The Reaper War

by Cole Price

  I felt my lips twist in disgust. “Wonderful.”

  Then we crested a ridge-line, and saw what had been concealed from us all this time.

  Everything changed.

  * * *

  I saw thirty or so figures, each roughly bipedal, although they also had rows of secondary limbs down each side. They had filmy wings, and I saw one of them take a short flight through the air. Large, massive creatures, covered in chitin in shades of brown, red, or grey. Broad, flat heads. Four glowing, yellow eyes each. None of them showed any sign of a mouth, or of any systems for respiration or digestion. They moved about on a grassy meadow, flitting between mysterious pieces of equipment, each of them carrying a weapon on its back or at its side.

  Collectors.

  Someone shouted. My corona blazed like a star, ready to spread mayhem. I could hear some of the Marines bring their rifles to bear, feel my acolytes calling up their own biotics, sense Javik preparing to go on the attack at my side.

  One of the monsters turned to stare at us. Then another. Then all of them.

  “Stop!”

  A tall, slender figure, much more familiar: gangly limbs, huge black eyes, a long face tapering up to arching horns. A salarian ran to interpose himself between us and the Collectors.

  “These creatures are not hostile!”

  What?

  “Dr. T’Soni. Commander Williams. Please stand down. A moment to explain!”

  I dialed my corona back to not quite ready to smash something, just a blue-white halo around my shoulders and arms, dark energy swarming around both hands. “Who are you?”

  “Padel Voss. Citizen of the Chalkhos Republic. These creatures are our guests. I insist you evacuate them.”

  Ashley stepped forward, still staring at the inhabitants of the meadow. “Mr. Voss, I’m having a hard time understanding you. These are Collectors. Things like them murdered humans by the hundreds of thousands less than a year ago. They work for the Reapers.”

  “Not these Collectors. Not anymore.”

  She stared at the salarian in disbelief. “Okay, maybe you had better start from the beginning.”

  “Glad to. Reapers arrived three days ago. Planetary defense inadequate. Enemy landed troops to round up population, look for experimental data.”

  “What kind of experimental data?”

  “The Chalkhos Republic permitted experiments in radical genetic engineering of sentient beings,” I explained. “It’s one reason why the asari who founded this colony came out into the Terminus Systems to begin with. The science they wanted to do was in violation of Citadel law.”

  “Correct,” said Voss. “Collectors major part of Reaper invasion force. Specific interest in genetic science.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you’re protecting these Collectors,” Ashley objected. “Besides, if the Collectors made up a major part of the invasion force, they should be here by the thousands. This is all we’ve seen.”

  “Correct again. All other Collectors dead.”

  “How?”

  Voss smiled. He turned to the nearest Collector, made a sequence of gestures accompanied by a weird warbling noise.

  The Collector responded. It turned away, walked several meters into the makeshift camp, and bent to pick up some heavy object. Then it returned, carrying the object with considerable care. A crystal sphere, perhaps half a meter across, its heart filled with a swirl of shifting light.

  Ashley stared. “Damn. Is that . . .”

  I already had my omni-tool active, scanning the Collector’s burden. “Yes, it is. One of Leviathan’s artifacts.”

  “Leviathan,” said Voss slowly, rolling the word around his mouth. “Interesting name. Artifact was apparently already on Chalkhos. Had been here for some time. Not sure where it came from. Collectors encountered it. Came under its influence. Claim it detached them from Reaper control. Most of them died as a result. Couldn’t adapt. These managed to survive transition. Fled to high country, with Reaper forces in pursuit. Reapers very anxious to recapture them, or kill them.”

  “Mr. Voss, how do you know all this?” demanded Ashley.

  The salarian shrugged. “Asked them.”

  “So how do you communicate?”

  “Ah. Not easy.” Voss grinned at us. “Bondmate figured it out, actually.”

  “Padel is too modest,” said another voice. “I had an advantage. He has actually taught himself to speak their language, after a fashion.”

  I turned, saw an asari approaching us from among the Collectors. She looked rather young, a maiden still, possibly within a decade or two of my own age. Slim, graceful, wearing black commando leathers and carrying a sidearm, obviously a huntress. Her most startling feature was her eyes, their color a pitch black, as if she lived in a constant state of joining. Holding her gaze was a disturbing experience.

  “Bondmate,” announced Voss proudly. “Vasia Kyranis.”

  “Don’t be afraid, Dr. T’Soni. I am not reading your mind,” said the huntress, reading my mind. “I can only detect the surface thoughts of those in my immediate vicinity. Including these Collectors.”

  “How is this possible?” I asked, but I thought I already knew the answer.

  “You already know the answer to that,” she said. “Genetic modification. Those of my lineage need not become intimate with others to see their surface thoughts. To communicate with them, even if we do not share a common language.”

  “Telepathy?” mused Ashley.

  “Not precisely,” said Vasia. “There is no mystical or non-physical mechanism involved. Simply an extension of mechanisms already existing in unmodified asari. Perhaps similar to methods the rachni use to communicate at much longer distances.”

  Voss broke in. “Brings us back to my request. Vasia, her sisters, represent unprecedented success of controversial techniques. Asset of incalculable value against Reapers. Must be saved. Militia in valley committed to this.”

  “And the Collectors?”

  “They too are a priceless asset,” said Vasia. “They offer a great deal of information about their former masters. They also have access to technology centuries beyond our own. They must be evacuated from here, Commander, even if the last of our world perishes in the doing of it.”

  “No,” said Javik.

  Ashley’s head snapped around. She stared at the Prothean.

  He had no eyes for any of us. He stepped forward, bristling with outrage, confronting the nearest Collector. “No. These creatures are an abomination. Let them die, just as all the others have already died!”

  Ashley reached out to try to restrain him. “Javik . . .”

  “No!” He drew his rifle, began to train it on the Collector.

  The creature took no action to defend itself. It simply stood there, alien and monstrous, and waited to see what Javik would do.

  “You are a Prothean,” said Vasia.

  Javik stood still, every muscle vibrating with tension, his weapon not quite aimed at the Collector’s head.

  “You are filled with rage at what was done to your people,” Vasia continued. “Your hate for the Reapers is without limit.”

  “Yes,” Javik panted.

  “I understand. Does your hatred extend to other victims of the Reapers?”

  “They should have fought. They should have died before they became tools for our enemy.”

  Ashley shook her head. “Javik, I doubt any of these Collectors ever got a choice in the matter.”

  “No,” Vasia agreed. “Their ancestors have been slaves for fifty thousand years. All the ones here were born slaves, so thoroughly subjugated that the very idea of freedom never occurred to them. They only awakened to liberty less than two days ago. Only these few had the strength to survive the shock that killed thousands of their colleagues. Would you execute them, for the crime of never having had the chance to be true Protheans?”

  Slowly, Javik lowered his weapon, still staring at the Collector.

  Only when the danger was over did the Co
llector move, slowly, extending its clawed hand about halfway to where Javik stood. Offering contact.

  At first Javik seemed to recoil, rejecting the offer. Then he reached out, his hand shaking slightly, and touched the Collector.

  His eyes snapped shut. Every muscle in his arm went rigid, seizing the Collector’s claw in a grip of iron.

  A wild cry escaped his lips. He fell to his knees, still holding on.

  I found myself running, threw myself to the ground beside him, supported him when he finally let go of the Collector and almost collapsed. “Javik?”

  “Rrrh. Today I have learned the bitterest lesson of all.”

  “What is that?” I asked him gently.

  He lifted his massive head and stared at me. “Hope.”

  I felt my eyes go wide with surprise, hearing him say such an uncharacteristic thing.

  “These creatures are not Protheans. They can never again be Protheans. They have been too thoroughly broken.” Javik turned to stare at the Collector again. “Yet they remember. They understand now what has been done to them. Their hatred for the Reapers rivals my own.”

  “They will join us?”

  “Yes. They will fight.” He gave me one of his rare, grim smiles. “More than that. If we somehow find victory in this war? As I said, these creatures can never again be Protheans. Yet they still have knowledge of the original genome. If they have time and peace, they may be able to reconstruct it.”

  I gasped. “Oh Javik. Do you mean . . .”

  “Yes. Perhaps one day, my people will live again. Do you see now why I find some small cause for hope? I who believed rage and vengeance were all that remained in the universe?” He shuddered, in the grip of some nameless emotion. “Rrrh. It feels like knives in my gut.”

  “Good enough for me,” pronounced Ashley. “Captain Trevanian, let’s talk logistics.”

  * * *

  Cannae transferred the survivors of Taranis to Normandy, freeing up just enough room on board for the Collectors and their equipment. While they loaded, our people descended the mountain, to link up with the doomed Chalkhos militia and keep the Reapers at bay.

  A terrible fight followed, the worst ground combat I saw since Tuchanka. Fortunately, it didn’t last very long. Once Cannae took to the sky, Quintus applied his own Thanix cannon to decimate the Reaper forces in front of us. He also lobbed another small object into the midst of the Reaper formation: the Leviathan artifact. Before long, the Reaper destroyer fled in headlong retreat, half its surviving ground force locked in combat with the other half.

  That gave us time to disengage and return to Normandy, and to take on as many evacuees as possible. No combatants boarded except Vasia Kyranis and her four part-sisters, and they did so only with extreme reluctance. The rest were asari children, adult asari too terribly wounded to continue fighting, and a few non-asari civilians.

  Padel Voss did not evacuate. I saw his final moments with his bondmate, before she boarded Normandy and he picked up a rifle to return to the fight. Once Normandy was full to the bulkheads, the Chalkhos militia turned away with steel discipline, back to the final battle for their world.

  Seventy-six survivors, out of what had once been a thriving asari world of sixty million.

  I found myself almost blind with tears, blurring my last glimpse of the planet’s surface as the staging bay doors closed and Normandy began to climb for the stars.

  “Doctor?”

  I turned, wiping angrily at my face. “What is it, Samantha?”

  For a moment, I didn’t understand how she could be so radiantly happy. Then she handed me a datapad.

  A message from the Citadel.

  From Shepard.

  Too much. For a few moments I lost all control, stood weeping in Samantha’s embrace, while the survivors of Chalkhos milled about the staging bay around us.

  Chapter 41 : Reunion

  8 June 2186, Presidium Docking Ring/Citadel

  When Normandy docked, every single member of the crew who could be spared crowded into the CIC and the bridge corridor, waiting for the airlock to open. I hung back, standing in the shadows, sensing that this needed to be someone else’s moment.

  Besides, I felt very, very conflicted.

  The airlock opened. A noise of celebration sprang up.

  Shepard stepped onto the deck. He nodded to acknowledge the crew’s good cheer, but he had eyes for only one person in that moment.

  Ashley Williams stood at rigid attention, making a salute so crisp I almost heard static electricity crackle in the air.

  “Permission to come aboard?” said Shepard, returning the salute, his voice mild but charged with immense pride.

  “Permission granted, sir, and more than welcome,” said Ashley.

  “I relieve you, Commander.”

  “I stand relieved. EDI, transfer all command codes back to Commander Shepard.”

  “Logged,” said the AI. “The Commanding Officer is aboard. Welcome home, Commander Shepard.”

  “Thank you, EDI.” Formalities complete, Shepard stepped forward and took Ashley’s hand. “Damn fine work, Ash. Your family should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

  Her face didn’t change, still held under iron discipline, but I saw a suspicious shimmer in her eyes. “Thank you, Skipper.”

  “How did you find your first command?”

  Ashley took a deep breath. “A lot bigger than I expected.”

  “I have bad news for you, Ash. They never get any smaller.” Shepard glanced around at all the others, his eyes searching for a moment, a small frown on his face. He raised his voice to address the entire crew. “Thank you all. We have a new mission, but first we have thirty-six hours of repair and resupply time. Shore leave schedules will be posted shortly. Dismissed.”

  For a moment I felt tempted to go to him, but then his own people surrounded him. Half of the crew wanted to see him close at hand, to reach out and touch him. It actually surprised me for a moment. For months, I had been so bound up in my own feelings that I barely noticed the human crew’s response. If more of them had been from the first Normandy I might have understood it, but most of them had only known him for a few weeks. Yet their devotion was palpable.

  Garrus made it to the center of the crowd, possibly because the humans had a healthy respect for all his sharp edges and points. He bent to whisper something in Shepard’s ear.

  Shepard turned his head slightly, found me standing at a distance.

  All of the emotions at war in my heart came to a sudden resolution, like the sudden collapse of a quantum system’s state vector. I turned away, swallowing a sudden lump in my throat, and went in search of the lift.

  * * *

  He came looking for me, of course. At first, he and Ashley had other duties to attend to: off-loading the refugees from Chalkhos, arranging for resupply and crew rotation, setting up the leave schedule. Yet as soon as he could decently step away, he made his way down to my office on the crew deck.

  I stood at my array of consoles and display screens, trying to correlate the activities of my agents, when the door opened.

  “Greetings, Commander Shepard.” As always, Glyph’s voice was cheerful to a fault.

  “Liara?”

  Goddess. What’s wrong with me? I don’t even want to look at him.

  “Hello, Shepard.” My voice betrayed me, shaking where I had aimed for cool-and-detached.

  Boots on the deck plating. A shadow over my shoulder. His scent, heavy male human. The sense of his body heat close by.

  “Liara. What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head, my jaw set in determination. “It’s nothing, Shepard. I have a lot of work to do.”

  Please don’t let him touch me.

  A strong, heavy hand on my shoulder. An irresistible force pulling me away from the consoles, turning me to face him.

  “Come on, T’Soni,” came his rough, gentle voice. “Open up.”

  Just like that, all my unvoiced resolutions collapsed. I cou
ld feel Shepard’s surprise as he suddenly held a double armful of sobbing asari.

  Fortunately the storm passed as quickly as it came. Half of my problem had been the tension between wanting Shepard back and being terrified of having him back. Giving in to his presence resolved the contradiction. I huddled in his arms like a child and fought the tears back down.

  “Goddess, Shepard. I’m so ashamed.”

  “What, of soaking my chest?” He actually sounded amused. “Not the first time, T’Soni, and I imagine it won’t be the last.”

  I looked up into his face for the first time. It made me feel even worse. Behind the tolerant delight, behind the strength he tried to project for me, I could see the bone-deep fatigue. The war as a whole, his days on Omega, all of it had begun to wear him down.

  “That’s not it, Shepard,” I whispered. “Or at least that’s the smallest part of it.”

  “Come on.” Again the gentle but irresistible pressure, this time encouraging me to move back toward the living area. He got me seated on the couch, placed himself close by to half-face me and hold my hand. “Tell me about it.”

  I heaved a gusty sigh. “Where to begin?”

  “I would suggest at the beginning.”

  I gave him an exasperated stare, not wanting to be cheered up just then. “All right. Almost exactly a year ago. The sixteenth of June, 2185, by your calendar.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “That was the day the Collectors first harvested a human colony world. Tirane. Thirty-five thousand people.”

  He cocked his head at me, clearly thinking hard. “Go on.”

  “From that day to this: Batarians, twenty-nine-point-eight billion. Humans, three-point-six billion. Turians, one-point-seven billion. Krogan, three hundred fifty million. Perhaps another billion if we total up all the elcor, hanar, volus, drell, and vorcha casualties. To say nothing of billions of refugees.”

  He nodded soberly, still listening without comment.

  I felt a burst of anger, wondering how he managed to be so tolerant at that moment. “Shall I spell it out for you? In the last six days: asari, one hundred twenty million.”