by Cole Price
“The blue bitch is right. I’m a construct. They cloned my cells from yours, but then they built me on some kind of biomechanical scaffold. In fact, they worked on me first. Trying out the technique, so they could make sureyou came out exactly as required.” He scowled in fierce resentment. “They spared no expense for you. I was nothing but a rough draft, as far as they were concerned. Your supply of spare parts. They kept me around in case you needed another arm, or a lung, or a heart.”
“I never knew you existed,” said Shepard. “Where have you been all this time?”
“In storage. The Illusive Man didn’t give a shit about me once he had what he really wanted. Cerberus kept me in a coma, until I woke up about six months ago. While you lounged around in a jail cell, I spent my time learning how to be human. Amazing what one can do in a short time, with enough hard work and bleeding-edge neural implants.”
Shepard nodded. “Well, this has been quite the surprise. Now that I know who you are, we don’t have to work at cross-purposes. Against the Reapers, we have to be on the same team.”
“We’re not even in the same league,” the construct sneered. “I’m you without the flaws. The wear and tear. The doubts, the moral qualms. The attachment to a pack of fools who would never have amounted to anything on their own. I’m the lone wolf you were always meant to be. I’m the one who’s going to go out and beat the Reapers. Something you could never have done.”
“Then why are you trying to kill us?” Ashley demanded.
“Because I don’t have his memories.” The construct turned away, gesturing broadly. “I’d never fool my supposed friends. General Williams’s worthless grand-daughter.”
Ashley’s hands balled into fists.
“The asari whore.”
I had seen it coming, and carefully did not react. Vara, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes and gave the construct a glare, promising mayhem at the earliest opportunity.
“The turian who failed at everything he ever turned his hand to. To say nothing of the rest of this motley crew.”
“I am going to tear you apart,” rumbled Wrex from his place up on the balcony. “And then I am going to have you for a midnight snack.”
“Brave talk, from a krogan animal that’s on the wrong end of a lot of guns.” The construct turned back to us. “Get rid of all of you, and there’s no one left to say who’s the original.”
“No one will ever believe that you are Shepard,” I said, disgusted.
“They will if I’m flying his ship.” Quick as a striking serpent, the construct lashed out and seized Shepard’s right forearm.
Shepard struggled for a moment, but ceased as soon as he counted how many weapons had been leveled at him. He watched as the construct’s omni-tool flared into life, and then his own.
“There we go,” said the construct, releasing Shepard and backing away to a safe distance once more. “Command codes for Normandy. You won’t be needing those any longer.”
“It will be a cold day in hell before anyone steals my ship,” growled Shepard.
“It’s not stealing if I’m you.”
The construct turned away, heading for the door that led deeper into the Archives. Just before he disappeared, he gave one final order to his men.
“Execute them.”
* * *
It’s ironic that in all the months of the Reaper War, I found that one of the worst moments. Somehow, on those occasions when we pitted ourselves against a Reaper – even Harbinger – the danger felt terrifying but somehow not quite real. The Reapers stood so far outside any normal context that one’s mind refused to process them.
Standing with my hands in the air, surrounded by men who had every advantage and already had their rifles pointed at me, that was a threat my mind could compass.
The construct had almost left the room. In moments the door would close behind him, and his men would carry out his orders. I felt tempted to despair.
I might have known better.
From a cold start, not telegraphing the move at all, Shepard made a control gesture. His biotic corona surged out of nowhere and lashed out.
Not at any of the mercenaries. Almost straight up into the air.
He seized the model of the Citadel that hung above us, and yanked on it with all his considerable strength.
With a musical ping, the cables suspending the model came free. The whole thing began to fall, right where Shepard and his captors stood.
The three Cat-Six mercenaries holding him at bay involuntarily glanced upward.
Shepard took that moment to dive for cover.
I did too. I was learning. Ashley and Vara, of course, reacted much faster than I.
The model shattered on the floor with a deafening crash, Shepard’s former captors recoiling in terror, and then everyone moved at once.
Just like that, the room filled with gunfire.
They had us outnumbered. Even so, even though the Cat-Six troopers had acquired advanced weapons and gear, they were hardly elite soldiers. Cast-offs. Drug addicts, discipline problems, and other empty files. Brutish, violent, and generally not very bright. Even I could take on two or three of them. With Shepard, Ashley, Garrus, Javik, and Wrex on our side . . .
“We still got everyone?” called Shepard, as he produced his shotgun and set it for incendiary rounds.
“All on the balcony!” shouted EDI from somewhere above.
“Get to Brooks if you can!”
“Not a problem, Commander.” Perversely, Cortez sounded as if he was enjoying himself. “Just take a moment to deal with these idiots.”
“Who are you calling an idiot?” shouted one of the mercenaries.
“Hey, if the boot fits . . .”
I stared. Several of the mercenaries had shields, like those of Cerberus Guardians, but built out of hard light instead of ballistic armor. Very difficult to penetrate, even for Shepard’s Claymore. They advanced across the room on Shepard’s position, slowly but inexorably. Fortunately, Shepard and I could disrupt the shields with telekinetic pulls. Still, there were too many of them.
“Garrus!” I called. “We have a small problem here!”
“I see it,” said the turian from whatever position he had found for himself.
A heavy weapon boomed. One of the shield-carrying enemies suddenly snapped back, blood gouting from his helmet. Garrus had put a round directly through the vision slit of the shield.
“On high ground with a sniper rifle,” said Garrus with deep satisfaction. “Just doesn’t get any better than this!”
Shepard caught my eye. He gestured behind us, to a gallery under the balcony where we could put our backs to a wall. I nodded, and we retreated together.
A mercenary stood up from cover less than two meters from us both, leveling his weapon.
This proved to be a mistake. Wham – a telekinetic pull yanked him into the air – crash! – Shepard’s Claymore ripped through his armor and pasted him to the back wall in a great smear of gore.
“Terminating hostiles!” shouted EDI.
“These primitives make good sport!”
“Nothing like a target-rich environment, eh, Prothean?” rumbled Wrex. “Uncle Urdnot is back in town, and he brought the boom!”
Shepard and I scurried around the perimeter of the room. I peeked over the railing, saw a shield-bearing mercenary about four meters away, with his back to us as he advanced on Ashley.
Crash!
“Like shooting fish in a barrel!” crowed James.
“What did you say, human?”
“Like shooting” – boom – “fish” – boom – “in a barrel!” A moment’s pause, then: “Ah, never mind.”
“Fewer jokes, human, and more fire down-range.”
“You got that right!”
“Rapier Squad, orders are to kill the other Shepard’s squad now! No messing around this time!”
“But they’ve got a krogan! Why don’t we have a krogan?”
Deep krogan laughter, like thun
der in a deep ravine. “Wouldn’t want to be you, princesses!”
“Shepard, look out!” I warned him.
Shepard spun in his crouch, saw a Cat-Six mercenary creeping up on us. He blurred, vanished, reappeared in the mercenary’s position. The mercenary flew head over heels.
“I think that turian is Archangel! How are we going to kill him?”
“You’re not,” said the flanging voice, between sniper rifle shots.
“Maybe the other Shepard should have stuck around to help!”
“Hah!” laughed James. “We’ve got ‘em psyched out. Hey, our Shepard is better than yours, pendejos!”
I flitted from one piece of cover to the next, laying down fire on a Cat-Six trooper as he tried to stay in cover. “Not to mention better looking!” I shouted, trying to get into the spirit of things.
Suddenly, I realized we had almost run out of mercenaries. Only three or four of them remained, trapped in the center of the space, with fire pouring down on them from the balcony on either side. I flung a singularity into their midst, breaking up their formation, and their kinetic barriers began to melt like wax in a flame.
I will give them one bit of credit. None of them surrendered. They fought to the bitter end.
“We’re clear!” called Ashley. “Now where did the other you go?”
“He’s not another me,” Shepard grated, standing up to take stock of the situation. “He’s nothing like me, despite the physical resemblance. Accept no substitutes.”
“Got it, Skipper. So where did the bad guy built from your cloned cells who looks almost exactly like you go?”
Shepard blinked. “All right, fine. The other me is pushing into the Archives. Stay in your groups and let’s go after him. Team Mako, you’re on point.”
“Who’s Team Mako?” asked Garrus.
“That’s your team,” said Shepard. “The other team is Hammerhead. Anyone find Brooks?”
“She’s not here,” called Cortez. “Pretty spry for a dead woman.”
“She’s not dead,” said Shepard, “but she may end up that way if I catch up with her.”
I cocked my head at him. “You think she’s working with the construct?”
“I’d say that’s all but proven at this point, wouldn’t you?”
I reviewed the evidence in a flash of insight. “I concur.”
Shepard glanced around at all of us. “Okay. Move out.”
* * *
I once heard Garrus hold forth on the subject of buildings that he considered “fun to fight through.” Hospitals stood low on his list. Gardens, electronics ships, and antique stores (at least the classy ones) were better.
I never got the chance to ask him how he felt about the Citadel Archives.
Fortunately the place stood empty, a security alert driving the personnel away. We saw no one but the Cat-Six troops, in all that echoing space.
Ashley had to stop for a moment when we first entered the stacks. She stared about her at the ranks upon ranks of archival vaults, each an iridium cylinder designed to store priceless documents and artifacts. “Wow. Big place.”
“I am curious as to what the construct is looking for in here,” said EDI, over our comm channel. “Shepard?”
“At this point, anything’s possible.”
“Such as discovering you have a clone,” observed Javik slyly.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Shepard in a long-suffering tone.
“At least not until we’ve all had a drink,” I murmured.
“Or two,” agreed Ashley.
We moved out into the stacks, our friends occasionally visible in the distance as they walked along the catwalks, omni-tools flashing as they scanned for signs of the enemy.
“How are we going to find anything in this place?” Ashley wondered.
Shepard stopped for a moment. “Glyph!”
My drone soared up to our level and hovered by his head. “Yes, Commander?”
“Track the target. Give me updates on its location.”
“What is the nature of the target?”
“He looks like me, but his armor has blue highlights instead of red.”
“Understood.” Glyph soared off into the stacks and vanished almost at once.
Shepard remained quiet for some time after that. When we came across Cat-Six squads, or when one of the other teams came under fire, he spoke to deliver orders and information. Otherwise he behaved like a man chewing on a very difficult thought. I recognized the mood and did my best to be patient, waiting for him to come to a conclusion.
“Everybody listen up,” he said over the comm channel, immediately after we had disposed of another enemy fire-team. “If and when we catch up to the other me, I want every effort made to capture him.”
Ashley turned to stare at him. I confess I did as well.
Then the habit of discipline reasserted itself. Garrus and James acknowledged the order on behalf of their teams, and Ashley, Vara, and I all nodded our concurrence.
“May I ask what you’re thinking, love?” I ventured once we had begun moving once more.
“I’m thinking that we’re fighting a child.”
I cocked my head at him, feeling a sudden rush of delight at the prospect of watching his mind work.
“Think about it, Liara. If his story is true – and it fits what you said about why he can’t be a clone – then he hasn’t been conscious for more than a few months. I wonder how he can function at all. Never mind planning strategies or using technology. It’s a miracle he can even walk and talk like an adult human.”
“Unless he actually does have your memories,” I pointed out.
“I don’t think he does. He would be able to imitate me a lot more closely if he did.” He glanced at me. “Do you have any sense that he’s, well, that he’s me?”
“Absolutely not.” I thought about it. “I think you’re right. He doesn’t behave like a mature human male. More like a child in an adult’s body. Maybe a very intelligent child, one who has received a great deal of training, but a child nonetheless.”
“Right. He hasn’t been socialized. He hasn’t had time.”
“I’m having a hard time believing what I’m hearing, Skipper.” Ashley shook her head in distaste. “I don’t care if that thing is an enormous baby. It’s still a threat.”
“I’m not saying we have to treat him with kid gloves, Ash.” Shepard shrugged. “We stop him before he gets away with stealing my identity or the Normandy, whatever that takes. But if we can capture him, that’s what I intend to do.”
“He’s your brother,” I said softly. “The one you never had. The one who would probably have been killed on Mindoir, like the rest of your family.”
He spared me a sharp ice-blue stare. “I suppose. Even if I didn’t know what he is, though, I want him alive, and if possible I want to convince him to switch to the right side. I hope I would want that even if he and I didn’t have a chromosome in common.”
* * *
We fought. The challenge ramped up with each engagement, and peaked rather sharply during our encounter with the best Cat-Six had to offer, something called Razor Squad. Even with our friends fighting from the catwalks above us, that last combat posed a true workout.
In retrospect, I think the construct was a better strategist than we had given him credit for. Either that or he had the benefit of very good advice. None of us realized that he lured us into a trap. After Razor Squad we began to feel that Cat-Six could not stop us. We pressed forward, overrunning their remaining positions, approaching the construct’s position, feeling confident.
A little too confident.
Our comms suddenly shut down, cutting off all contact with the Mako and Hammerhead teams. Fearing for our friends, we charged forward across another row of inactive archive vaults.
When kinetic barriers snapped into existence around us, trapping us inside one vault, it came as a complete surprise.
“Oh, this can’t be good,” observed Ashley.
“Mako, Hammerhead!” called Shepard. “We’re sealed in!”
“Comms are still jammed,” said Vara flatly.
“Is there an override?” I asked.
“Not seeing one,” said Ashley.
Shepard continued to work with his helmet radio. “Garrus? James? Do you read? Is anyone on this frequency?”
“The short answer,” responded his voice, “is no. They’re not.”
All of us turned. The construct emerged from hiding, a smile on his face at the sight of us trapped.
Shepard lost his temper. His Claymore barked, again, a third time. To no avail.
The construct approached us, shaking his head in contempt. “The longer answer involves you and your friends, trapped in iridium vaults and forgotten for – well. Forever.”
“Others know about this,” said Shepard. “About you. The Alliance will stop you.”
The construct smiled. “What you do think, Staff Analyst Brooks? Will the Alliance stop us?”
A female figure appeared, emerging from hiding where the construct had waited for us. Brooks, and yet not Brooks. The awkwardness, the hesitation had gone. She moved like a woman who knew exactly what she was about. She stepped up to the construct, leaned on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t know,” she said, and even her voice had utterly changed. “I don’t actually work for them.”
“All right, then who the hell are you?” Shepard demanded. “And do you really think I won’t track you down?”
“My name doesn’t matter, really. I never keep the same one for more than a few days. Besides, if the Illusive Man hasn’t found me yet, you certainly never will.”
I nodded to myself, a suspicion confirmed. “You’re Cerberus?”
“Was, actually. Mr. Illusive and I don’t see eye to eye. He’s a ruthless madman, whereas I’m just ruthless.”
“Why not come to me?” Shepard asked. “Liara and I broke away from Cerberus too. We could have worked together.”
“We have worked together, whether you realized it at the time or not. I’m the one who put together all those dossiers for your suicide mission. Not to mention I kept the Illusive Man distracted at a critical juncture, so your little partner could get herself established as the Shadow Broker without undue interference. You might not have been able to get away from Cerberus at all without my help.”
