by Cole Price
“Interesting. So we can eliminate the relay system for the cluster, and probably any other systems too close to there.” I crossed over to the galaxy map and worked with the controls. “Garret marked several systems in the Pylos Nebula as being of interest. Eliminating those within . . . how far would you say?”
“Let’s say twenty light-years. Anything closer to the mass relay than that, and you wouldn’t need the improved discharge cells.”
“Done.”
We both looked up at the map. Two star systems remained marked. Unfortunately, they were widely separated. If we guessed wrong, we might reach Dr. Bryson days too late.
“I have an idea,” I said after a moment. “Let’s look at the task force’s requisitions locker. What kind of equipment did Dr. Bryson take with her?”
“That’s a good notion.”
I gave him a sharp-edged smile. “Naval architecture may not be in my skill set, Shepard, but planning for an archaeological expedition most certainly is.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender, and went in search of the requisitions locker.
“Ann didn’t indent for any environmental suits or breather masks,” he called after a few minutes. “She must have counted on being able to breathe the air.”
I checked the galaxy map. “Canalus has an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, but the air is full of volcanic ash and radioactive dust. You would need breathing gear to work out in the open there.”
“What about the other possibility?”
“Namakli, in the Zaherin system. Oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, no significant toxic elements.”
“What else can you tell me about it?”
“It’s a desert planet,” I reported. “Almost no surface water.”
“Hmm. She did sign out a lot of water-recycling gear.” He flashed a triumphant smile at me from across the lab. “Logic wins again.”
“We could still be wrong,” I pointed out.
“Sure. It’s still the best guess we have, and I’m going to run with it. EDI?”
“I am almost finished,” said the AI, pointing to a control panel off to one side. “That large button will activate the field.”
Shepard strode over and punched the button with his fist. It shone green, and EDI’s equipment came to life with a gentle hum. A cylindrical shield sprang into being around the artifact, glowing blue-white. At once, the artifact went dark and ceased to give off vibrations.
“Well, that worked,” said Shepard with satisfaction. “Can it still be indoctrinating anyone?”
“That is difficult to determine,” said EDI. “We do not know how it was doing that in the first place.”
“We do have one way to detect whether an indoctrination effect is present,” I said. “Unfortunately we probably don’t have the time to test it right now.”
“No. Let’s go get Ann Bryson.”
* * *
13 May 2186, Interstellar Space
I heard the cabin door open, and looked up from my datapad to see Shepard enter, with Samantha Traynor in tow.
“Your cabin is gorgeous,” she said, looking around. “I’ve seen apartments that were smaller than this.”
“Good evening, Samantha,” I greeted her, without rising from my place.
“Doctor,” she returned, smiling at me with a gleam in her eye. “Don’t you ever put down your work?”
I sighed and dropped the datapad on the bed beside me. “I might, if there was less of it. What brings you here?”
“The Commander was brave enough to deliver something that closely resembled a challenge.” She turned her smile on Shepard, possibly dialing up the output just a little. “Well, Commander? Ready to play?”
“I get the feeling I’m in for a learning experience,” said Shepard ruefully.
“Play?” I inquired.
“I picked up a chessboard on the Citadel. GUI interface. Not nearly as nice as real pieces, but this takes up less space.”
“Chess is a game?” I inquired.
“Really, Doctor, you’ve spent this much time around humans, and you don’t know chess? This is the game. No other quite compares.”
“I’m afraid when it comes to human games, I’m fonder of poker.” I smiled at Shepard. “Really, love, you offered Samantha a challenge and then permitted her to choose the weapons? I thought your tactical sense was sounder than that.”
“The burdens of command,” he said. “Sure, Traynor, let’s give this a try.”
They sat at the small table, Samantha setting up her board and holographic pieces, and then began to play. At first it seemed even less exciting than watching other people play poker. Clearly Shepard knew the rules before he began, although after a time I noticed that his pieces departed the board somewhat more frequently than Samantha’s.
I picked up my datapad again, connected to the ship’s library, and downloaded a copy of the rules.
Hmm. This looks like a game that’s very easy to learn to play, very difficult to learn to play well.
“Hah!” Samantha crowed, yanking my attention back to the game.
“Oh, come on!”
I counted white and black pieces, and made an evaluation of the board position based on what I had just read. Oh dear . . .
The woman leaned back on the couch, looking quite insufferably smug. “My word, Commander. It’s almost as though you wanted to spare your pawns the indignity of living under my regime.”
“In a real battle, that tactic would have worked.”
“Well, in a real battle, one doesn’t move on an eight-by-eight square grid.”
Shepard chuckled ruefully. “You know what I mean. The pawns are infantry. A good infantry line, like the krogan, can take a charge like that.”
“That reminds me of a joke.” She gave Shepard a wicked smile. “What’s the difference between Commander Shepard . . . and a krogan?”
Shepard and I caught one another’s eyes.
“One is an unstoppable juggernaut of head-butting destruction . . .” I began.
“. . . and the other doesn’t have a smart-ass comm specialist to keep him in line,” he finished.
“Ooo, that’s almost better than the number-of-testicles punch line,” said Samantha. “You two must have heard that one.”
“Well, he’s Commander Shepard, and it turns out I have krogan relatives,” I told her. “We first heard that joke from Urdnot Wrex.”
Shepard smiled. “Glad to see you’re adjusting to life outside the lab, Traynor.”
“Well, I wasn’t a complete recluse. Only about ninety percent. I do have you and Dr. T’Soni to thank for it. You’ve both made me welcome, and given me useful work to do, when I was practically a refugee on Normandy.”
“Please, call me Liara.” I gave her a warm smile. “And it was my pleasure.”
“Likewise, Traynor. You’re a real asset to this crew. Speaking of which . . .” Shepard rose from his seat and went to his desk for a moment, returning with a datapad. “It’s effective as of tomorrow, and we can do something more formal then, but I thought you would like to know.”
Samantha scanned the pad, and her eyes flew wide. “A promotion?”
“Petty Officer, Second Class Samantha Traynor,” said Shepard. “Kind of has a ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Why, I hardly know what to say.”
“It’s well deserved. Your technical scores are more than high enough. You’ve been doing the work of a more senior NCO. Time you carried the rank to go with it.”
“Well, thank you, Commander.” She recovered quickly, flashing a smile at him again. “Not that I intend to let this tempt me into going easy on you, if you decide you want a rematch.”
“Sure thing. Set ‘em up.”
I cleared my throat. “I’ll play the winner.”
“I didn’t think you played chess, Liara,” said Shepard.
“I never have, but the rules seem simple enough.” I glanced at Samantha, giving her my best wide-blue-eyes innocent stare. “If you’
re willing, of course.”
“Are you kidding? A chance to crush the great Commander Shepard and the Shadow Broker in the same evening? Bring it on.”
Chapter 27 : In the Wilderness
15 May 2186, Project Scarab Excavation Site/Namakli
I looked ahead as our shuttle approached the Project Scarab facility. “Strange. The dig site appears to be set into the side of a cliff.”
Ashley’s eyes narrowed. “What are those things in the sky?”
Black shapes with enormous wing-spans, circling over the site. “If we can see them from this distance, they must be huge.”
“Harvesters,” said Cortez flatly.
My eyes widened. I had seen the flying Reaper platforms before, but never more than one at a time. Now I counted five or six. As we approached, I could see smoke rising from the lower levels of the site. A flare of light indicated an explosion.
“If the Reapers are here already, we need to play catch-up,” said Shepard. “Take us in, Cortez.”
“Copy that,” said the pilot.
I went back to the passenger compartment to check my weapons and gear for the last time. The others did the same, with a harsh technological clatter. Shepard and Ashley had their shotgun and rifle at the ready. Garrus made a microscopic adjustment to the sight on his sniper rifle. Javik stood motionless, stoic as ever, but his eyes burned with the need to enter battle.
“Commander! There, in that module!”
Shepard opened the side hatch. The shuttle hovered close to a module set high on the cliff. I could see a female human – Ann Bryson – standing at a control console and waving to us. A male human in light combat gear rushed up to stand beside her and peer up at us.
“That’s her,” yelled Shepard. “Cortez, bring us . . .”
Then the shuttle rocked to one side, and Cortez gunned the engines. Bryson’s module vanished behind us. All of us held on for the sake of our lives, as Cortez launched into a violent evasive maneuver.
A harvester pursued us. Then two.
“Tracking multiple bogeys!” shouted Cortez.
“Can you get us there?”
“Negative. It’s too hot.” Cortez checked his instruments. “There’s a lower platform I can get you to, but you’ll have to move fast!”
“Do it!”
A few moments of violent swooping flight, and then the shuttle slowed just enough to approach another platform.
“Jump!” ordered Shepard, and then he went flying. Ashley and Garrus followed him an instant later, and then Javik and I hurled ourselves into space. Not a moment too soon. Three harvesters swept down on the shuttle, sending Cortez fleeing for his life.
Shepard took a moment to orient himself, and then pointed. “The platform where we saw Dr. Bryson was in that direction, and four or five levels up. We need to find a lift.”
Wham! Wham!
Explosions, uncomfortably close to our position. Then a red ball of flame erupted in front of us, and a single cannibal deployed from its midst, bringing its weapon to bear with a roar.
Shepard flash-charged forward, threw the creature off the side of the cliff with a nova-blast.
“Come on!” he ordered, and began to move.
The others followed him, alert and ready for a fight. I trailed behind, already half-stunned by the constant barrage of explosions. Harvesters bombarded the entire facility from above.
“This isn’t a dig site, it’s a war zone,” I muttered.
“No reason it can’t be both,” said Garrus.
“Hello? Is anyone there? This is Dr. Ann Bryson. I’m coming down to find you.”
Shepard activated his radio. “No! Stay where you are! This is Commander Shepard of the Alliance Navy, with a combat team. It’s too dangerous out here. We’ll come to you!”
We crossed a catwalk. A harvester saw us. I dove for cover as it bombarded our position with energy bolts. A prefab module just ahead of us lost its moorings and fell, only to wedge itself in place between two other modules.
“Yes, okay! I think I see where you are. There’s an elevator about a hundred meters ahead of you. That should bring you up to our position.”
“Copy that! We’re on our way!”
Shepard jumped down onto the top of the dislodged module, glanced around for a moment, and then led us forward. Husks appeared, clambering over the partially wrecked structures, and we all went into action. With five of us on the alert, three of us biotics, a few husks didn’t have much of a chance.
I suspect it’s going to get more difficult before long.
That proved a good guess.
Not that the Reapers presented much more of a challenge at first. For the most part, they advanced in small squads of cannibals or husks, no match for the five of us. On a few occasions we had to hunker down behind cover and deal with artillery-piece ravagers, but we found no lack of cover.
At one point a banshee attacked, just as we had stopped on a short stretch of open ground, behind a malfunctioning bridge. I’ve never done a faster job of field repair in my life, with that thing’s horrible shrieks echoing in my aural cavities the whole time.
No, the worst part was moving through a facility even while it fell apart around us.
The construction had been ramshackle to begin with, a scattering of pre-fab modules attached to a scaffold against the side of a cliff. Then the Reapers had hit it with an artillery barrage, harvesters strafing the facility over and over again from the air. By the time we arrived, the bombardment had badly damaged the scaffolding and many of the modules. We had to deal with bent and twisted catwalks, modules slipped out of their frames and hanging at odd angles, ladders that led nowhere. A vast three-dimensional maze, with no guarantee that we would ever find a path to our destination.
Shepard – and Javik, oddly enough – kept us together and moving forward. Shepard’s sense of situational awareness had always been exceptional. Javik turned out to have an uncanny sense of orientation in three dimensions. The two of them managed to keep track of the maze, long after the rest of us became completely lost.
We found a lot of bodies. Dr. Bryson had started with a team of almost fifty scientists and technicians. I began to fear we would find almost no survivors by the time we reached her.
In the end, we did find the lift up to the platform where she waited, only to have it jam halfway down to us.
“Ann!” called Shepard. “The elevator’s jammed just above our position. Is there another way up to you?”
“I’ll override the pod door near you, Commander. There’s an access point above, but you’ll have to climb to it.”
“Story of our lives.” Shepard glanced to the side, saw a door panel blink green. “Come on, through here!”
We climbed: through a drunkenly canted module, across a dangerously unstable snarl of wreckage, up onto the next level. There we found a squad of cannibals, and three ravagers waiting for us. A difficult fight followed, with the ravagers themselves standing behind cover. Even Shepard switched to his sidearm for its greater precision, placing careful three-round bursts on the mutated rachni when they exposed themselves to fire on us.
“Commander, they’ve hit my assistant, Hopkins. We’re being cornered!”
I frowned. Dr. Bryson had sounded reasonably cool and collected when she first called us, but now I heard panic in her voice.
“Stay hidden, Doctor!” Shepard commanded.
“We’re trying, but there are too many of them and I think they’ve figured out where the last of us are. Hurry!”
Finally we managed to reach the level we needed. Better yet, we found ourselves at the back of the scaffold, able to jump across to a ledge on the cliff face itself.
I glanced at the stone beside us and gasped. “Shepard, look!”
He stopped and stared.
Petroglyphs. Shallow carvings in the rock face, with pigments smeared into the cuts to enhance their contrast. Quite ordinary in technique and execution. Quite extraordinary in subject.
&n
bsp; Across the bottom, a row of stylized bipedal figures, in postures that spoke of some strong emotion. Awe? Fear? Worship?
Above them, drawn in loving detail, a creature of enormous size. Long, oval body, several appendages that might be legs or manipulators.
“Good Lord,” said Shepard reverently. “Is that a Reaper?”
“It certainly looks similar,” I said, unwilling to commit myself. “It reminds me of some of the footage I saw from Eden Prime, when Sovereign came down to hover over the colony.”
“The colors are strange,” said Javik. “Reapers are an unrelieved black in color. Why would the artist use red and brown pigments as well?”
“I wonder who the artist was,” said Shepard. “Liara, did native sentient life ever exist here?”
“The colonists never managed a serious study, but they did find a few bones and artifacts. Apparently a bipedal species lived here at one time, before the last surface water vanished. They appear to have died out about twenty thousand years ago.”
“How old are these carvings?”
“That’s difficult to guess without laboratory studies.”
“Could they be a billion years old?” asked Garrus.
I scoffed. “Oh, certainly not. This rock face appears to be in the shade for most or all of the local day, and the air is very dry. Even so, petroglyphs like this could not possibly survive for more than a few tens of thousands of years. I would wager a large sum that these carvings don’t even date back to the Prothean era.”
Garrus made a thoughtful rumble deep in his chest. “So if this represents a real event, it happened between the end of the Prothean cycle and the present.”
“Yes.” I caught the turian’s gaze. “I see where you’re going with this. If this is a Reaper, what was it doing visiting Namakli at a time when all the Reapers were supposedly out in dark space?”
“Except for Sovereign,” Ashley pointed out.
“True.” Shepard glanced around. “We’re out of time. Liara, take a few scans of this for later analysis, and then we’ve got to get moving.”
I obeyed, and we moved out along the ledge. Unfortunately we lost our cover very quickly, and the Reapers spotted us.
