by Cole Price
“Is that possible?”
“Certainly. The cosmos remains the same for all, unalterable, but every species interprets its perceptions of the cosmos in a different manner.” He leaned close, examining the image carefully. “Even so, some things should remain invariant. Perhaps this is not a weapon in any sense you or I would recognize.”
“What do you think it is?”
“A communications device. Designed to deliver information, not raw force.”
I looked at the blueprints, and wished I had more expertise in large-scale engineering. For a moment I almost thought I could see what he described, but then it was gone. “How could a communications device defeat the Reapers?”
“The Reapers are machines, are they not? Terrible, vastly intelligent, and yet only machines. Machines may be programmed to carry out a function with great single-mindedness. Change the program, and you change the behavior. Possibly you cause the machine to break down entirely.”
“You’re suggesting that the Reapers might be hacked?”
“I suggest nothing, asari. You asked my opinion.”
“Hmm. Does the term Catalyst mean anything to you?”
“Not in this context. Clearly that was the component my people failed to fully understand.”
I sighed. “If the designs are incomplete and your Unity failed to finish them, I don’t see how we can succeed. We must simply keep trying, I suppose.”
“That is all that can ever be done, asari. All striving is completed only by death.”
How very Prothean of you, I thought to myself. “I think that’s all for this session, Javik. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“So what will you report of me to your mate?”
I stared at him. “I never told you I was mated to Commander Shepard.”
“You didn’t have to. Your pheromones did.”
“I see.” I considered for a moment. “If I understand you correctly, you’re mostly concerned with whether I will advise Shepard to invite you onto the ground team.”
“I am of no use sitting here in the cargo hold.”
“You’ve been of considerable use to me. Still, I believe I will recommend that you join the mission squad. My main concern was whether or not you can be trusted.”
“I have no reason to betray any of you. All of my motivations are fifty thousand years dead, except one: to see the Reapers destroyed.”
“Unless you are indoctrinated.”
That brought him up short. His eyes blazed at me for a moment, but then he nodded slowly. “Yes. Where the Reapers are involved, this is always a concern.”
“You faced indoctrination in your war?”
“Yes.” Suddenly he could not meet my gaze. “Before my final assignment to the project on Takenu . . .”
I watched him, my face carefully blank, waiting patiently.
“I had a command of my own. A fast cruiser, ideal for hit-and-run raids, missions deep into Reaper-controlled space. Much like this Normandy. I suppose your Commander Shepard is an officer much as I was then. I had my own team, drawn from all the races of the Unity, the best and the strongest I could find. We fought many battles together, against the Reapers and their slaves. We even convinced ourselves that some of those battles were victories.
“Then it all came to an end. Reaper forces ambushed us. They captured my ship, and all of my team. Only I escaped, thinking never to see any of them again. I was wrong. I saw all of them again. They had become indoctrinated, Reaper slaves, sent out into the galaxy to hunt me down.”
I wanted to reach across the table and lay my hand on his arm in sympathy. I repressed the urge.
“Do you know what I did, asari?” Javik drew his combat knife and laid it on the table between us. “I hunted them down instead. All my former comrades. I killed them with my own hands. Some of them with this very knife.”
“I understand,” I said quietly.
“Do you, asari? Do you truly understand?”
“The first victim of indoctrination I ever saw was my own mother,” I told him. “I was there when we had to kill her, three years ago on Noveria.”
He stared at me for a long moment. “I apologize, asari. Perhaps you do understand after all.”
“I don’t pretend that any of us can match what you have lost,” I told him. “But don’t make the mistake of assuming we’ve had no price of our own to pay.”
“Rrrh. I am properly rebuked. Although I fear your losses may equal mine, before this is over.”
“I’m not keeping score.”
“Wise.” He reached out, recovered his combat knife and replaced it in its sheath. “If you have finished for today, asari, I have some questions for you.”
“I suppose that’s fair enough. What do you want to know?”
“I want to know if your Commander Shepard can do what must be done to win this war.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Would you trust any answer I gave you?”
“That depends on you. You are his mate, and I would expect you to be loyal to him. You are also his spymaster. You deal in information, seeking out the truth that leads to victory. You cannot afford to lie to yourself, asari, and I will know at once if you lie to me.”
“Shepard is a superb soldier. He has great courage and determination.”
“This I already know. Were he under my command, I would trust him to carry out any order I gave, even at the cost of his life. Unfortunately, I am under his command, and I suspect he has crippled himself.”
“In what way?”
“He trusts those who do not merit his trust. He wastes time in negotiation, when he should be forcing others to obey his will. He wastes more time assisting the weak, when he should be casting them aside or using them in pursuit of his true mission.” Javik shrugged. “I do not doubt his personal skill in the art of warfare, but if he will not use that skill when it is needed, he is doomed to failure.”
“I disagree. Under his leadership we have already defeated the Reapers three times.”
“No. You have not defeated them even once. At most, you have delayed them by a few years. Now they are here. The methods your Shepard used before simply will not work against this enemy, now that they have brought all of their might to bear.”
I frowned and said nothing.
“I know more about you than you realize. Unlike your mate, you have lied, stolen, betrayed, killed in cold blood, all to carry out your mission. You are willing to do what must be done.”
“How do you know anything about me?” I demanded, damning the quiver that crept into my voice.
“The things you have experienced, the choices you have made, all of this marks you. Your posture, your speech patterns, your gestures, your scent. I have already learned much, even without touching you for a deep reading. You are like some I once knew who served the Shadow of the Unity. Spies. Dealers in secrets, lies and betrayal.”
I gave him my best aristocratic stare. “I have no regrets.”
“Now you are lying to me. Of course you have regrets. But you need not fear my judgment. I approve. It is your Shepard whose naïveté I fear.”
“Hmm.” I rose from the table, picking up my datapads as an excuse not to hold his fierce yellow gaze. “I understand, but I think you are underestimating Commander Shepard. After all that he has done, all that he has suffered, he does not act as he does out of naïveté.”
“Then what drives him?”
For an instant, I had no answer that he would understand. Then it came to me, and I could meet Javik’s stare once more. “Conviction,” I told him. “Despite all evidence to the contrary, he believes that if he gives all he has, if he can persuade and lead others to do the same, then that will be enough.”
“Rrrh.” Javik growled, shaking his head. “Some would call that delusion.”
“Perhaps. I plan to reserve judgment, until we see the final outcome.” I gave in to a moment’s temptation toward cruelty. “After all, Commander First Class Javik Taran, of the Arm o
f the Unity, you lost your war. Ours is not yet decided.”
“That is true,” he said, and I heard only a trace of resentment in his voice. “I hope your faith is not misplaced.”
Chapter 17 : Raising the Stakes
Days passed.
I healed. I directed my network, sending ships and agents to snatch critical information and technology out of the Reapers’ grasp. I worked with my scientific colleagues across the galaxy, helping to translate and interpret Prothean texts. I interrogated Javik for hours, pulling memories out of the last Prothean’s mind, searching for any small hint that might be of use.
Shepard fought a number of battles without me, on Utukku, Benning, and Sanctum. His luck held. He never returned with serious injuries, only minor bruises and scrapes that Dr. Chakwas treated without difficulty. Every evening I met him in our shared cabin, heard the story of his latest engagement, and shared his memories if he felt energetic enough for intimate contact. He usually did. The constant fighting, the constant worry over Earth, all of it wore him down. Yet, for a time, he seemed to draw upon an inexhaustible fund of strength and determination.
Then Mordin announced that he neared completion of his task. A cure for the genophage would be ready in only a few days.
Normandy crossed the mass-relay network into the Krogan Demilitarized Zone, taking up a high orbit over Tuchanka.
Everything changed.
Until that time I had never been to Tuchanka, but I had Shepard’s memories from his previous visit eight months before. Venturing into the midst of hostile krogan, vicious wildlife, and the rigors of survival on a very hostile planet, Shepard had come away victorious but exhausted.
Now conditions had become far worse.
As Wrex reported, Reaper forces had already landed on the planet: twisted rachni ravagers, corrupted turian marauders, and once-human husks by the thousand. They harassed the krogan, especially in the regions held by Clan Urdnot and its allies. Defeated krogan disappeared for a time, only to return as monstrous brutes, forming the core of an ever-growing force of Reaper shock troops.
We also found Cerberus had reached Tuchanka before us, hoping to wreck the new alliance before it could begin. While the Reapers seemed to attack at random, Cerberus struck with calculating precision. Normandy fought three engagements against Cerberus ships in orbit, while Shepard took his team down several times to stop the renegade humans on the surface.
There my bondmate took his first serious wound, not of the body, but of the spirit.
I never had the chance to meet Lieutenant Tarquin Victus, the Primarch’s only son, ill-fated commander of the Ninth Platoon. He remained on Tuchanka the whole time, and I did not go down to the surface myself until after he was killed in action. Shepard, on the other hand, worked closely with him for three days.
Afterward, in his memories, I saw how deeply Shepard came to care for that chance-met young comrade. Shepard rescued him from a fatal mistake. Mentored him, as he fought to regain command and the respect of his men. Fought at his side, against Reapers and Cerberus alike. Took part in the same desperate rush to disarm a turian planet-buster before it could lay waste to half of Tuchanka.
Shepard stood close by, helpless to intervene, when Lieutenant Victus sacrificed his life for the sake of the krogan people.
Later, my husband lost his temper in the war room, raging at Primarch and warlord alike, shaming them both into letting go of their disputes and mutual mistrust. He was grim and taciturn for the rest of that day. In the evening he had no interest in making love, a rare event for him. Instead he lay on his back with me tucked under the curve of one arm, staring at the ceiling for long hours, until sleep finally claimed him.
War is a terrible and ugly business, and yet some call it glorious. I think they forget the blood, the sweat, the filth, the destruction, the terrible pain and suffering. What they remember, after the worst is long over, is the comradeship. The loyalty of soldiers on the field, who must rely on one another absolutely or perish. The admiration for others who face terrible odds, and yet manage to pull victory out of the jaws of defeat. A bond is there, not eros, but a form of philia that can spring into existence very quickly under the stress of the battlefield.
Shepard had become very fond of Tarquin Victus. It wounded him deeply to see the young turian die. Almost as deeply as the death of Kaidan Alenko, three years before.
No tragedy is entirely without an associated good. Commiserating over the young turian officer’s death, Shepard and the Primarch became close friends for the first time.
Even so, it was a very forbidding Shepard who entered the war room, on the day we at last were ready to cure the genophage.
* * *
4 May 2186, Tuchanka Orbit
“All right, what is this, blocking our approach to the Shroud?”
“New form of Reaper, Shepard,” said Mordin. “Smaller. Apparently specialized for combat operations, not harvesting procedure. Using Shroud to poison Tuchanka’s atmosphere. Problematic.”
Wrex growled. “They want a fight, they just got one!”
I watched Shepard as he examined the map projected before us: the terrain, the weather conditions, the current positions of Reaper and krogan units on the ground, the available inventory of Alliance and turian forces in orbit. After a full minute, he nodded decisively and turned to his right. “Primarch, we’re going to need your help.”
“That won’t be easy,” said Victus. “Our losses on Palaven have been catastrophic. I’m under pressure from home to pull our expeditionary force out of the Krogan DMZ.”
“We’re doing this for Palaven,” Shepard said firmly. “No one ever said any of this was going to come without a cost.”
“True. What do you have in mind?”
“A combined attack.” Shepard manipulated his controls, placing more units on the map, with arrows to indicate movement and engagement. “Your people hit the Reaper from above with an airstrike. At the same time, the krogan attack from the ground with Alliance and turian support, using this built-up terrain as cover. Together, you can draw the Reaper away from the Shroud facility long enough for us to disperse the genophage cure.”
Mordin nodded in agreement. “Yes. Distraction. Small team can reach Shroud facility, finish synthesizing cure. Will need Eve to come with us.”
“Primarch, your opinion?”
Victus nodded slowly. “There’s a great deal of risk, but if the plan succeeds . . .”
“Then the alliance we’re trying to build stands,” said Wrex.
“Yes. I’ll arrange for air support.”
I listened quietly for several minutes, while the military professionals in the room discussed deployments, timing, coordination, logistics. Even an amateur like me could appreciate the sheer speed with which the group fleshed out Shepard’s plan.
“All right,” said Shepard at last. “EDI, get everyone on deck for this one. James is to lead the Marine contingent. Primarch, I suggest that Garrus take command of the Ninth Platoon. Those units can land here, rendezvous with the main krogan ground force, and support their attack.”
“I concur. Propraetor Vakarian, are you prepared?”
Garrus made a very crisp salute. “Yes, sir!”
“I think my son would have been proud to see his men under your command for this mission. The honor of the Turian Hierarchy rests on your shoulders today.”
Garrus nodded. I could almost see his urge to issue some cynical quip, very firmly suppressed.
“EDI, I want you to send your mobile platform along with the ground assault team, for liaison and technical support.”
“Understood, Commander.”
“I’ll lead the infiltration team to escort Mordin and Eve to the Shroud. Liara, you and Javik are with me.”
“Hah!” barked Wrex. “Finally bringing your Prothean along? I imagine he knows a thing or two about fighting Reapers.”
“You could say that,” I agreed quietly.
“Everyone has their assignmen
ts. Are we ready for this?”
“Is there any doubt?” demanded Wrex, already striding toward the door. “Let’s move, pyjak. It’s time to cure the genophage.”
The krogan’s force of character seemed to gather almost everyone else in his wake. That quickly, a crowd set out to follow Wrex, on their way to the staging bay and their deployment onto the surface of Tuchanka.
Only Shepard remained behind for a moment, studying the holographic map with hooded eyes. I remembered a time early in our campaign against Saren, when he first stepped forward to propose a strategy to officers far senior to himself. A strategy which worked. Now he laid out a plan of battle for two heads of state to follow, for the very highest of stakes. I knew the weight which had just settled squarely on his shoulders.
I almost moved to touch him, to speak to him, but then Samantha Traynor’s voice sounded from the bridge. “Commander, there’s an incoming message, marked urgent. I’ll put it in the comm room for you.”
“Where’s it from, Specialist?”
“Sir, it’s coming from Sur’Kesh.”
Shepard looked across the room and caught my eye. I nodded, and followed him into the QEC chamber. He stepped up onto the transmission stage. I lurked in the shadows, ready to watch, silent and unseen.
The imaging stage shimmered with blue-white light, forming an image. Dalatrass Linron. I nodded, winning a small bet with myself.
“Commander Shepard. We know you’ve reached Tuchanka. By now, I imagine Mordin Solus has proposed using the Shroud.”
“Dalatrass, are you spying on us?”
“Hardly. If you are determined to follow this disastrous strategy, then the Shroud is the only viable course of action open to you. Commander, I will say it once more: you can’t allow your misguided sympathy for the krogan to cloud your judgment. Do you honestly believe curing the genophage will lead to a lasting peace?”
“Yes, dalatrass, I do. The krogan deserve a chance to redeem themselves and play a part in the galaxy’s defense. We can’t condemn an entire race to extinction because of something that might happen.”
