by Cole Price
“What are you proposing?” asked Hackett.
“A crash effort to study Prothean records, from all over the galaxy,” I said. “We examine anything we can find from the Fourth Age, the time just before or during the extinction. We look at any artifact or record that might give us more ideas about to how to resist the Reapers. Even knowing what the Protheans tried that didn’t work might be of some use.”
“The Alliance can’t do that on its own,” Hackett objected.
“You can examine Prothean artifacts and archives within your own territory, Admiral. Mars, Eden Prime, a few other worlds. Meanwhile, I can work the scientific community elsewhere, see how many asari and salarian experts I can pull into the effort.”
Shepard shook his head. “This sounds like a terrible long shot, Liara.”
“I know.” I looked at both of them. “I’m afraid I’m out of other ideas.”
Hackett nodded slowly. “Doctor, this sounds like the best thing you could be doing, both as a scientist and as the Shadow Broker. Go ahead. I’ll give you as much support as I can.”
“All right. My network will continue to feed intel to the Alliance, of course.”
“Good.” The admiral checked his omni-tool for the time, took the last sip of his coffee, and stood. Both of us rose as well. “Now I have to go. Shepard, I’ll leave Dr. T’Soni in your charge for the rest of the day. Check in with Lieutenant Vega, but I believe the two of you have meetings scheduled with the Red Team and the Defense Committee.”
Shepard saluted. “Understood, Admiral.”
* * *
The terms of Shepard’s “imprisonment” limited his freedom of movement. He rarely left the secured Alliance Navy compound in Vancouver, keeping up the appearance of being under investigation for a litany of crimes. He spent every evening in his “cell,” a comfortable apartment tucked away deep inside officer’s quarters. There he had almost every comfort, including occasional visitors who had been cleared to know the truth about his status.
Four rooms made up the apartment: living area, kitchen, study, and bedroom. He had only a few personal items. A painting of the first Normandy hung in the living area. A battered N7 helmet and a set of dogtags rested on a side table. Two portraits hung in the study, one of his long-lost family, the other of me. His father’s Bible, old and worn, lay on a corner of the desk. A few other books stood on a nearby shelf. Otherwise Shepard kept the whole place impersonally neat and clean.
At the moment a trail of garments, Alliance Navy undress blues and an asari business ensemble, stretched from the outer door across the entire floor to the bedroom.
I rolled aside, pressing the entire length of my body against him, enjoying a sense of euphoria and pleasant fatigue. Once I felt comfortable, my head tucked into the hollow of his shoulder, I closed my eyes and reviewed the memories I had just acquired from him. I knew he was doing the same.
After a few moments, I sighed. “I must admit, I do enjoy debriefing.”
Shepard chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it called that before.”
“Well. Consider it one of the benefits of marrying an asari. Given how rarely we get to see each other, it saves hours of conversation each time.”
His arm tightened around my waist, his head turned slightly, and I felt his lips caress my crest. “Blue goddess. I wish I could have seen the Illusive Man’s face, when you sent the Broker’s airship on that kamikaze run.”
“Hmm.” I took another deep breath, suddenly feeling serious. “To tell the truth, Shepard, I’m worried about Cerberus.”
“So am I.” He shifted his body slightly, permitting me to slide a leg between his. “I’ve been following all the intel we get, from you and from our own sources, ever since that incident with Paul Grayson. I don’t like what I’ve been hearing about their interest in Reaper technology. Cerberus has a habit of playing with fire. I’m afraid we might all get burned this time.”
“I agree. Some of the news I’ve heard from the Terminus Systems . . .”
“That agreement the Illusive Man reached with Aria T’Loak?”
I nodded. “They’ve been using the Omega-4 Relay, with her permission and support. Visiting the wreckage of the Collector base you destroyed. Goddess alone knows what they’re finding there.”
“It does fit their usual strategy,” he observed. “Cerberus has always wanted to improve their operatives and soldiers. Reaper technology certainly promises one way to do that. Saren was a tough bastard even before Sovereign implanted him, and he became almost unstoppable afterward. Paul Grayson was a sickly red sand addict, and Reaper implants turned him into a biotic super-soldier. If Cerberus can find a way to harness that capability . . .”
“Don’t forget the control aspect,” I reminded him. “Reaper technology also indoctrinates its victims.”
“I don’t get that part. Why would the Illusive Man want to create an army of Reaper agents?”
“Perhaps he thinks he can override the Reapers’ influence. Turn the indoctrination to his own purposes.”
“Hmm. It would have to be very tempting, to someone as obsessed with control as he is. The perfect tyranny, where your subjects never even consider betraying or opposing you.”
We lay in silence for several minutes, each lost in our own thoughts. Slowly I sensed the return of a certain urge.
“Shepard,” I said at last.
“Yes?”
“I’m hungry.”
I could feel the muffled laughter under my arm, like a tremor deep in his body. “T’Soni, you are outrageous.”
“I’m also a biotic, and I seem to recall it getting very bright in here a while ago.”
“I suppose I should have fed you first.”
“I was in too much of a hurry. You may feed me now.”
“Well.” He stirred, began to slide out from under my arm and leg. I lay back and enjoyed the sight of him rising nude out of the bed. “As it happens, I have anticipated your desires. There’s a very good Thessian sunfish in the refrigerator, along with soba noodles, some fresh salad, and a bottle of Serrice white. Give me fifteen minutes and we can have dinner in bed.”
“What about dessert?”
“I’m sure I can think of something.”
“Hmm. That sounds wonderful. You launch a frontal assault on the kitchen, I will perform a diversionary raid on your shower cubicle, and we can meet back here to compare battle damage assessments.”
“Deal.”
If only all our strategic decisions were that simple, I thought, as I rose and padded across the thick carpet toward the refresher.
Chapter 2 : Quest
26 February 2186, Serrice/Thessia
“It is safe,” said Dr. Passante.
I emerged from the skycar to stand next to her, pulling a veil across my face, even though I hoped there would be no one else nearby to see. I had become altogether too recognizable on Thessia, and I had enemies who might react violently to news that I had returned home. Even a moment’s glance from a stranger might cause no end of trouble.
I followed the older asari across the courtyard, old memories making my pace confident despite the darkness.
“Sneaking Liara T’Soni into the Archives after hours,” my guide murmured. “This is not something I ever thought I would find myself doing again.”
“That makes two of us.” I rested a hand on her shoulder as we walked. “It is good to see you again, Doctor. Even if the circumstances aren’t ideal.”
At the entrance, she opened her omni-tool and entered an access code. The doors opened silently. The two of us entered the front hall, passing between the two statues of Athame that stood guard just inside.
“Please, Liara. We’re colleagues now. My name is Alene.”
“I am honored, Alene.”
“Yet that raises a question. You are no longer one of my undergraduate students. You are a tenured professor at the University, with a teaching chair waiting any time you choose to
come home and claim it. You have every right to consult the Archives openly, in the light of day. Why this stealth?”
I shook my head.
She would never understand about Matriarch Thessala. Or the need to evade Cerberus.
“I’m sorry, Alene. I can’t go into that. There are political complications.”
“I see.” She turned away, clearly disappointed, but her steps never faltered as she led me into the secured sections of the building. “I’ve missed you, Liara. I have to admit, when you contacted me, I hoped for a moment that you were planning to return to Thessia. For good.”
“I know.”
“You are a superb researcher and a wonderful teacher. You have discovered more in your youth than some asari scientists manage in a thousand years of work. We need you here.”
“To be honest, there are times when coming back home is all I can think about.” I sighed. “It would be so much easier.”
She stopped, turned to examine me. I searched her face as well, the familiar blunt features unmarked by dappling or paint, the eyes that always looked a little bit sad. Her face and figure had changed my time as her student, signs of her upcoming transition into the Matriarch stage.
“It’s been only a few years since I saw you last, yet you have grown a great deal,” she finally observed. “I think it becomes you.”
“Life has been very full,” I admitted.
“So I have heard. Your last two academic papers were rather startling. Since then you seem to have spent most of your time on political machinations rather than science. Now I hear you have bonded with that rather infamous human, Shepard . . .”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what’s driving you, Liara, and it’s not my business to pry. But I am deeply concerned.” She stepped closer, the better to look into my eyes in the dim light. “Your mother and I were friends. She meant well, but her passions consumed her. Whatever it is you’re after, I couldn’t bear to watch the same thing happen to you.”
“It won’t.” I reached out and took her hand. “Alene, I can’t tell you why I’m doing this. I need you to trust me.”
Slowly, she nodded. “I suppose it comes down to that. I do trust you.”
“Thank you,” I breathed.
“Come on, we’re almost there.”
She led me through two more locked doors. Finally we entered a study chamber, one of many distributed around the Archives complex. This one was dedicated to Prothean studies, the most complete collection of research on that subject anywhere in the galaxy. If the Protheans had ever even hinted at a weapon against the Reapers, I expected to find some record of it here.
I sat down and began to work the console. An hour passed. Eventually Dr. Passante caught the drift of what searched for, sat down at the next console and began to help.
Two hours passed. Three hours.
“This can’t possibly be everything that’s here,” I said at last, leaning back from the console in disgust.
“Perhaps what you are looking for does not exist,” Dr. Passante suggested.
“No, that can’t be.” I called up some of the documents I had glanced at earlier and set aside. “Here. Transcripts of Fourth Age inscriptions, from the Karris expedition on Lusia. It’s clear that the Protheans knew of the extinction cycle, even before the Reapers arrived. The only thing they lacked was an understanding of the mechanism.”
She gave me a sharp stare. “How can you be so certain?”
“I can read late Prothean. Wasn’t that clear from my paper on the dig in the Eramethos Mountains?”
“Not entirely. You took care to keep your translation of those text fragments within the confines of what is already agreed upon in the scientific community. I did wonder how you could translate the texts so quickly.”
“While I was traveling with Shepard, before the geth attack on the Citadel, we encountered an ancient life form on the planet Feros. The creature was intelligent, had survived since the Prothean era, and had absorbed a great deal of knowledge about them. Including their spoken and written language.”
“You joined with this creature?”
“At third hand, yes, but the knowledge transmitted cleanly. Unfortunately it’s largely unconscious knowledge. I can’t speak or write Prothean. I’ve never managed to produce a working lexicon for others to use. Even so, I can understand it when I read it.”
“Liara. Even if you could not write out a lexicon, you could still help others with translation.”
“I don’t see how.”
“For shame. Forgetting your basic paleolinguistics like that. How do we decipher ancient languages, when we do not have the advantage of knowledge inherited from mysterious alien creatures?”
“With great difficulty.” I blinked, surprised chagrin suddenly washing through my mind. “Using parallel texts, where those exist.”
“Exactly. Like the famous Rosetta Stone that enabled the humans to decipher one of their own ancient languages. We have never found parallel texts for any of the Prothean dialects and a known language, so it has taken centuries of work to develop even what little knowledge we have. But could you not take some well-known Prothean texts, produce your own clean translations into koiné, and then hand those over to expert linguists? Your translations could serve as parallel texts, the basis for a complete Prothean lexicon and grammar.”
I lowered my face into my hands. “Goddess. I can’t believe I overlooked that.”
“You seem to have had other concerns. Does the scheme seem practical?”
“Certainly it does. I can translate Prothean almost as quickly as I can read it. But how do we get anyone to take my word that the translations are correct?”
“We don’t have to. Consider your translations to be a hypothesis that remains to be falsified. If the lexicon that grows from your work bears fruit when applied to other Prothean texts, the hypothesis grows stronger. If it generates nonsense, it will be discarded. That is how science works, after all.”
“All right. Before I leave Thessia I will produce as many translations as I can. Will you work with the faculty to generate a lexicon and begin testing it? Dr. Orysae would almost certainly be willing to help.”
“Of course.” She gave me an appraising look. “I take it that time is of the essence.”
“Very much so. I’m afraid that the translation of Prothean texts – quickly, correctly, and in complete detail – may soon be a survival skill.”
“That bad?” She took a deep breath. “Well, we will do what we can.”
“That still leaves us with the problem of why there’s almost nothing here of any use. The Protheans knew some threat loomed over them. One would think them desperate to discover its nature and develop a solution.”
“Perhaps most of the relevant work was done elsewhere in the galaxy. Somewhere asari scientists have never explored.”
“I suppose that’s possible. There may be hundreds of Prothean worlds we’ve never found, including their homeworld.” I frowned, my mind suddenly veering down another chain of deductions. “There’s another possibility we should consider.”
Dr. Passante cocked her head at me, waiting.
“What if this collection isn’t complete?”
“I don’t understand.”
“What if data have been removed from it?”
She shook her head. “That’s not possible. The Archives are all but sacred. The curators would never remove anything from the stacks.”
“Are you sure?”
She struggled with the idea.
I found it hard to believe as well. Freedom of information constituted one of the bedrock principles of the Asari Republics. Yet, as the Shadow Broker, I had come across hints that my people held some very deep secrets. Things known only to a few of the Matriarchs, passed down from century to century out of the public’s eye.
In particular, I had discovered that Councilor Tevos knew of the Reapers. Not as a hypothesis to be proven or falsified, but as a terrible and unqu
estionable fact. Even before Shepard came before the Council and first spoke that dreadful name, Tevos had already known.
Where did she get that knowledge?
“Let’s dig a little deeper, Alene.” I returned to the console and began typing in commands.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m looking at the metadata: when items were added to the archive; when they were modified; where they are stored in the physical memory space. Who has looked at them, altered them, and possibly even removed them.”
“You can do that?” My mentor leaned close to watch.
“It’s not easy, but yes.”
The Archives were not designed to reveal their inner workings, but I soon found them not absolutely secure. My cyberwarfare skills had been improving, ever since I turned from archaeology to information brokerage. I had been taught by some of the best, including quarian technologists like Tali and Arin. I knew the words necessary to bind and to loose.
“There.” I leaned back and looked up at the big display before us.
“What am I seeing?”
I pointed at dark sections of the display. “Look there . . . and there . . . and especially there. Big blocks of physical memory that should contain Prothean data, accessible to the Archives. Yet they appear to be empty.”
“Perhaps they are.”
“No. Empty blocks would be reallocated, as more information comes into the Archives. At some point there should be a defragmentation, so the Prothean data no longer have these enormous chunks of blank space in their midst. If these blocks are still here, it’s because they actually contain relevant data, but someone has partitioned them off.” I bent to the console once more. “Let’s see if we can get a clue as to what’s in there . . .”
The display went dark, and then a red mandala appeared. Matriarch’s Seal.
I opened my omni-tool and recalled a code Arin had once given me, one that had bypassed the Seal on my own entry in the genetic archives. This time it failed to work. I cursed viciously in quarian exoteric dialect, another skill I had learned from Tali and Arin.