by Joan Jett
“Dr. T’Soni just gave me a very similar pep talk,” said Shepard, throwing me a quick smile. “But we both know it’s not that simple. There’s only one ship that can get me into the Terminus Systems undetected, and she’s grounded.”
“Not necessarily. The Council didn’t want to issue the order to lock down the Normandy’s primary systems themselves. They knew full well the Alliance would scream bloody murder if they did. So they left it up to Ambassador Udina, to save the appearance of a purely internal matter within the Alliance. It’s his chop on the orders.”
Shepard frowned. “Then all we have to do is override that, and the Normandy comes back online.”
“Right. You can be halfway to the Terminus Systems before anyone even knows you’re gone.”
“Captain, if we steal the Normandy, you’ll be the one left holding the bag. We’re talking about mutiny here.”
“So what? If Saren finds the Conduit, then life as we know it is over. The Reapers will destroy us. Humans, asari, quarians, everybody. You’re the only one who can stop him, Shepard. You’re the only one willing to try. So I’ll do whatever it takes to get you onto the Normandy and off this station.”
Shepard stared at Anderson for a long time.
I realized I saw something new to me, something with no direct analogue in asari society: an older male and a younger male, tied together by bonds of affection and mutual respect, a father-son relationship. Even if Anderson wasn’t Shepard’s biological parent, he seemed to serve as an adoptive parent of sorts. I guessed that it dated back to the difficult period in Shepard’s life immediately after Mindoir. I decided to get to know Captain Anderson more closely, if for no other reason than the insight he could grant into Shepard’s personality.
Perhaps he would one day be thinking of me as an adopted daughter. I found that a very strange thought.
“I won’t forget this, Captain,” said Shepard at last. “I promise.”
Anderson nodded. “I can unlock the Normandy from one of the consoles in the Citadel’s traffic control center. You’ll have a few minutes before anyone realizes what’s happened.”
“Captain, that is a restricted area patrolled by armed guards,” I objected. “You do not have clearance. How are you going to get in?”
“Leave that to me. Just make sure you’re on board the Normandy and ready to go the moment the systems come back online.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” said Shepard. “There has to be another way.”
“I could hack into the computer in Ambassador Udina’s office. If I can steal his credentials for a few moments, I can just rescind the lockdown order.”
“Are you sure you have the skills necessary to do that?” asked Tali.
Anderson grinned. “I may not be up to your standard, Ms. Zorah, but I’ve learned a trick or two in my day. I’m more worried about what will happen if he’s in his office when I need to . . . borrow his terminal.”
“The ambassador will not forgive you, Captain,” I said, remembering what I had seen of Udina’s character. “He will charge you with treason, either before the Alliance or the Council. That is a capital offense.”
“We don’t have a lot of options, Doctor.”
Shepard’s jaw set in determination. “You’ll have a better chance of success, and a better chance of getting away afterward, if you use the ambassador’s computer.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” said Anderson. “The ambassador has made this personal.”
“All right.” Shepard rose from his seat and extended his hand for Anderson to shake. “I’ll send you a message when we’re ready to go at the Normandy. Something innocuous.”
“Don’t take too long,” warned Anderson.
“Less than an hour,” promised Shepard.
Tali and I wished Anderson good luck, and we departed.
Shepard stopped us in the concourse just outside the club. He tapped at his omni-tool for a moment, and then turned to Tali.
“Tali, I want you to take this message to Lieutenant Pressley. I want him to make sure the entire crew is on board. Then he, Lieutenant Adams, and Chief Williams are to quietly inform the crew what’s about to happen. If anyone can’t in good conscience go with us, I want them ready to disembark fast the moment we get back there.”
Tali nodded, accepted the data in her omni-tool, and then went on her errand. She moved quickly and quietly, and yet did not appear to be hurrying at all.
She has some potential as a spy, I thought.
“What chore do you have for me?” I asked.
“You’ll see. Come on.”
* * *
Shepard signaled for a cab to the Presidium, and then refused to say another word until our destination was obvious.
“Shepard, why in the name of the Goddess are we here?” I asked, as the cab settled to the ground immediately outside the Consort’s salon.
He only smiled as he ordered the cab to wait. He met me on my side of the cab, took my hand, and led me to a spot under the trees.
“I have a question for you, Liara,” he told me.
I only looked at him with a certain amount of exasperation.
“Te yakhen ka siavi ren zhai?” he asked. In a tolerable accent.
For the first time in many years, I was rendered completely speechless. I stared at him with wide eyes and simply could not force my brain to work.
“It’s not that difficult a question, is it?” he asked, with an infuriating smile.
“Shepard!” My voice finally started working again. “That is not a question any asari would ask from ambush.”
“I’m not asari, and we humans have a long-standing tradition of doing just that.” He became serious. “Liara, we may not have time to do this in asari fashion. I am very much in love with you. However long my life happens to be from this point on, I want to spend it with you. So . . .”
“Yes,” I told him.
He stopped with his mouth wide open.
“Yes, I will enter into a siavi-contract with you. You do realize this isn’t necessarily a permanent arrangement?”
“I’ve done my homework,” he managed to say. “It’s kind of like a human engagement. It says that these two people are together, they may be thinking about becoming bondmates someday, and nobody else had better try to break them apart or the Goddess will start smiting people.”
“There are also a few customs regarding tribal affiliation, shared legal inheritance, social precedence, and oh Goddess you don’t care about any of that.” I took a deep breath. “Don’t tell me that you got Sha’ira to clear her calendar to preside over the ceremony.”
“She seems to be fond of you,” he said, as if that explanation sufficed.
“How did you arrange it?”
“I sent a message ahead before we left for Flux. I suspected Anderson would have a plan up his sleeve and we wouldn’t have much time to do this.”
“Goddess above, I’m entering into a siavi-contract while wearing battle dress.”
“So am I. It does seem appropriate, doesn’t it?”
I looked up at him and couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose it does.”
We walked into Sha’ira’s salon and found the Consort herself waiting for us, looking radiant and just a little smug as she saw the two of us together. Nelyna and five of the other acolytes stood as witnesses. We signed the documents together. Sha’ira spoke the ancient words and poured the sacred water for us to share. The acolytes presented each of us with Thessian orchids to wear. The blossoms looked absurd tucked into pockets of our combat armor, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Nelyna took holographs to celebrate the occasion. Many years later one of those images, a picture of Shepard standing smiling next to Sha’ira, found its way into public distribution. Somehow the rumor began that Shepard had engaged in a sexual liaison with the Consort. Since then I have seen many documentaries and fictionalized vids speculating about their steamy romance, and I have had to toler
ate a great deal of harassment from the gossip media. Let me be clear, if it will do any good: so far as I know, Shepard only carried on a liaison with one asari in his entire life, and she was not Sha’ira.
We left the salon fifteen minutes after we had arrived, the Consort’s blessings and well-wishes trailing behind us, and climbed back into the waiting cab. I had become siavi-betrothed to a human. Even half a year before, if anyone had told me that would happen, I would have laughed aloud. Now it seemed only natural and right.
We returned to the Normandy.
* * *
Shepard became quiet again as we approached the docking ring, wondering what he would find when we arrived at the Normandy’s berth. I suspected he was even ready to shoot his way onto the ship, if he found C-Sec officers waiting to arrest him. Fortunately we found that unnecessary; the berth stood quiet and empty.
We waited for the decontamination cycle to finish, listening to the ship’s VI. “Logged. The Commanding Officer is aboard. XO Pressley stands relieved.”
Ashley was posted immediately beyond the inner airlock door, and snapped into a perfect salute the moment Shepard appeared. “Attention on deck!” she shouted.
Shepard stopped dead in the inner airlock door. He looked slowly to his right, and then stepped out into the bridge access corridor. I followed.
The Normandy’s crew lined the bridge access corridor, the control room amidships, and most of the Combat Information Center. Every man and woman stood at attention, saluting Shepard as he embarked onto his ship.
I counted quickly and found the entire crew, not a single member missing. Even Joker had left his pilot’s couch and stood in the bridge hatchway, painfully standing at attention and saluting. Garrus, Tali, and Wrex all stood close to the galaxy map in the CIC, not saluting but holding their own formal postures.
Shepard glanced at me. I pulled myself into a reasonable facsimile of the “attention” stance, and gave him a small smile and nod.
“Lieutenant Pressley, what is the meaning of this?” asked Shepard softly.
Pressley lifted his chin proudly. “Sir! All members of the complement of the SSV Normandy are present and accounted for, sir!”
“You did pass along my message, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir. I personally advised everyone to take heed and disembark. Mutiny is a terrible thing, sir.”
Shepard stared at Pressley, who showed not even the slightest hint of a smile. Then he surveyed his crew once more, very slowly.
“Thank you all,” he said quietly. “At ease. Take your stations.”
The crew immediately broke their formation and began to move to their duty stations, quickly, quietly, and with immense pride.
Shepard and I went to the bridge, where Joker had taken his usual station in the pilot’s couch once again. Shepard opened his omni-tool and sent the “go” message to Captain Anderson. Then we waited.
We didn’t have to wait long. Perhaps five minutes after Joker resumed his station, a light burned green on his console. We learned later that Anderson had stolen Udina’s credentials by the simple method of barging into his office while he used his computer, knocking him cold with a single blow, and then using the login session the ambassador had already started.
C-Sec arrested Anderson almost immediately, but it was already far too late. Our docking clamps released, our umbilical attachment dropped. Normandy backed away from its berth so abruptly that we all felt a moment’s acceleration despite the internal damping field.
“Hang on. We’re about to get a little assertive,” said Joker.
Normandy spun end-for-end in a space less than twice its length, then leaped forward. We soared directly out between the Citadel’s arms, violating any number of traffic regulations, jinking hard twice to avoid possible collisions.
“SSV Normandy, this is Citadel Control.” A harsh turian voice, breaking into our internal communications. “You are in violation of Council orders and Citadel traffic control ordinances. Cut your drives at once and prepare to be boarded.”
“No response,” ordered Shepard.
Joker glanced at a screen to one side. “Two . . . no, three turian cruisers coming about to bring their spinal cannon to bear.”
“It’s time, Joker.”
“Everybody cross your fingers.” Joker opened a new window on his console, tapped at the controls there.
Still within the Citadel’s inner traffic control envelope, Normandy went into FTL for about a quarter of a millisecond. We emerged back into normal geometry half a million kilometers from the Citadel.
“We’re still alive,” reported Joker, sounding a little surprised. “Drift . . . about fifty meters. Drives at maximum. Theta-5 relay is answering our control signal.”
Shepard stabbed at a control on the communications console. Our main comms array started pouring out a signal at maximum strength.
SPECTRE BUSINESS – GIVE WAY. SPECTRE BUSINESS – GIVE WAY.
“Nobody else at the relay or in the outbound lane,” said Joker. “About time we had some good luck.”
We hit the approach for the Theta-5 relay. Ten seconds later, we were twenty thousand light-years away. The red-golden light of Arcturus shone through the front ports.
“On course for the primary Arcturus relay, ETA five minutes. Incoming transmission from the Fifth Fleet, text only.”
“Let’s see it, Joker.”
FROM: COMFIFTHFLT
TO: SSV NORMANDY
Godspeed.
Hackett
Chapter 43 : Fire and Water
22 May 2183, Interstellar Space
Over the centuries, I have seen many dramatizations of our war against Saren. I’ve long since given up trying to understand why certain details always become distorted in the retelling. Perhaps it’s simply for the sake of drama?
The journey to Ilos provides one of the better examples. Somehow the trip is always presented as taking no more than a few hours. Usually the actress playing me has just enough time to make a shy visit to the Commander’s quarters, and then the scene changes to their preparations for the final confrontation.
I’m forced to wonder whether any of the dramatists have ever examined a galactic map. If Ilos was that close to the primary mass relay for the Pangaea Expanse, Saren would not have needed months to find it. The Conduit would have been his, almost from the moment Benezia gave him the location of the Mu Relay. In fact, as we discovered, Ilos had drifted many light-years away over the millennia. Neither Saren nor we had been able to locate it easily. Once we knew its location, it still stood several days from the primary relay.
We had plenty of time to worry about whether Saren had put all the pieces together at last. The Council had delayed us by over two days. Sovereign seemed to be faster in FTL than any other ship known to us. It seemed entirely possible that we would arrive at Ilos, only to find the Reaper and its geth followers already present in force. We were unsure as to what we could do in that case, other than try an all-out attack on the Conduit and hope for the best. It didn’t seem likely that any of us would survive such a battle.
Of course, the dramatists have usually been right about one thing.
The day we departed the Citadel, Shepard took care to “make the rounds” and speak to every member of the crew, thanking them for their loyalty. He carried out other duties that had been neglected while we struggled with the Council. Then, late in the ship’s evening as usual, he retired to his quarters for the night.
I waited for a few minutes, and then followed him.
I smiled when I found his door unlocked for me. When I didn’t find him in his office, I took a moment to muster my courage, and then tested the door to his private quarters as well. It opened. I found him sitting on his couch, a book in his hands.
He looked up and smiled at me. “Liara. I was just thinking about you.”
“I’m glad.” I took a deep breath. “Shepard . . . may I stay here tonight? With you?”
His face became very calm and
still, but it wasn’t his usual grim-faced reaction to an unpleasant surprise. Instead it seemed a gentle calm, a kind of serenity I had rarely seen in him before.
I stood there watching him, very aware of my heartbeat.
Am I really going to go through with this?
Yes.
It’s time. Long past time.
He closed his book and set it aside, never looking away from me while he did it.
For a moment I glanced at the title: Personal Memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant. The title meant nothing to me, but it appeared one of Shepard’s favorite books, worn and much-used.
“Are you sure about this, Liara?”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything, Shepard.”
He stood and walked over to me, slowly, taking his time. He stood very close, looming over me, gently caressing my cheek with one hand. His hand trembled, ever so slightly, as it ghosted over my skin.
He is not as calm as he appears.
I felt a surge of desire, like a fire igniting deep in my body.
“I’ve been thinking about what we face,” I told him softly. “None of us may survive Ilos. I understand why you took us to see Sha’ira before we left the Citadel. I feel the need to seize the moment.”
“That’s very human of you,” he said softly.
My heart raced. My head was full of his scent, and it was driving me mad. I reached out to place my hands on his chest, step close into his personal space. Then, quite suddenly, he swept me into his arms and kissed me. The taste of his tongue made me dizzy. I pressed against him and made a soft growl in the back of my throat.
His uniform presented an annoying obstacle. I slipped my hands under his shirt, felt the skin of his flanks and back, incredibly smooth and fine-textured and warm. He cooperated in peeling the garment off, standing before me bare-chested. His skin fascinated me, covered with hair, most of it invisibly soft and fine. On impulse I blew across the planes of his chest, watching the tiny hairs stir and stand erect. My hands explored the masses of muscle under his skin, brutally powerful and yet under precise control. I thought of his body as an engine, working tirelessly above and inside me, and my knees went weak at the image.