by Cole Price
“Everybody with the pronoun errors,” Shepard muttered. “It’s not your ship!”
“It will be. I’ve taken your name, your Spectre rank, even your biometrics! You’ve got nothing left!”
I moved up beside Shepard behind the armory console, exchanged a glance with him.
He moved out into the open. “Right. Then you left me to die. Except I didn’t.”
Silence. No movement, out among the stacks of equipment and supplies.
“Do you really think a few fake fingerprints are going to fool the Council? Or Hackett?”
He stepped around the corner of a pallet of ammunition, covering the space behind it with his weapon. Nothing.
“You know, if you haven’t had time to build a life for yourself yet, the thing to do is to get to work. Not to try to steal someone else’s life and pretend it’s yours.”
Something fell to the deck, further out in the silent space. Shepard didn’t turn, focused on the area in front of him. I saw Ashley crane her neck to look toward the sound.
“I imagine Brooks didn’t tell you that. She doesn’t want you thinking along those lines. You’re a more useful tool for her this way.”
Then I saw the construct, leaping out of cover with a blazing blue-white corona around his arms and shoulders. I couldn’t shout a warning in time.
I didn’t have to. Shepard turned like a predator at bay, his own corona surging into existence, and the center of the staging bay came alive with blinding light and electrostatic discharges. They shoved at each other for a moment, body and mind, while Ashley and I jumped out of cover to assist.
Crash – crash!
Brooks appeared, firing a shotgun of her own at close range. Shepard broke contact with the construct, falling back a few steps as his barriers and shields took the blow.
“Hatchet Squad to the staging bay,” she shouted. “Now!”
Shepard had barely a moment to drop behind cover, before Cat-Six troopers began to rain down from the engineering deck above. Then the construct flash-charged over to slam into Shepard, setting off a nova-blast of his own.
My bondmate’s position became the locus of apocalypse.
It was wild and terrible. Shepard and his false twin cast aside every possible restraint. They snarled and shouted, pounded at one another with shotgun blasts, incendiary grenades, flash-charges, biotic shockwaves. Flames rippled and bled from their biotic barriers, their kinetic shields. Blows landed that would have shattered every bone in my body, only to be shrugged off like love-taps. Their battle filled the staging bay with light and echoing thunder.
For a moment, I found myself next to Ashley, both of us staring at the fight with wide eyes. A flash of inspiration struck, and I knew what I had to do.
“Ash. Keep Cat-Six from helping the construct.”
“What are you going to do?”
I checked the indicators on my Shuriken. “I’m going to go find Brooks.”
She gave me a predatory grin, and nodded.
I slipped away silently, trying to imitate every huntress who had ever tried to beat commando skills into my unwilling head.
Cover to cover. Silent. Breathing slow and disciplined. Senses extended to their maximum, searching for signs of life beneath the maelstrom of unleashed power in the center of the staging bay.
“Hey, Loco. You copy?”
“Skipper’s a little busy right now, James.” Ashley’s voice on the comms. “What do you need?”
I sensed a Cat-Six trooper just around a corner. Not Brooks, unfortunately. I slipped around behind her, reached out with a biotic corona blazing around my arms and hands, seized her head and shoulder. Snapped her neck. Pulled her down into cover before anyone else could notice.
“We cut through the jamming,” said Garrus. “Picked up a few more scars in the process.”
“Commander, the ship’s prepping for a jump to FTL,” said Cortez.
There: a slim dark-skinned figure in blue-and-black armor, keeping under cover, trying to locate her enemies.
She hadn’t seen me yet. I felt my lips curve in a wicked smile.
“Any chance you can get to the cockpit?” Joker complained. “Like, soon?”
“Doesn’t seem likely, guys. We’re tied up in the staging bay right now.”
“Roger that, Commander,” said Cortez. “We’ll proceed with Plan B.”
I had just a moment to wonder what Plan B might be. Then Normandy lurched violently to the side. I lost my balance, crashing into a stack of crates.
Fortunately the movement took Brooks just as badly off-guard. She lost her footing as well, taking three uncontrolled steps out into the open.
I snarled, got my feet under me, and sprinted. A hail of gunfire from my Shuriken preceded me, tearing at her shields. Then I had the instant’s satisfaction of seeing her eyes go wide, just before my right fist landed across her jawline. A biotic surge gave the blow extra weight. She staggered backwards, her shotgun flying Goddess-knows where.
“I’ve already lost Shepard once,” I screamed while I advanced on her. “I will be damned if I lose him again!”
She surprised me. What appeared a graceless stumble turned out to be setup for a very graceful – and very effective – spin-kick. Without my barriers she might have knocked me cold. As it was, I saw stars for a moment and had to fall back in turn.
Boom – boom. Boom – boom. Boom – boom.
Normandy was firing on something.
Then I had no more time. Brooks may have lost her shotgun, but she was herself a weapon. Her fists and feet moved in graceful arcs, belying the force behind them. I had to call up all my cheironomia training to keep her at bay. I became water, all form and movement, deflecting her blows and trying to pull her off-balance. Not even my biotics gave me an advantage. She had some kind of kinetic weapon built into the palm of her right gauntlet, rather like the one Kai Leng had used. At one point I barely ducked in time to avoid having my head blown off.
Then, as if the situation had not become sufficiently insane, the bay door opened and the shuttle launched.
Brooks hesitated for just a moment, glancing over her shoulder as the shuttle flew out into the Citadel’s sky.
For once, I did not miss an opportunity. I took two steps forward, shouting at the top of my lungs.
“Ai!”
My corona blazed bright as a star. I think my biotics peaked almost as high in that moment as they had on Rayingri, three years before. The occasion when I had pulled a kiloton of debris down on a platoon of geth.
My throw struck Brooks mid-center and flung her across the staging bay, right through the space the shuttle had occupied an instant before. She hit the far wall of the bay with a solid crunch, slid down and did not move.
I looked around.
My heart stopped.
Shepard charged the construct on foot. He tackled his false twin around the waist. Both of them went over backward.
Onto the open bay door.
The two men rolled over and over, grappling, tearing at each other, coming rapidly closer to the abyss.
“Shepard!”
On the very verge, Shepard got the upper hand. He rose over the construct, struck him in the face with a fist like a mailed sledgehammer. Then again.
The construct grunted, got a leg under Shepard. Shoved him away.
The ship lurched. Both of them fell.
Over the edge.
Somehow both of them managed to hold on, dangling over a kilometer of empty space.
“Look at you,” snarled the construct. “What makes you so damned special?”
I ran, vaulted the safety railing. Out of nowhere Ashley appeared, no more than two steps behind me.
“Why you, and not me?” the construct demanded.
I hurled myself down to snatch at Shepard’s arm, an instant before he could slip.
“I’ve got you!” shouted Ashley, seizing my ankle and anchoring me to the bay door.
Between natural strength and biotics,
we managed to pull Shepard back from the abyss.
I happened to look back up into the ship. Saw Brooks standing there, looking battered but functional. She stared down at the four of us, at her ally still in mortal peril.
I saw the moment her face changed. The moment her essential cowardice won out. She turned away.
“Thanks,” said Shepard, climbing to his knees, then his feet.
Then he turned to the construct.
For an instant, they locked eyes, crystal-blue against crystal-blue. For once I saw something new on the construct’s face. Uncertainty.
Shepard stepped over, much too close to the edge, causing my heart to skip a beat once more. He bent down, extended his hand.
“Come on,” he said.
The construct looked up into his face. “And then?”
“And then you live.”
“For what?” the construct asked, nothing but weary bitterness left in his voice.
He leaned back and let go with both arms.
Someone screamed: “No!”
Blue-white light lashed out, caught the construct, held him in mid-air.
I didn’t even realize I had made the decision until it was already done.
Another control gesture, and the construct flew back above the edge of the bay doors, his eyes wide, his arms and legs flailing. He flew in a great arc that ended somewhere back in the staging bay, where he landed with a great crash.
I fell to my knees, utterly spent. I might have fallen myself if Ashley and Shepard had not been there to grab me.
“Fortunately, they weren’t here long enough to do much real damage,” said Cortez. “We might get an extra day or two tacked on to the end of our shore leave.”
“I’d say they owe us that much.” Ashley stretched, easing fatigue out of her arms and shoulders. “Damn. We’ve been up and running for almost twenty-four hours straight. Ever since we came in to the Citadel and had to save the Shadow Broker’s ass from jail.”
I gave her a sharp glance, but saw her warm smile. I reached out and patted her on the shoulder, thanking her without words.
“I suppose I’ll need some help from James cleaning up the damage to the staging bay.” Cortez shrugged. “Plus they overloaded the heat diffusion systems, firing at us.”
“Yeah,” said Joker. “Don’t know if you noticed, but Shuttle Guy here did some crazy stunt flying to keep all of us in one piece.”
“Good work out there, both of you,” said Shepard.
“Hmm. Think I’ll get myself a new ball cap. With Designated Bait embroidered on the front.”
Cortez only smiled.
“What about EDI?” asked Shepard. “Is she back online?”
“I am once again fully in control of Normandy,” came EDI’s voice over the comm.
“Glad to hear it. What about the mercs? Any survivors?”
“Just one crappy-ass pilot,” said Joker, “and them.”
Brooks, at least, could move under her own power. She stood with her hands shackled behind her back, a burly Marine grasping each arm, a third standing watchfully behind her.
“Alliance is taking her to a high-security facility,” Joker explained. “Maybe she can give them some dirt on Cerberus.”
Brooks looked at Shepard from under her lashes, false coyness and real contempt on her face. “I’ll be happy to cooperate with the authorities.”
Shepard went grim. “Maya, I know that voice.”
“Do you? Do you really?”
“You’re getting a chance to redeem yourself. Don’t waste it.”
“So serious,” she purred, mocking him. “Admit it. You kind of liked having Staff Analyst Brooks around. Looking up to the legend?”
He turned away in disgust.
“We had some laughs. And who knows, maybe one day we’ll have some more. You know you’ll miss me.”
“No. I won’t.” He turned back and stepped into her personal space. “Because you are going to stay in your cell, help the Alliance, and do your time.”
“What, afraid I’ll escape?” Her voice had gone very flat and cold. “Worried I’ll come back and take my revenge? Is this the great Commander Shepard, pleading for his life?”
“I’m pleading for yours,” he said quietly.
That got through. Her face changed, the contempt and mockery bleeding away to leave nothing behind but quiet calm.
“So thoughtful,” she murmured. “Then I suppose it’s off to lockup.”
Shepard nodded and returned to us.
“You know, he wouldn’t have let me live.”
My bondmate nodded, his eyes hooded and dark. “I guess you can’t clone everything.”
Then Brooks was gone, and we walked over to the other prisoner.
The construct lay on a stretcher, barely conscious, somehow looking much smaller with his armor and gear stripped away. Five Marines guarded him, although in his case their major task was to watch over the medic treating his injuries. Between Shepard’s battering and my final biotic throw, we had given him a long list of bruises, contusions, sprained joints and fractured bones.
“What about him?” asked Shepard quietly.
“The same,” answered Joker. “Although Hackett is going to argue that he’s not responsible for most of what they did. Diminished capacity, on account of he’s about six months old and shouldn’t even be out of diapers yet.”
“I’ll back that,” said Shepard, and turned away.
I nearly followed him, until I heard a hoarse whisper from the stretcher. The construct was awake after all.
“Liara. Why?”
I gave him a very cold stare. “Why did I save your life?”
He swallowed in a dry throat, and nodded slightly.
“It wasn’t because I thought you deserved it. I just didn’t want you to escape responsibility for what you’ve done quite so easily.” Then I softened my tone. “Also, I suppose I want you to get the chance to build a better life. One that can be your own, not stolen from Shepard, or designed for you by someone like Brooks.”
He nodded again, closed his eyes as if he could no longer bear the sight of me, and turned his face away.
No thanks? Well, I suppose I should not have expected any.
I turned my back on the construct, and went to find my bondmate.
Chapter 38 : A Moment's Peace
25 May 2186, Silversun Strip, Kithoi Ward/Citadel
I heard bare feet padding down the stairs out in the main hall, and then in the kitchen. I smiled to myself.
“Good morning,” said Shepard.
“It’s afternoon, actually, but who’s counting?” I glanced over my shoulder and saw Shepard wearing a pair of white briefs, a muzzy expression, and not much else. “I hope I didn’t wake you too early.”
He stepped up and wrapped his arms around me from behind, his hands slipping under my silk tunic, pulling me close for a moment to nuzzle my cheek. I gave him a gentle head-butt, then squirmed away to attend to my cooking.
“Hmm,” he rumbled. “No, it’s true, I need more sleep, but after the last thirty-six hours what I really need is to get myself back on something like the Normandy schedule. So right now it’s time for me to get up and move around for a while. Besides, I could smell food.”
“Yes. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. So here we have ranch breakfast à la T’Soni. Scrambled eggs with cheese, ham steaks, Portobello mushrooms, fried potatoes, biscuits with sausage gravy, and all the orange juice you can drink. I even made a pot of coffee, just for you because I certainly won’t touch it. Every last morsel is real food from the human agricultural colonies, shipped in despite the Reapers. You would not believe how much it all cost.”
Shepard’s stomach rumbled, loud enough to be heard over the cooking noise. He grinned. “Have I told you recently that I’m madly in love with you?”
“You only say that because I feed you.”
“That’s actually a pretty good reason. What makes it à la T’Soni?”
“It’s cooked by a nearly naked asari chef.”
“Can’t argue with that. Hand me a plate.”
We divided up the food, put it on trays, and carried it out into the living room.
Shepard stopped cold for a moment, for the first time noticing Nerylla at her post by the front door, and Kyriake keeping watch out the windows overlooking the Silversun Strip. Neither of them so much as glanced in his direction. He shook his head slightly and continued on into the room. Then he sprawled on the couch, apparently completely at ease, and began to surround his breakfast.
I sat down close beside him and began to eat, not quite as ravenously. I didn’t have the same body mass to maintain.
“I’m beginning to think I should have gotten dressed before I came downstairs,” he muttered to me after a few moments.
“Don’t be concerned about it, love.” I smiled at him. “You’re forgetting that asari don’t have the same nudity taboos as humans. Even if we did, it wouldn’t matter. An acolyte on protection detail is expected to have only one thing in mind: keeping her principal safe. So long is it doesn’t interfere with her duty, nothing her principal does is any of her concern.”
“It still feels strange. I’ve never had bodyguards before.”
“Shepard, you and I could set this food aside and make love right here on the couch, and Nerylla and Kyriake would do their best to take no notice.” I gave him a very serious stare. “In fact . . .”
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled after a moment’s stunned disbelief. “Didn’t realize you were that much of an exhibitionist, T’Soni.”
“I’m not,” I told him, smiling and turning back to my food. “Although I did have you going there for a moment.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you did.” He took a deep sip of coffee to restore his nerves. “So. We appear to have the next couple of days off while the yard dogs put Normandy back into fighting trim. Which constitutes the first real vacation either of us has had in almost eight months. What would you like to do?”
I sighed. “To be honest, I hadn’t really given it any thought. I think I’ve lost the habit of leisure.”
“Well, before all that crap happened last night, Joker and I had a chance to check out the Strip. There’s quite an entertainment district just a few minutes from here by pedway. Another casino, a theater, a gaming arcade, several bars and lounges, a combat simulator . . .”
