Deep Space: An Epic Sci-Fi Romance

  Deep Space

  An Epic Sci-Fi Romance

  Synopsis: Centuries after the end of the Dark Space War, a respected galactic scientist and political leader tells the story of her youthful adventures with the legendary Shepard. Fighting to save the galaxy is one thing, but figuring out human motivations can be much harder. Science fiction, action-adventure, and a romance.

  Chapter 1 : Prologue

  Night on Thessia.

  An asari emerged from her house, gliding out onto a broad deck that looked out across her land. Even in darkness she moved confidently, avoiding obstacles with the ease of long practice, until she stood by the outer railing. There she spent long minutes looking up at the stars.

  If anyone else had been close by, they would have seen a slender asari matron of average height, wrapped in a dignified full-length gown of twilight blue. The starlight shone on her face, almost bare of markings aside from a spray of indigo freckles across her cheeks and a matched pair of thin arcs above her eyes. Another asari would have judged her features attractive enough, capable of gamine charm or naïve curiosity, but too cool and delicate for the canons of true beauty.

  As it happened, no one else was close by. The household staff, the armed acolytes keeping watch over the perimeter, all of them knew better than to interrupt the matron’s evening ritual. Whenever she was at home and the night was clear, she always ventured out onto the deck for a time to gaze up at the stars, as if searching for something she had lost. She had been doing it for centuries.

  She was five hundred years old, almost to the day, and she was alone.

  Her ritual drew to a close. She breathed a soft sigh, barely audible over the distant sound of surf. If her eyes glimmered more than usual in the starlight, no one was there to see.

  “They’ve forgotten,” she murmured at last, breaking her silence. “I suppose I shall have to remind them.”

  Then she turned and went back into the house.

  Indoors, she moved through night-dimmed hallways until she reached her office. There she turned up the desk lamp and sat down . . . but then she paused, as if reluctant to begin a task. Instead she reached out and picked up a small item: an arm-ring of polished obsidian, beautiful in its simple perfection. She held the ring for several minutes, turning it slowly in her fingers, before setting it back down with a decisive click.

  A wave of her hand opened a holographic console on the desk. Her fingers poised over the hard light for a moment, and then descended.

  “We are doomed to lose the past . . .” she murmured as she began.

  * * *

  Prologue

  We are doomed to lose the past.

  In every culture memory becomes history, then legend, and finally myth. Even our advanced civilization is not immune. Those who experienced an event forget, and eventually die. Records are misinterpreted, misfiled, discarded, lost, or destroyed. Over time the most concrete truths always fade away, leaving us to sift through scraps of ambiguous evidence.

  It has been almost four hundred years since the end of the great war with the Reapers. That's more than long enough for the clarity of memory to fade, even for the most long-lived Citadel races.

  So it has been with Shepard.

  The bare facts of William Shepard's life are not in dispute.

  His parents were David Shepard, an agricultural geneticist, and Adrienne Favreau, a virtual-intelligence designer, both citizens of the United North American States on Earth. William Shepard was born in the city of Toronto in 2154 CE.

  Humanity collided with galactic civilization for the first time when Shepard was still a small child, fighting the brief but bloody First Contact War with the turians. After the war, humans gained access to dozens of new worlds for colonization. David Shepard was one among millions who took part in the great migration, bringing his wife and son to settle on the frontier world of Mindoir in 2159 CE. There the Shepards prospered until the vicious batarian raid of 2170 CE, after which young William was the only survivor from his family.

  The experience of Mindoir led Shepard to enlist in the Systems Alliance military. He served with distinction as a Marine. His actions during the Skyllian Blitz earned him the Star of Terra and a commission. He was accepted into the prestigious Interplanetary Combatives Training school, graduating with the highest (N7) level of proficiency. By 2183 CE he attained the rank of Lieutenant Commander. In that year he was assigned as the first Executive Officer of the experimental stealth frigate SSV Normandy, helping to command her on her shakedown cruise.

  On that cruise he discovered the existence and imminent threat of the Reapers. Over the next three years he managed to delay their invasion of the galaxy three times. When they finally did invade, he succeeded in unifying the galaxy against the overwhelming threat. In the final Battle of Earth, he led the assault against the Reapers.

  At the height of the battle, he vanished without a trace. Minutes later, the war was resolved and our civilization was saved. A cycle of genocide and extinction that had been underway for over five billion years was finally brought to an end.

  Although Shepard has been credited with the victory, the truth is that the galaxy at large doesn't know what became of him. Officially no one knows precisely how our salvation was achieved, or even whether Shepard had anything to do with it.

  Today, the irony is that William Shepard has been almost forgotten. To trillions of sentient beings he is simply "the Shepard," a legendary hero of the distant past. In the current time of crisis, with yet another existential threat looming over us, his name has become one to conjure with. A few have even elevated him to godhood, a divinity in human form to be revered and called upon to ward off the onrushing darkness.

  Goddess, he would have hated that.

  It is at once the blessing and the curse of the asari people, that we never forget the ones with whom we have shared a grand passion. Shepard was my comrade-in-arms, my best friend, my ardent lover, my first and most cherished bondmate. To this day I remember him with perfect clarity, as if he had only gone on a short journey and could be expected to return at any time.

  He was an exceptional human, with physical, mental, and moral capabilities all well above the norm for his people. He had a gift for being in the right place at the right time, ready to snatch victory from the jaws of disaster. He could persuade and lead others to excel, beyond anything they might have dreamed possible for themselves. His areté, his inherent virtue, ran deep and strong.

  To be sure, he was not perfect. Much of his success can be attributed to sheer good luck. He made mistakes, he was sometimes foolish, he was often uncertain, he was afraid, he suffered, he bled, and he died. A god he most certainly was not. Yet we asari know well how to recognize the spark of divinity that comes, once in a great while, to reside in mortal flesh. Shepard had that spark in abundant measure.

  We need that spark again, possibly even more than in the days when Shepard walked among us as a living man.

  This is my story of the war against the Reapers. Even more, it’s the story of the three years, three months, and twenty-eight days that I knew, loved, and fought at the side of William Shepard. Not the legendary hero, not the incipient god, but the man . . . mortal and glorious and beloved.

  I’ve never told this story before. Some things have been too hard to put into words for the whole galaxy to read. Yet it seems that I must try. I suppose I’ve come to realize that the story doesn’t belong only to me.

  Perhaps it belongs to all of us, especially now when we need it most.

  - Liara T'Soni, A Memoir of the Reaper Invasion, published 2580 CE (Cosmopolitan English translation)

  Chapter 2 : The Day the Geth Came

  2
2 February 2183, Red Mountains/Therum

  I was working alone on Therum the day the geth came. They very nearly captured me at once.

  That morning I had flown to Nova Yekaterinburg to purchase supplies and check for messages from offworld. On the return trip I let my aircar's autopilot do most of the work while I reviewed site maps and considered where to place my next sampling trench. All of a sudden the navigation radar pinged, announcing the appearance of a large, fast-moving air vehicle in the neighborhood.

  I twisted in my seat, craned my neck, and saw a geth dropship diving out of the clouds like some enormous insect. For a moment it loomed close overhead, seeming about to snatch my aircar in mid-flight. My eyes flew wide as I froze in sudden terror.

  Then it passed off to my left, heading for the lower slopes of Mount Kondratyev.

  I didn't recognize the ship. At the time I only knew of the geth as a race of synthetic hermits, who kept to themselves on the very edge of the galaxy. I had certainly never seen one of them. But then the dropship stooped on the mining outpost at the bottom of the slope beneath my work site, and geth troopers began falling like rain.

  I've never had full commando training, but even in my youth I knew an airborne assault when I saw one. Whoever these alien visitors were, I could tell they were not friendly.

  Wake up, Liara, you’re in a combat zone. Time to react!

  I disengaged the autopilot and made a steep dive for the rough stone outcroppings that rose behind my work site. I wanted to put the aircar under cover in case the invaders came looking for it. Once on the ground I checked my omni-tool, retrieved my sidearm, and opened the canopy.

  The atmosphere of Therum slapped me in the face: dry, metallic-tasting, and hot as an oven. Sweat immediately began to trickle down my sides and back.

  I crept up to the ridge-line and peered down the flank of Mount Kondratyev. The dropship was already climbing into the sky once again, but I could see movement down at the mining outpost, a kilometer or so away. I took my binoculars from their pocket at my hip.

  At least a dozen geth searched through the outpost building and grounds. I saw one of the human miners, then another, lying motionless on the ground. The geth must have slaughtered them within moments of their arrival.

  The binoculars passed over something else, something that did not move like a geth.

  A krogan stood in the middle of the open ground, looking around and gesturing as he issued orders to the synthetics. He had a red crest and a yellow face, both of them badly scarred. He wore armor that looked heavy even for a krogan, and he was completely weighed down with weaponry.

  Goddess, is that a battlemaster?

  Some instinct must have warned him. He turned his head in my direction, and through the binoculars I could see his eyes narrow. Too late I remembered that if I could see the krogan, the krogan could see me.

  Sure enough, he barked orders and pointed emphatically up the slope toward my work site.

  My mind raced as I belatedly crouched down from the ridge-line. My options were very limited. I could flee by air, but the nearest human settlement with a Frontier Militia garrison was almost a hundred kilometers away. The geth could call back their dropship and catch me long before I reached safety. I could escape and evade on the ground, but I would never survive for long in the Therum badlands without the gear at my camp. If I tried to fight I would be badly outnumbered.

  I could run into the ruins. Below ground the partially excavated Prothean complex was a maze, which I knew well but the krogan would not. If I was pressed, some of the technology I had found might protect me.

  At once I climbed back onto the ridge-line and then sprang down onto the catwalk over the entrance to my work site, taking cover behind the safety rail. I checked my sidearm and set it for disruption rounds.

  I was about to make the second jump, down to the entrance ramp for my work site, when I heard sounds. Feet on the dry ground, a strange mechanical warbling that might have been speech. A careful glance above the safety rail showed me three geth troopers, a vanguard for the others. I wondered how they had crossed the rough ground so quickly.

  "Only three," I told myself, ignoring the racing of my heart. "You can manage three."

  I spun out from behind my cover, firing at the lead trooper, three rounds in rapid succession. It recoiled, lubricant fluid spilling from its arm and upper torso. Then I called up my biotics, hurling a warp into the midst of the geth. Their warbling took on a higher-pitched note as two of them crumpled lifeless to the ground. The third sought cover.

  The krogan appeared, roaring in outrage, pelting up the slope behind the geth vanguard. He made a throwing gesture, and a mass effect field flew through the air at me.

  He’s a biotic!

  I swore and dove for cover. The ball of force yanked at my shoulders and right arm as it flew past. If that biotic throw had connected, the krogan would have hurled me off the scaffolding into a thirty-meter drop.

  It was clearly time for a change of plan. I glanced around me, measuring distances and angles. Then I popped out of cover again, firing my sidearm wildly at the invaders. As the krogan began another control gesture, I vaulted over the safety rail and off the catwalk.

  Once more the krogan's telekinetic bolt missed me as I fell. I seized control of my descent with my own biotics, trying for a perfect landing on the ramp below.

  Unfortunately I didn’t get a perfect landing. My right ankle twisted as it took my weight. A cry of pain escaped me, but I forced the injured leg to work. I fired wildly once again at the onrushing geth and limped toward the entrance.

  They were moments behind as I punched in the access code. Cool air welled up around me. I stumbled through the opening hatch and slammed the control pad on the other side. I moved as quickly as I could down the entrance shaft, listening to heavy blows falling on the hatch behind me.

  The racket didn’t last long. Once the krogan had vented his rage, he stopped to think.

  I reached the bottom of the shaft and took a position just around the corner. If they managed to pass the code-lock, then they would have to descend the long straight shaft to reach me. For at least a few moments I could turn that distance into a killing zone.

  I applied a medi-gel pack to my injured ankle, checked my sidearm again, and waited.

  It took them longer than I expected to solve the code-lock. When they did, letting daylight pour down the shaft, they hesitated before attacking my position. Perhaps they realized my tactical advantage.

  "Dr. T'Soni?" the krogan called down the shaft, his deep voice echoing oddly in the long hollow space.

  I said nothing.

  "No need to fear, Doctor. We're not here to do you any harm."

  "Liar!" I shouted back. "I saw what you did to those human miners."

  "You're a different case, Doctor. We were sent to bring you to your mother, alive and unharmed."

  Shock rendered me speechless for a moment.

  "Benezia sent us. She needs your help, your knowledge of the Protheans, that's all. No need to make this difficult."

  "I don't believe you. If my mother needed my professional expertise, all she had to do was send an extranet message. She wouldn't have sent a krogan battlemaster and . . . whatever those things are with you."

  "Circumstances have changed, Doctor. Your mother is a very powerful person. She has many followers, many allies. She wants to be sure you come to her safely, and she needs you to come now."

  "Why don't you tell me who you're really working for?" I challenged him.

  There was silence from the top of the shaft.

  "My mother doesn't associate with barbarians and synthetics. She didn't send you. Or if she did, it was at the request of that nothos turian she's been working with. Saren. Am I right?"

  The krogan abandoned persuasion. "It doesn't matter, Doctor. You're coming with us. Only choice you have right now is whether you do it on your own two feet or in a box."

  "I choose neither!"

  "S
uit yourself," said the krogan, amused.

  Thump.

  I peeked around the corner and saw a bright crimson light zooming down the shaft toward me.

  A rocket!

  I hurled myself back and slammed a biotic barrier into place, just before the world shattered in sound and fury.

  By the time I had shaken my head clear and returned to the entrance of the shaft, the geth were already halfway down. I leaned out and fired, ducked back under cover, leaned out and sent a biotic warp screaming up at them. One trooper went down, then a second, but their advance was relentless.

  I had to face facts. Even with the shaft and my biotics to give me an advantage, one asari scientist with a civilian-grade Elkoss Combine pistol wasn't going to hold off an army.

  One more burst of fire up the shaft, and then I moved as fast as I could. Fortunately the anesthetics in the medi-gel had finished their job. I could run on my injured ankle for a time.

  I fled across the scaffolding, down a level, then another. I didn't bother with the elevators. It was riskier to jump with biotic assistance, but much faster. I didn't twist my ankles again or break any bones. Behind me I heard the geth moving more cautiously through the cavern, and once or twice the krogan's deep voice issuing commands.

  The Prothean tower loomed before me. With the geth close behind, I sprinted for the still-active control panel I had found and begun to decode.

  Alpha-theta-epsilon . . . oh Goddess, what comes next?

  The krogan roared, far too close. I stabbed at a button almost at random.

  A sudden flash of blue light blinded me.

  Chapter 3 : Liara in the Underworld

  25 February 2183, Red Mountains/Therum

  "That's quite a trap you've gotten yourself stuck in, little asari."

  It hadn't taken long for me to realize that I had made a terrible mistake.

  "There you are, hanging, all helpless-like. No food, no water, nothing. Not even a good book to read."