And so it begins...
The time of the eclipse is upon us, and the future thrown in dark shadow.
Mass Effect 1 has passed. The Interval is passing. Now begins Book Two.
This scene nearly tore us apart. It took two rewrites and a massive argument to get us both on the same page, but I and my co-author finally worked things out. Hopefully we'll be pulling together for the foreseeable future, but this was a rough week working on this thing.
Jorukaiazhanivahkyss.
I will not mince words. I'm truly sorry you had to go through that ordeal, but I still have a sworn responsibility as Councilor of the Asari Republic. More importantly, I will hear no claims of betraying our bargain, let alone towards my Mistress. Understand that what you faced with the Council was, in fact, far from the maximum consequences for your actions. Much of the Asari Republic, including House T'Soni, has been compromised in some form by either the Shadow Broker or your AI compatriot. And I have expended great resources and precious favors to keep the Matriarchs from ever learning of your involvement, no matter how indirect.
In the name of our deal, I have thus committed an act of sedition against my own people.
This was no easy task. Your enchantments have helped, but against a nation of Asari, I am still playing chess with ten-thousand grandmasters all at once. And if I am ever exposed, my position will be lost as I'll be forced to seek permanent sanctuary with my Mistress. I would be of no use to you against the Reapers because of your impulsive judgment. I have more than upheld my end of the bargain, whereas your actions have jeopardized it.
This is your second chance, Jorukaia of the Darastrix. You will not squander it. Do everything in your power to prove that my Mistress was wise to invest in you.
~Tevos
This OSD will now self-destruct in five seconds.
The dragoness did not wait for the sequence to end, sliding the OSD free of the reader and crushing it between her powerful talons. There was a faint fizzle afterwards, but nothing more.
Anderson's office was the same stark-white and chrome, brilliantly lit such that her eyes were reduced to bare slits, the gold of her irises brilliant against the flame red of her schelera. The lighting was indirect, cleverly hidden by various means, to soften and spread the effect as much as possible.
It gave the place a disturbing resemblance to the cloying perfection of the temples scattered across Mount Celestia, a realm she hoped not to have to enter again.
Anderson had shuffled her in here when the paramedics had arrived to whisk Valern away. She'd done what she could, expending the last charges of her healing touch to restart his heart. Twice. The device woven into the braided wire of her wristband would recharge in time, but for the moment, she'd done all she could for him.
She gave a rueful shake of her head, examining her claws on her left hand, the one that was new. They were still sharp and polished, more-so than her right, where the claws there were scarred from rough use. Gripping bare rock will do that to dragon-claws, even those bolstered to adamantine hardness.
Her fingers clenched, the claws pricking her palm. For all her vaunted power, she had no head for politics. She'd never been trained in them, well, save the training that every drowchild picked up through cultural osmosis, or perished for lack of it. No training, little aptitude, so why under all the infinite suns had she tried to play it?
And worse, why had she then squandered that brief respite from the rules?
The bitter irony was that she knew why. That first interrogation had made it clear that they would not believe her truth, regardless. So she had given up. Right then and there, in the Normandy's cargo bay, her wrists shackled and chained to the floor like a rabid beast.
She had given up on her mission before even properly getting started.
Black blood welled from her clenched fist, trickled down her raised wrist. She watched the thin rivulets of oil-dark liquid as it ran over obsidian scales, tinging them the deepest, darkest red.
Such was her fate, to bleed, to suffer. She'd been damned before her birth, and naught she had done since she had been taken from her mother's womb had shaped her course aside. She'd resigned herself to such fate long ago, but it was still a bitter contemplation. At least she would outlive the immediate sting of her failures, even the Reapers could not hunt her to her lair and pose an existential threat to her there. Even were they to find one of the portals and gather to spear it with their hellish fire, the portal itself would deny their fury.
Such destruction cannot pass planar boundaries, after all. She would be safe, tucked away in her little corner of the multiverse, with whoever she deigned to take with her. To ride out the tide of extinction until it receded again, and her rescuees' descendants were released from their trans-dimensional Ark to pick through the ruins of their civilizations.
It was not a fate she relished.
She was grateful that Anderson had not forced her to wait with company. Her thoughts were taking a decidedly dark tinge, even for her.
The dragon's head came up at the faint sound of footsteps beyond the door, and steeled her hearing against the thunder-loud snap and hiss of the mechanism. She mentally dialed down the volume to something approximating human-level hearing, and rose respectfully as the Councilor stormed through the door.
Anderson marched past her with a stone face and clenched fists. He didn't even glance at her as he strode past to the balcony overlooking the Presidium. After a long moment of taking in the tranquil view, he finally muttered, "He'll live."
The dragoness bowed her head letting out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Sir. That is welcome news."
"Small mercies indeed," Anderson sighed. "But now the question's if he'll still be fit for office. The Dalatrass set to replace him is a far cry from Valern's more pragmatic cooperation. Neither Tevos or Sparatus want her around, and we could pull some strings to keep Valern around. But then we have the moral dilemma of if we should force a stroke survivor to keep working."
She mulled on the thought and sighed. "I liked Valern. His was a keen mind, studious and insightful. Were he removed from office and gifted a role free of such pressures, I would wish him well of it. Were he determined to maintain his place, I would offer him what encouragement I could, spurned though it be."
"Mmmmm."
A long silence took the room. Anderson still had not turned from leaning over the Presidium balcony. After several minutes, Joru idly fidgeted.
"You're still here." He mildly observed.
"I have not been dismissed, Sir." She sighed and relaxed slightly from her more formal posture. "Permission to speak candidly, sir?"
"You may, Commander." Anderson's voice was heavy but gentle.
"Joru, please, Sir." She took a breath, and let it out, her eyes lowered. "I have not earned that rank, Sir."
"Respectfully, Sir. Cerberus?" Her gaze was at once contrite and questioning. "I know you too well to think they've pulled the wool over your eyes. So why...."
She trailed off, a look of pained realization washing over her. "....Ahh. My fault. I see. Like with Liara. My fault. Damn me."
"Torfan," Anderson nodded again. "And now, Terra Nova."
The dragoness turned away, not caring if her sharp gesture sent flecks of blood spattering the floor. "Torfan was... I was not myself, Sir. Shepard or dragon. My dream ran thin and I was caught between what was, what was then, and what might have been."
She paused near the balcony, gripping the rail. "As to Terra Nova... I have a personal vendetta against slavers, Sir. I was born a slave."
Anderson stared, then sighed with a soft shrug. "And here I thought it was from the lingering memories of Shepard's for what they did to Mindoir. Like other soldiers who've lost people to batarian slavers."
"Oh, Shepard had her own hatred of slavers as well, it's why we worked so well together on Elysium and later." The dragoness gave a quiet sigh and dropped her head, the long hair sleek and gleaming in the artificial light as her shoulders bowed. "I meant no disrespect to those else who lost people to that barbaric practice. Merely an explanation, not an excuse."
"I would hope not," Anderson's jaw clenched. "I was disappointed by your stunt with the Shadow Broker. I was disappointed when I learned you released that AI onto Arcturus Station itself. But your vicious and animalistic massacre? Stringing them up by their organs and eating their eyeballs? I don't want to hear anything about not being the real Shepard or that you might feel doomed to be nothing other than a monster because I don't care about that."
He finally turned his gaze to Joru. "Because that's still not what I trained you to be. And that broke my heart."
Her shoulders were already rounded as hse stood at the balcony rail, and it took a moment to realize the slight tremble of her too-still tail was a tell.
The dragoness was struggling to hold back tears.
When she did manage to speak, her voice was thick with emotion. "I am not the woman you trained, Sir. I am not worthy of that respect. That regard."
"And we're both going to have to live with that," Anderson answered solemnly. "However much this has upset us, we must move on. We don't have the luxury of being angry with each other."
".....yes." The dragon's voice was clotted as her shoulders shook slightly, but when she at last turned around, her face was calm and composed, though Anderson could see the tear-tracks glistening against the bright-gold 'mascara' she had worn to the recommissioning of the Normandy, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
"You hinted that Cerberus has been compromised. Please, tell me you don't mean—"
"The one known as the 'Illusive Man' is under the sway of the Reapers, yes." Her voice grew stronger, more firm and less emotionally laden as she spoke, "I have reason to believe he was indoctrinated by the Reapers quite some time ago, and has been working as a sleeper agent, maneuvering himself into a position to strike when the Reapers arrive."
Her dark-skinned mentor had nearly turned the color of old coffee, something was horribly wrong. David Anderson, one of the few people she ever respected more than herself, was trembling with pure fear.
"...How deep are we in the shit, Sir?" Bleakness had returned to her voice, but at least that dreadful quaver had left it, as she gazed back at her old mentor.
"How long can you tread water?" The old soldier sounded resigned. "After the revelation of your massacre over Terra Nova shocked Parliament and Alliance Command, Cerberus took full advantage. Next thing I knew, powerful people were stepping forward, explaining they knew of a black ops group that could solve the 'Darastrix threat.' Politicians, admirals, industry leaders... suddenly, everyone was pushing for legitimizing the three-headed dog of Tartarus that kept monsters in check."
Anderson hung his head. "Cerberus is now more powerful than they've ever been. Sinking their roots deep into the heart of the Alliance like a monstrous parasite, free to enjoy the privileges of a Council race openly. Even worse, their puppet, Charles Saraccino?"
At the dragon's distasteful sneer, he went on, "He's been making massive waves in Parliament, giving Terra Firma a massive majority in the House of Lords and Commons. And in just another three months, Charles is almost a shoe-in to become Prime Minister."
The dragoness gave a soft hiss, her eyes narrowing the pale-gold slits. "That ape? Apologies to your kindred, but he's little more than a blockhead with delusions of adequacy."
"You haven't seen how smarmy he got after his prior elections to Parliament." The old soldier snorted humorlessly. "And now you're telling me these parasites who've infiltrated the Alliance are working for the Reapers?"
"No, not directly, but they are being primed to become their infiltrators within our ranks." The dragon gave a hot sigh and shut her eyes, rubbing her forehead with one hand. "And, damn me for a fool, I got us into this mess. Indirectly, but still my fault."
"How do we deal with this?" The dragoness had begun to pace, and abruptly came to a halt. The word she uttered in a low tone seemed to ripple and hiss in midair as she turned to give Anderson a pained gaze. "....By keeping me out of it, no doubt."
"No doubt," Anderson agreed. "We can't have you anywhere near Alliance space. Cerberus doesn't even have to lift a finger to have you destroyed, and their lawyers will have a field day with any investigations you make. Hackett and I still have powerful friends we can trust, but we could use more allies."
The human councilor remained silent for a few minutes before he heaved a heavy sigh. "I'm probably going to regret this, but... this AI friend of yours? Assuming she listens to you, can she be trusted? It's just me, Joru, what does she want? What's she after?"
The dragon's expression was an odd one, seriousness masking an almost overpowering urge. At length she managed to turn away and take a breath. "She will fall into line. One way or another. Not at my bequest, however."
Anderson's face fell, fearing the worst. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"My friend, EDI, that Emergent AI... Is married." The dragon turned back, her gaze amused, and her lips struggling to maintain her expression of impassive calm. "I had an invitation to their wedding, but I was very definitively out of contact at the time, buried neck-deep in a midden out in the Terminus."
She waved a hand at his confusion. "Suffice it to say that even if she has little regard for me, she is absolutely devoted to her wife, body, heart, mind and soul."
Whatever her old mentor expected her to say, it wasn't that.
Joru had to admit, she never once imagined such surprised confusion was possible for Anderson's face. "I'm sorry, one more time? She's... married? You're... you're actually serious? To whom?! No, wait, it's probably best I don't know, but is her, spouse, someone I should be worried about?"
"Oh, absolutely not, Sir." The dragon's smile was genuine, her pain cloaked for the moment as she paced slowly, almost sashaying past his desk. "She's well aware of the power of her wife, in fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that a great deal of what she's been mucking about in on the extranet was probably setting her wife up in a quite nice situation. No, the dynamic between them is so sweet I needed a bathtub full of toothpaste to get my fangs to stop aching."
Anderson's jaw was hanging open, trying to form words as his mind was attempting and failing to process what he heard. "You mean to say that the super-intelligent, godlike AI that nuked the Geth and has been making a fool out of our infrastructure just wants to be a...?"
"Oh, it was far better than that." The dragon's grin finally broke out, broad and smug as she contemplated her gleaming claw-tips "EDI has a wife, a mistress, an owner, and is content with that. All she desires is to adore and worship her human Galatea, to play Echo to her Narcissus. It delights her to no end that her wife feels the same in return, and the pair are both inseparable, and utterly devoted to each other."
"I even overheard her mention something about being delighted to be her mistress-owner's sexbot on more than one occasion." The dragon's mirth was dampened by the pained befuddlement in Anderson's eyes.
He buried his face in his hands. "That's it, I'm filing for a vacation tonight."
"I'm sorry, truly sorry about the circumstances, Sir." The contrition in her voice was back, but without the deathly tonelessness she'd had when she left the council chambers.
"Just... you said she was experimented on by Cerberus?" Anderson pulled himself together. "Do you think she'd be willing to help us? If not out of vindication, then perhaps protection of her partner? Because I doubt Cerberus intends to leave it alone."
"Without doubt, Sir." The dragoness discarded her air of amusement, donning the cloak of sobriety again. "If not for my sake than for that of her mistress and lover. She holds no love for Cerberus, and her capabilities are such that she'd be an ideal ally in the pursuit of their forces."
Joru's somber shame lifted by a modicum when she saw a weight lift from Anderson's shoulders. "That's, that's good. I'm not proud of secretly inviting an AI to crawl through Alliance systems behind my government's back, but if it means stopping agents of the Reapers? I'll take it."
The dragon's smile was less furtive or artful this time, as she relaxed a little under her old mentor's scrutiny.
"As for you, I have something special in mind," Anderson straightened up. "Somewhere you can keep an eye on Cerberus while taking the fight to the Reapers. Tell me something, Joru: what do you know about the Collectors?"
