Crucible data at once. Unfortunately we found the task not so simple. It took me less than five minutes to verify the data were present . . . but they were encrypted, and the file-allocation tables had become corrupted over time. Faiza and I had to spend many hours laboriously reconstructing and decrypting the original documents.
I was asari, and Faiza was a young human in superb condition; we both could push ourselves. We remained in the Archives for almost forty hours for that first session, brushing aside all other claims for time on the Prothean data-retrieval systems, with only short breaks for bodily maintenance. Only when I started to experience mild hallucinations for lack of food and sleep did I call for a break.
We took the pedway across to staff quarters, emerging in the mess hall. I blinked at the wan sunlight streaming in through the northern windows, and glanced outside. The Martian surface seemed as bleak and austere as ever, reddish-brown stone and sand, stretching away to the ring of stone hills that made up the rim of Deseado Crater. The sky shone a dull brown, the thin atmosphere full of dust and fines.
“What a bleak place,” I murmured.
“It is,” Faiza agreed. “A lot of us start to ignore the windows after a while, especially in southern summer like it is now. The sun just swings round-and-round in the sky, hovering just above the crater walls, and the view never changes. The eye begins to starve for just a glimpse of water or greenery.”
“I’ve often wondered why the Protheans didn’t place the facility closer to Earth. Or even on Earth, for that matter.”
“Yes. If they wanted to observe primitive humans, one would think it more convenient to set up close by. Like they did on Kahje.”
“Or on Thessia,” I pointed out. “There’s nothing in the Archives to suggest why they chose this site?”
“Not that we’ve been able to find.” She smiled wearily. “Cam has a theory. He thinks the Protheans expected us humans to come and find this site eventually, but they didn’t want to make it too easy for us. So they placed it on Mars instead of on the Moon or on Earth itself. Then they buried the whole package, so we would have to look quite closely to find it.”
“It’s as good a theory as any.” I sighed. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat. I think I would kill for a stack of pancakes with maple syrup right now.”
Faiza did a double-take. “Sorry. It’s just strange hearing an asari express a craving for human food.”
“You should see me with spaghetti and meatballs.”
We loaded our trays and found a place to sit together. For several minutes the universe contained nothing but my food. It was bland institutional fare, but I was starving.
Eventually I could look around and watch the other diners. The hall didn’t seem crowded – it was actually a little too early for the usual mid-day meal – but those present gave us plenty of space.
Probably that “unease” Dr. Harrison warned me about. These people aren’t used to having an asari among them, examining a site that they regard as part of their human heritage, taking priority over all of their own research.
One human in particular caught my eye, possibly because she too was isolated, sitting by herself and ignoring the rest of us. I examined her more closely across the room: pale coloring, black hair bobbed below her ears, a rather striking figure dressed in a close-fitting white bodysuit. She had no meal tray, only a cup of coffee by her elbow as she worked with a datapad. Something about her tugged at my memory, but the reference refused to come clear.
“Faiza, who is that?”
My partner turned to glance across the room. “The stunner sitting by herself over there? That’s Dr. Alexander, from the University of Cambridge. She arrived just a day before you did.”
I frowned. “That’s an odd coincidence.”
“Maybe. We do get guest researchers fairly often, circulating in and out.”
“Has anyone checked her credentials?”
“Cam would have done that.” Faiza watched me closely. “Liara, do you have reason to be suspicious?”
“Yes. Always. It’s probably nothing, but I’d like to talk to Cam about it.”
She checked her omni-tool. “He’s in a meeting right now. Unless you think we should interrupt?”
“No.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting off a wave of fatigue. “It’s not that urgent. We can take care of it after we finish eating.”
Just then my own omni-tool chirped to announce an incoming call. I set my fork down and opened it, calling up a holographic screen.
“Shepard!”
He looked up at me, not even a hint of pleasure in his eyes, his expression set and grim. “Hello, love. How has the work been going on Mars?”
“Slowly, but we’re making progress.”
“Good.” He hesitated. “Have you been in contact with your network?”
“Not in several days. I’ve been buried in the Archives, too busy to stay in touch. What’s wrong?”
“Liara, Khar’Shan has gone off the grid.”
I felt a deep chill.
This is it, the news we’ve been dreading.
“Go on.”
“All of the comm buoy connections into the Harsa system have been down for a little over an hour. We haven’t been able to determine the cause. The Hegemony isn’t saying anything yet, but our intel claims they’re just as confused as we are.” He paused. “You know what this has to be.”
“Goddess. The Reapers. They’re here.”
Faiza stared at me with wide eyes.
“If they’re reached Khar’Shan, then they can hit Earth any time they want to,” said Shepard. “The Minister of Defense has placed the Alliance on a full war alert. He’s put Admiral Hackett in command of Sol system defense. I’m going to be working with the Defense Committee around the clock for the next few days.”
“I understand. Is Normandy ready?”
“The refits are complete. They’re going through acceptance testing right now. We can be in the sky with about ten minutes of warning.”
“Hopefully the Reapers will give you that much notice.”
He nodded. “Liara, I don’t like you being stuck at the Martian south pole with no quick way off-planet. How long will it take you to finish what you’re doing there?”
“A few days, perhaps.”
He scowled, obviously preparing to remonstrate with me.
“Shepard, what I’m doing here is important. This Crucible device . . . we’re still not entirely sure what it is, but the Protheans apparently pinned all their hopes on it. They were convinced it could defeat the Reapers.”
“From what you’ve told me, the Protheans were desperate by the time they started building the thing.”
“Yes, and are we not desperate now?”
“I suppose you’re right.” He sighed, and all his heart was in his eyes. “Be careful, Liara. We need you. I need you.”
I touched the screen with my other hand. “You have enough to worry about without putting me on the list. I will be fine.”
“All right. I love you, Liara. Take care and we’ll talk again soon.”
I closed my omni-tool and looked up, to find myself holding Faiza’s intent gaze.
“This project is about beating the Reapers?” she asked, her voice low and unusually serious.
“I hope it will be.”
“Well.” She sat up straight, a determined expression on her face. “We had best get back to work, hadn’t
we?”
I shook my head, seeing the fatigue in her eyes, twin to my own. “We need a few hours of real sleep. We can’t afford to miss some detail because we’re too tired to pay attention.”
“I suppose you’re right. Once we’re done eating, I’ll show you the room Cam assigned you. Do you suppose there’s any point in recruiting more help for the project?”
I considered it, but then shook my head. “I don’t think so. By now you and I are both familiar with the process of recovering and integrating the data. Anyone new would need to be trained to assist, and they would need close supervision for a time. I don’t think we would gain anything in the short term.”
“And the short term may be all we have. I understand.”
We finished our meal and left the mess hall. Faiza showed me to my room, and I collapsed onto the bed for six hours of exhausted sleep.
I was too tired, too distracted by what Shepard had told me, to realize that I had just made a terrible mistake. By the time I remembered, it was already far too late.
* * *
11 April 2186, Prothean Archives, Deseado Crater/Mars
Dr. Harrison turned to me, two cups of tea in his hands. “So, you believe you’ve found what you were looking for?”
“Yes, Cam.” I accepted one cup and sipped it gratefully. If I had to drink human beverages for social purposes, I much preferred tea to coffee. “It’s not clear what the Protheans believed the Crucible would actually do, but they were convinced it would defeat the Reapers, if they could only complete it. Faiza and I have recovered what appears to be a nearly complete blueprint. I think at this point, we need to gather up the data and get it to the Alliance as quickly as possible.”
“Certainly. I’ll have a word with Major Vasilyev . . .”
The door to Dr. Harrison’s office slammed open. “Cam!”
Dr. Harrison carefully set his cup and saucer down. “What is it, Sandoval?”
Sandoval Fletcher was an engineer, an expert in the analysis of Prothean technology. My impression of him had always been one of phlegmatic calm. Now he appeared wide-eyed with terror. “Cam, turn on your extranet terminal. ANN, Westerlund, anything!”
