by Cole Price
“Which still leaves Shepard traveling with you alone, into territory held by people who would very much like to kill him. Or worse.”
“That’s the deal. You want Omega and the Terminus Systems to come in against the Reapers, you let Shepard handle this himself.”
I frowned, thinking it through.
She’s dealt with Shepard before. She knows he’s honest, and she respects his capabilities.
Is there a trap here? Does Aria want more from him than just his combat skills and his visible presence?
On the other hand, cutting Cerberus off from what’s become their primary source of supply, their primary logistics base, would be an enormous victory. Not to mention the effect Aria’s ships, troops, and wealth would have on the war against the Reapers.
“My bondmate makes his own decisions,” I said at last. “If he agrees to go with you to retake Omega, I won’t try to stop him.”
The great bell rang, announcing the end of the fight. I glanced at the scoreboard, and felt pleased surprised at the result. Shepard had won his first gold match. I could barely hear myself think, the audience stamped and shouted their approval so loudly.
“Huh,” Aria grunted. She had relaxed, all signs of anger gone. “I see Wrex hasn’t slowed down much.”
I gave her a startled glance. “You know Urdnot Wrex?”
She only smiled lazily, as if reviewing fond memories. “Oh yes. That beat-up old krogan and I go way back. Maybe I should go down to the ready room, see if I can give at least one of his hearts a coronary.”
At least she’s not looking as if she wants to throttle me anymore.
“Come on,” I suggested. “We’ll all go.”
Chapter 39 : Heart of Darkness
28 May 2186, Silversun Strip, Kithoi Ward/Citadel
On our last night of freedom, Shepard and I had a very fine meal at one of the Strip’s better restaurants, then retired to Admiral Anderson’s apartment early. There we had a nightcap in the hot tub, after which Shepard gave me a luxurious massage to set my every nerve humming. Then he made love to me with such tender ferocity that my heart still melts to think of it, all these centuries later. Shepard was always an attentive and passionate lover, but that evening he exceeded himself.
Afterward we lay in the Admiral’s bed, my head pillowed on his shoulder, one arm and one leg thrown across his body. I dozed for a time, clinging to him, even in sleep not wanting to let him go.
In the midnight darkness, some sound or movement woke me. I listened to his breathing, and then sent my mind out to brush against his for a moment.
“Shepard?”
“Hmm,” he rumbled, his arm tightening around my shoulders.
“Is something troubling you?”
“No.” He sighed. “Yes. Maybe.”
I couldn’t help it, I had to chuckle. “What happened to that famous decisiveness Joker was talking about?”
“This isn’t a combat situation.” He stirred, pushed himself up against the headboard. “More of an existential crisis, I suppose. It has to do with the construct.”
“VI, lights to one-quarter.” I propped myself up on one elbow and peered at him in the low, golden light. “What brought this on?”
“I got a report from the Alliance team that’s interrogating him. Apparently he is completely uncooperative. He alternates between long stretches of sullen silence and sudden outbursts of homicidal rage. About the only useful information they’ve been able to get has to do with Brooks. He’s even angrier at her than he is at the rest of us, and he’s let a lot of interesting things drop while he rants about her.”
“That all fits our model of his personality,” I pointed out. “The only socialization he ever received was from Brooks. Clearly not the best model or mentor. Now he has no control over his circumstances. In a sense he’s been infantilized again. No wonder he’s angry and frustrated.”
Shepard shook his head in disgust. “Yeah. It’s a little disturbing. He was built on my model. He clearly has a lot of potential. Yet we’re poles apart. I can’t even imagine wanting to behave the way he does.”
“Why does that disturb you?”
“There’s a phrase: there, but for the grace of God, go I. That could have been me.”
“That could never have been you,” I said firmly, reaching out to caress him.
He moved again, turning to face me across a narrow space. “I love you too, T’Soni, but let’s face facts. Forget what the Council and the Alliance have agreed to. Forget that you look at me and see the man you fell in love with, back aboard the original Normandy. That man is dead.”
My hand stopped moving idly on his skin, as I felt a deep chill.
“William Allen Shepard is gone. All that’s left, quite literally, are your memories of him. That, and two biological constructs assembled by Cerberus out of a dead man’s flesh. I got lucky. I have his memories, or at least enough of them to pick up where he left off. I have the name and the identity. I have you.”
“You’re being absurd,” I snapped, unaccountably annoyed with him. “You’re more than just a construct. You have continuity of memories and personality.”
“Do I?” He took a deep breath, reached across the gap to caress my cheek with his fingers, run the ball of his thumb lightly over my lips. “The only reason I have the original’s memories is because Cerberus copied them out of your brain into a computer, and then from there into my brain. A brain, I remind you, that they had to rebuild almost from scratch. It’s all three times removed from the original, and I’m not sure of the fidelity.”
I looked into his eyes. “You’ve been worrying about this for a while, haven’t you?”
“Ever since I woke up on Lazarus Station. Not that I’ve ever let it make a difference to the mission. I’ve been too busy to waste much time on soul-searching. But yeah, late at night I sometimes look in the mirror and wonder how it is that I even recognize the man I see.”
“Miranda told me that you were feeling profoundly alienated.”
“When was this?”
“On our way to Hagalaz for the first time, to confront the yahg.” I gave him an uneasy smile, remembering how close I had come to losing him. “She castigated me for keeping my emotional detachment after you returned.”
He kissed my forehead gently, a gesture of forgiveness. “That woman can be such a mother hen.”
“Only with people she cares about. That’s a very short list.” I looked into his eyes again. “She loves you, you know. Possibly almost as much as I do.”
“I know. But we’re getting off the point. It all goes back to Cerberus.”
I frowned, the chill back in my bones.
“Just to begin with, those bastards rewired me to be a biotic. Although that works very well on the battlefield, I can’t sustain the combat style the original had before Alchera. You remember.”
I nodded. When I first knew him, he had been an artist with the sniper rifle, as good as or even better than Garrus Vakarian. Since his death and resurrection, his combat style had changed entirely, focusing on close-quarters work with a shotgun and biotic feats.
“Of course, I’m also stronger than he was, faster, tougher, more resilient. Sharper senses, faster reaction time. So there’s a big difference in capabilities. Then we have the more subtle things. Gaps in the memories I got from him. I remember his parents, what they looked like, what they sounded like. I remember his younger sister, the one who was probably taken by the batarians. I can’t remember his older sister, not her face, not her voice, nothing but a few scraps of conversation.
“Here’s another one. This morning I picked up his Bible, and suddenly realized I didn’t remember the part I was reading. No sensation of familiarity. Now, the original Shepard wasn’t a very good Christian by the time you met him, but believe me, his father once insisted on a very biblical household. He had read the whole book several times over the years, cover to cover as we say.”
“Hmm.”
My gaze went
unfocused, as I went back through his memories in my mind. I found I also had a hard time remembering Sophie Shepard in any detail. Nor could I summon up the whole text of his sacred book.
All of which suggests the loss of information happened before Alchera.
“Shepard, isn’t it natural for human memories to fade, especially if they carry less emotional weight?” I asked him after a few moments. “You felt close to your parents, and you’ve had to cope with the trauma of their violent murder. You loved your younger sister, and you’ve had to cope with the fear that the batarians took and abused her. But your other sister was much older, she was not so close to you, and by the time the batarians attacked Mindoir, she had married and moved away.”
“True,” he admitted.
“As for your text, what part of it were you trying to read?”
“It was somewhere in the middle of the Old Testament,” he said slowly. “Ezra or Nehemiah, I think.”
“Is that a section you’ve ever found greatly meaningful? Have you re-read it often?”
“I suppose not.”
I permitted slight exasperation to show on my face. “Shepard. Gospel of John, chapter three, verse sixteen.”
He hesitated not at all. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
“There is nothing wrong with your memory,” I told him. “That text is so important to you that even I know it, and I’ve never read a page of your sacred book.”
He chuckled, some of his grim mood lifting. “I suppose Cerberus did a pretty good job transcribing his memories after all. Of course, being your husband gives me the chance to reinforce them on a regular basis.”
I snorted. “So you’re saying that you are a very highly skilled imitator of a dead man?”
“I suppose you could put it that way.” He took another deep breath. “Thank God I’ve had lots of practice. I keep looking back on all that’s happened since I woke up on Lazarus Station. All the terrible things I haven’t been to prevent. Aratoht. Mordin. Thane. Even that bastard Udina. And how many millions of people die horribly every day, while I play fighting games for the extranet, and sleep in safety and comfort with my wife?”
“You wonder if the original Shepard could have done better.”
He nodded. “I look at the construct, the other construct, and I can certainly see how one of us has done a lot worse.”
I moved close and held him. I knew I had guessed rightly when I felt his arms tighten around me, tension in the bands of muscle.
“All right,” I whispered. “I’ll stipulate it. You may not be the same William Allen Shepard I met on Therum, fell in love with, fought alongside against Saren and the geth. It doesn’t matter. You’re close enough to being the same man that no one but you has any doubts.”
“Hmm. Maybe, but they are my doubts. Which means I have to deal with them.”
Suddenly I felt inspiration strike. “Shepard. Would it help if you thought of yourself as that man’s heir?”
He drew back a little, to look into my eyes again, a thoughtful frown on his face.
“I mean, if you insist on thinking of him as dead and yourself as a new individual, why not? Consider yourself heir to all that he was, all that was his. If he had known you would exist, don’t you think he would have willingly left it all to you, the responsibilities but also the rewards?”
“That isn’t a bad idea,” he said at last. “It puts all this weirdness in a context I can understand, at any rate.”
“It’s not as if anyone else has a better claim to the name or the identity. Even after Lazarus Station, no one else has done more to destroy the Collectors. Defeat Cerberus. Defeat the Reapers.”
“There’s no one else with a better claim to my love.”
He leaned close. “If you say so,” he murmured in my aural cavity, sending a shiver down my spine.
“I say so.” I turned my head, kissed him deeply for a moment. “Now enough of this fretting over metaphysical issues. Tomorrow you’re going away with Aria. I’m not going to be able to rest or think straight until we’re together again. So if it’s all the same to you, I want to make the most of the time we have.”
He laughed softly, most of the tension suddenly vanished. “No argument from me, T’Soni.”
* * *
30 May 2186, Mesana System Space
“I’ve received more information from the asari High Command,” I told the others. “This place they want us to investigate, it’s the ardat-yakshi monastery.”
Garrus hissed slightly in surprise.
“Ardat-what?” asked James, frowning.
“It’s from an old asari dialect,” I explained. “Ardat-yakshi are asari suffering from a certain genetic mutation, in its rarest and most lethal form. The mutation has several effects, but the most obvious one is a defect in the asari reproductive system. When an ardat-yakshi mates, there is no gentle merging of minds. Her mind ravages her partner’s, burns it out. The partner is left a mindless shell, and normally dies almost at once.”
Ashley whistled, long and low. “What a way to go.”
“It’s worse than that. The experience is intensely pleasurable for the ardat-yakshi. She can easily become addicted to it. Meanwhile, just as a normal asari would, she gains something of the skills and experience of each victim. An ardat-yakshi who kills often, and manages to avoid capture, can become a hideously powerful monster.”
“Shepard had to deal with an ardat-yakshi on Omega, not long before our final mission against the Collectors.” Garrus shook his head uneasily, his mandibles tight against his jaw. “I wasn’t there for the confrontation, but afterward Shepard called it one of the most dangerous moments of his entire life. Given the kind of life he’s had, that’s saying a lot.”
I nodded in agreement, exchanging a glance with Vara, who looked uncommonly grim. “The same ardat-yakshi attacked my people on Illium, just before Normandy first came there. She nearly killed me.”
“What does all this have to do with the facility we’re supposed to investigate?” Ashley asked.
“The mutation is usually detected before its carrier reaches sexual maturity. At that point she is given a choice: life in seclusion, or immediate euthanasia.”
I saw wide-eyed shock from Garrus and the humans. Only Javik snorted in cynical derision, and returned to checking his weapons and gear.
“Isn’t that a little extreme?” asked Ashley after a moment.
“No,” I said, staring into her eyes. “It isn’t.”
“So these asari sex vampires hole up in a monastery,” said James.
“Potential asari sex vampires,” I corrected him. “Yes, those who wish to live out their lives in peace. They are made comfortable and treated well, but they always remain in strict isolation, under the authority of a Matriarch who serves as prioress of the monastery. Their existence is highly structured, built around emotional discipline, intellectual study, meditation, prayer, and absolute celibacy.”
Ashley grunted. “I can imagine. So what’s happened here?”
“That’s what the High Command wants us to find out.”
“Any chance the ardat-yakshi got loose?”
“It’s a possibility. High Command sent a squad of commandos to investigate, and if necessary to purge the place. All communication was lost about fifteen hours ago, which was when they contacted us.”
“Purge the place?” asked Garrus. “With what?”
“About twenty kilotons,” I told him.
A sudden silence fell.
“All right,” said Ashley decisively. “Take us in, Lieutenant, but watch for signs of trouble.”
“Aye-aye, Commander,” said the pilot from his seat in the cockpit. “I have the place on long-range sensors now. Looks absolutely quiet, except . . .”
“Talk to me, Cortez.”
“Reaper signatures,” he said flatly. “Faint but clear.”
As
hley and I exchanged a glance, and I knew we thought the same thing.
This mission just got a lot more complicated.
* * *
30 May 2186, Tēlistos Monastery/Lessus
The monastery stood high on the slopes of a great mountain range, hundreds of kilometers from the nearest settlement. It appeared impossible for anyone to approach or depart except by air. The great building possessed a severe kind of architectural beauty, its great spire and sweeping curves shining in the light of ten thousand stars.
Everything seemed utterly quiet. As we stepped down from the shuttle and deployed out onto the front portico, we saw no sign of anyone at all.
James spotted the anomaly first. While we scanned the area visually, he moved off to one side, standing over an aircar parked some distance from our own landing point.
“Hey,” he called. “The engine block on this car is still warm. It must have landed here not too long ago.”
“No sign of the asari commandos,” observed Garrus, “and a squad with heavy ordnance would have needed more than one aircar.”
“Somebody else must be here.” Ashley gestured for all of us to converge on the entrance to the monastery. “Come on, let’s move.”
The entrance stood unlocked, but the lift that normally conveyed visitors down to the entrance hall was off-line. The six of us had to climb down through the shaft using a series of emergency ladders. Out into a large space, utterly dark and silent.
Our lights scattered around, revealing a communal hall of some kind, a place for the residents to eat and study together. We explored cautiously, some instinct keeping us close together as we crossed the floor.
A sound, like the shriek of a damned soul, somewhere far away.
“Goddess,” I breathed. “That almost sounds like . . .”
“Yeah,” said Ashley flatly. “Not too close, but not nearly far enough away either. Everyone keep the hell on your toes.”
