Liara T'Soni.
I would like to say that my return to the position of the Shadow Broker was triumphant, but it wasn't. Ahead lay a mountain of work accumulated during my absence, a pile of new contracts and requests. I had to check not only the work but also the subordinates, who might decide they were no longer being monitored.
So, after cheering Joker up with the news that I was fine, I had to bury myself in data, locking myself in the office. Searching, analyzing, connecting seemingly random decisions thanks to new information.
The network the Salarians had spread in the Terminus Systems and used to gather workers to study the ring turned out to be quite extensive. Previously scattered groups of slavers, gangs, and pirates gained a logic. And if I want to untangle the web of secrets surrounding the ring, this scheme will have to be unraveled. As soon as I finish clearing the current backlog. There is so much of it! And not just documents, but other obligations too.
For example, using some connections, I arranged for Dalama to be the owner of a club on one of the worlds in the Terminus Systems. Not the biggest, not on the most populated planet; essentially, it's an establishment for pilots and miners. Dalama categorically refused to return to Thessia or Illium, admitting that she liked this life. The life of a mistress of her own small establishment, where she decides her own fate.
Well, out of kindness, I spent a little time and fulfilled her request, deciding it would be a nice gift. When I told her the news, Dalama smiled understandingly and gave me a dance. And not just a dance. It was an interesting experience, considering the Matron has a very flexible body with a beautiful figure, in the use of which she has centuries of experience.
It wasn't a confession of love or anything else. Only an expression of gratitude and an agreement to work for me personally. It turned out to be a very well-argued demonstration; I'll need to take a few lessons, I don't know how to do that. The Matron agreed, and Dalama is now effectively my personal agent, one of the first. And I can just drop in on her as a guest, for a dance, to relax.
Someday, later, when I finally clear all the accumulated business. Of which there is simply too much. Right now, there's no time for any of that.
A separate problem—two new "hot spots" in the galaxy. Omega and Erinle. With Erinle, everything is clear for those who know about humans and Geth. The Salarians can safely forget about the planet; it is now a transit hub to the ring. Anyone who disagrees risks meeting human stealth ships and numerous Geth Dreadnoughts and battle stations. But Omega is more complicated. Too many on Omega have interests, including the Asari Republics.
Benezia is running around somewhere there. Let her run; I won't have to explain for a while longer where I lost three-quarters of her commandos and where Li is. Vorhess said she could be cured, but the bastard hid her. If he didn't lie altogether. The fact that this Batarian knew more than he said is a fact. Perhaps he knew about the ring in advance too. And some of the information cannot be physically verified, unfortunately. But some things can and must be found out.
This means I need to step up work with the Salarians and Batarians. And a sudden opportunity appeared.
The thing is, none of the official governments were particularly eager to retake Omega, even when the presence of instructors from The Covenant on the station was confirmed. But a quick check showed a high concentration of Batarian pirates in worlds located close enough to Omega. And mercenaries of all sorts and kinds, in whose ranks there are also agents of the Broker.
Furthermore, the Salarians approached the Shadow Broker with a proposal to deliver cargo to Omega. Yahg. Aggressive three-meter humanoids from the planet Parnak, who consider themselves a master race. A strong fighter, a Yahg will always strive for power and kill anyone who does not recognize his authority. A perfect example—the previous Shadow Broker, who ended his life exactly that way. In this version of the past, I got there first, but the path still led to a change of Broker. In short, Yahg are dangerous.
Hence the question of exactly how the Salarians intend to use such creatures. There is a way to find out: agree to the transport and read the memory of one of them. "Species 732," as the Salarians called it, has long been of interest to their scientists, but they are extremely difficult, if not impossible, to control. By all parameters, a Yahg should be on the level of a Brute from The Covenant, and the Shadow Broker was far more dangerous due to Biotics.
And yet, the Salarians send Yahg into battle, command them. How? I'll have to participate in the transport personally to get the answer to this question. That means agreeing and creating a request for the time and place. And now, documents await me. A lot of documents.
***
I didn't go out to the Salarians, pretending to be just a pilot; instead, my mother's commando-engineer, who is now wearing a simple technician's suit, acted in my stead. The Salarians will surely try to identify everyone they see, so I don't want to show myself personally. No, I only tracked on the cameras as robots carried the Stasis Cells onto the transport, then deactivated against the wall. Ordinary humanoid robots that could be smashed even with a Pistol. Cheap plastic and minimal defense systems.
The only problem is that the client specified their return in the contract, and if the robots don't make it, the client will know. That doesn't suit me.
And for me to read the Yahg, I need to open one of the cells. I need to do something with the robots without breaking them. For example, the "AI Hack" combat program. On the SSV Normandy, engineers like Tali used such things. Essentially, the program disrupts the IFF system, temporarily forcing the machine to change sides or become passive, as I need. No one expects a mercenary pilot to have such a program, right? If such a thing were publicly available, robots would be pointless. So the commando-technician and I went to the hold while the ship was on autopilot.
In the hold, six cells and four light robots were positioned against the walls. Well, let's begin.
"Ready?"
She nodded.
"Mine are on the left, yours on the right."
"Good. Three, two, one, go!"
A few keystrokes, and the robots turned on but remained standing against the walls, their green status lights glowing normally. Excellent.
"So, that's done. I'll handle the cell; you handle the robots."
"On it."
The commando connected to the robots via Omni-tool, while I approached the cell and looked inside. A massive Yahg carcass lies there. Huge, like two Krogan, with brown spiked hide, a triangular maw full of sharp teeth, and three-jointed legs wrapped in tight muscle. Something like a breastplate is on its body, heavy bracers on its arms, but no gloves. Clearly a combat unit, but the question is, how did you manage to deal with them? Yahg only recognize their own right of the strong. But the Salarians couldn't have just thrown them into battle without solving this problem, could they? They couldn't. So, we work.
On Sur-Kesh, in the lab, I remember there were Yahg as test subjects. But the Salarians did nothing more with them. It seems The Covenant forced them to act more vigorously, to seek out new heavy infantry to replace the Krogan. But how did the Salarians manage to subjugate the Yahg? We're about to find out. I'm just a little nervous because I remember what these creatures can do in battle. I had to endure a fight with a Yahg-biotic twice, and here I am within arm's reach.
"Well, let's begin."
My fingers flew across the keyboard while my other hand held a syringe of powerful sedative. Fortunately, both the Broker in the previous world and the one in this one clearly prepared options against a subordinate Yahg. And Asari have methods of mind-reading for interrogation. If combined correctly, there will be a result.
I sighed. Calm down, Liara, you know what to do. Just actions by the book.
"Goddess. Let's begin."
With a hiss, the fluid began to drain, and then the cell opened. The Yahg fell down and wheezed. Now! Pinning him with Biotics, I injected a full syringe of chemicals under the creature's eye that would reduce him to a passive vegetable state. The Yahg jerked, then relaxed, continuing to lie in the cell and breathe, staring into space. I touched his arm, then his head. Now the next syringe to slightly increase brain activity, and we can start.
"Ready? Hey?" I called to the creature, but the Yahg didn't react. "Excellent. Well, embrace eternity."
Darkness shrouded the world, and the creature's chaotic, drug-fogged brain spasmodically produces various images, shards, fragments, parts of memories floating and flowing from one to another—images of cities turn into trees and Salarians, the world becomes gray, blue, we are standing in the sky which has grown trees, and slaves hold us, but birds and food. Slaves are so small and hungry, orange and floating as they fly on legs among clouds among buildings in a river. Stop! These are hallucinations; I don't need this. So, concentrate on the training. You were taught, right? Think about training and Salarians. I tried to form pictures of a camp and a Salarian; Mordin came out. There, that's better, still chaos, but more specific. Well, show me how you were taught.
Taught and coerced. How was it? The cacophony of images gradually flowed into more meaningful images, gray-red choruses of hatred and fear, gray emptiness, but hatred within it, Salarians alive, in armor, in pieces, blood, but not Salarians, but grass and branches, and vines instead of guts along which... Stop! I need to concentrate, lead the thought, yes. That's how it's done, how a mental interrogation is conducted.
The pictures darted about, forming a memory. Yahg, without any clothing, only in collars, stand in the middle of a fenced-in concrete yard. Salarians stand above. Males, no Dalatress. The leader is in armor with a rifle, explaining:
"You will undergo training and fight for us. Instead of us. Or you will be destroyed. Your opinion does not matter. Only the result. Your survival depends on this."
Rage floods the brain, but a needle prick felt in the neck and emptiness filled the world. But not for everyone; one lunged forward and with a single leap jumped to the second floor where the Salarians were. He grabbed a soldier when the collar on his head wailed and it was literally crushed, and the body fell down to the others, scattering remnants of the skull around.
The lead Salarian didn't even flinch. It seemed he expected this.
"Defective specimen destroyed. Hate me; you make my job easier. No more defective ones? Excellent, proceed to the next phase."
But none of that mattered anymore. The world seemed to become gray and unimportant. It existed, but no more than that, just a drawing without meaning or content, static. The Salarian spoke and spoke, but the gray noise no longer had meaning.
I broke away from the memory, moving along an associative chain. Good, but not enough. Sedatives, and they killed the one they didn't work on. Not enough for training; what's next? A memory was found, flooding the world with grayness.
He stood, as naked as before, but with something on his arms, stinging in them, emptiness in his head. A gray world, devoid of purpose and meaning. Walls, and Salarian scientists, standing and watching, just as gray-useless, meaningless. For some reason. A prick was felt, and the world filled with anger. Muscles tensed, a sharp desire to kill and copulate appeared, kill and copulate, kill, whom to kill, how to soothe the body's desires, the desire to tear, take and take, TAKE! Whom? His gaze stopped on a scientist, and desires were the only thing driving him forward.
He lunged at the scientist, but the body was filled with pricks again and the world became gray again, and he stopped throwing himself against the armored glass, trying to pounce on his victim. The scientist, just as much a grayness as the walls around him, devoid of meaning.
"Excellent, the drug is working. But we need to develop the correct reactions. Prepare the next test."
I flowed through the memories of tests like a river where fish lazily swim by, slipping away as soon as you try to catch them, leaving only images behind. There, the Salarians continue the tests and from time to time repeat the first experiment.
The second time, the Yahg's reaction was smoother, and desires again demanded taking. But as soon as the mind focused on the scientist, the body was filled with pain, muscles contracted, depriving him of the ability even to move, to think of anything but the pain. When the pain ended, the world was gray again, devoid of cause.
A few more identical memories later, the grayness no longer turned to scarlet at the sight of Salarians. Then they pitted a Batarian against him. Clearly sick, pathetic. But there was only scarlet desire and rage; muscles burned with a thirst for movement. And nothing else mattered.
I shuddered, because watching this from the first person... Yahg are not the most pleasant creatures to begin with, and they were effectively turned into animals possessed by greed, and thanks to "embrace eternity," I felt it firsthand. It's too much—a combination of rage, lust, and satisfaction. Brrr. Okay, further.
And further, the Yahg was pitted against other creatures; the sensations of pricks disappeared, but the bracers were always on him. Likely, injectors are located there. A prick turns the Yahg into a berserker, but one not directed against the Salarians. Interesting. After reviewing a few more memories, I disconnected.
The Asari technician was already standing nearby, waiting.
"Everything ready?"
I nodded, gathering my thoughts. After all, one must constantly maintain focus to stimulate the right thoughts rather than sliding into hallucinations. I am definitely not a professional at interrogation. I won't say it's a pleasant experience. Not at all.
"Yes, I found out what we need. Put this one to sleep," and we began to arrange the Yahg in the cell as he was.
Half an hour later, we gathered in the cockpit, the robots were back in place, and the cell was in working mode. The technician asked:
"What was in there? That's a Yahg, right? They're wild, bloodthirsty beasts."
I took a sip of a hot drink and winced.
"The Salarians are clearly preparing new Krogan for themselves, but this time they are chemically training them. Keeping them on chemicals, setting them on other races by chemical command. Asari included; it was... not a particularly pleasant sight. Although the beast liked everything. I don't think he was sure if he wanted to devour, tear apart, or rape. And he did everything in random order, but the Salarians encouraged the attack more. By the end, there was no lust; apparently, they found the right chemistry."
The technician shuddered.
"Goddess. The Council must know about this."
I nodded.
"They will know, but there's no proof, only memory. So for now, that's how it is."
"They should know anyway," the commando insisted.
"They will know, I said," I snorted. "I don't have experience in interrogations, if you remember, and I felt all of it. I need to come to my senses a bit."
"Understood, sorry," and the technician pretended she only cared about the instrument panel. "I didn't have experience in interrogations either. Or 'embraces' with Krogan."
At that, the conversation died down; I needed to think. And the agents need to be warned to stay away. At the moment, Omega is effectively under the control of The Covenant and the Vorcha and Krogan under their command, conducting ideological work. Religious Krogan, it would seem. But no, both they and the races of The Covenant listen to the preachers. And those who don't listen end up badly. You can ask questions about this faith of theirs, "The Great Journey," even difficult ones, but God forbid you are an atheist and deny the divine... Executions in the squares are already being carried out. As are brandings with red-hot metal, after which it is forbidden to help the victim in any way. Even killing them is allowed; it won't be a prosecutable act. Helping—no, for that you can get the same brand.
The population of Omega may not be happy about this, but they have no choice. Besides, a famine is looming there due to the large contingent of Vorcha. And the distribution of food has been tied to attending religious ceremonies.
Of course, part of Omega's "cap" is still resisting, but it's more of a partisan movement. There, in the vacuum, the surviving heavily armed mercenaries have entrenched themselves with stationary cannons. Too few for a full-scale resistance, too many for a defense. And Benezia should be there.
Naturally, I won't go into the epicenter. This whole operation with the Yahg was for viewing his memory, nothing more. Now I'll return to the Shadow Throne and continue clearing the accumulated information with my own forces and Glyph's. I just need to take into account that something is about to happen on Omega. And look for more information on the Batarians and Vorhess, as he knows and can do too much.
And the fact that a human ship flew to Halo... The Monitor said the Reclaimer is a Batarian. Or connected to Batarians. And since gathering information among Batarians is much easier due to their culture and corruption, I will work in that direction. It won't be easy, but if the Batarians know something, the Shadow Broker will find out. Definitely.
***
Thel 'Vadam, Omega.
The last stronghold of the heretics' resistance. But well-fortified, a bunker deep in a mine. A long old tunnel, wide as a highway. At the end, six hundred paces away, it is blocked by a bunker wall with shields, embrasures from which gun barrels protrude. In several places, the wall is breached; ugly, melted, and blasted holes also bristle with weapons and makeshift barricades. Inside are several hundred soldiers who refused to submit and accept The Great Journey. The last, most stubborn heretics. So be it.
They are aided by a powerful sorceress. So even a breakthrough does not guarantee victory, as has happened before. The entire road to the bunker is littered with corpses and the husks of vehicles; the heretics resist fiercely and were able to repel previous assaults. The problem is that it's too cramped in the tunnels for plasma mortars, and there is no ship to solve the problem from the outside. To a direct question, the commander only said:
"This station is your penance. Yours alone."
An unambiguous answer: there will be no help.
"Yes, Commander."
That means the problem must be solved with his own forces. He thought for a long time; he needed to somehow reach the enemy positions while blocking their fire. Humans suggested the solution—a liquid dome. Thanks to the knowledge of the gods, holding liquid in a magnetic field is not that difficult. Sangheili have mastered this knowledge perfectly in their manipulations with the structure of plasma torpedoes. A ship can change the shape and parameters of a torpedo so that it better penetrates armor or shields, or spreads over the hull, burning electronics, manipulating them in space while the torpedo is near the ship.
Using shield projectors to manipulate magnetic fluid is even easier. Creating a dense barrier that will absorb hits but allow the husks of vehicles to pass is slightly more difficult. One can always use an operator.
But the witch must be taken into account. She will surely try to use her powers to disrupt the attack. But there is a solution for her too.
"Are we ready for the attack?" he asked his subordinate, a Jiralhanae.
The latter snorted, shifting his gray furry bulk from foot to foot, and gripped his grenade launcher more comfortably.
"The meat is ready and awaits the order."
The Sangheili nodded.
"Excellent, begin. Destroy the witch as a priority. She alone is capable of causing a mass of harm."
Their roar heralded the start of the attack. A silver dome blocked the corridor like a solid wall, and behind it were Krogan, Vorcha, and the races of The Covenant. Kig-Yar took positions on the destroyed equipment; their role was to be snipers and, in case the shield was destroyed, to disable the heavy weapon gunners. They would be aided by turrets controlled by...
Unggoy.
Numerous shots struck the shield from the heretics' side; a roar resounded, and movement slowed as circles from the impacts appeared on the shield. Only circles, no bullets. The protection was working.
Glancing back into the gloom of the tunnel and seeing the acolytes and warriors watching him, Thel 'Vadam bellowed.
"The wisdom of the gods protects us! Forward! No one retreats! Kill the heretics! Kill the witch!"
More and more circles appeared on the shield. But there were no signs of penetration. The shield was holding. Gradually, the disciples grew bolder and moved to the attack in a dense wave of bodies. Many of them would perish, but reducing their numbers slightly in battle would be a prudent decision.
The operator shifted the field so that the destroyed equipment from previous assaults wouldn't be propped up by the shield but would pass under it; a few bullets penetrated behind the shield, but both the Vorcha and the Krogan were more angered than harmed by the stray hits. Excellent, simply excellent. Forward, into battle!
Something large struck the shield, making it shudder, and the front ranks shuddered behind it. They needed encouragement.
"The shield holds! That blue witch is trying to break through, but she has no chance! Half the way is covered! Soon they will die! In the name of the Prophets!"
"Waaaaaaaarrrrrrrr!"
Excellent. Excellent! Now the warriors moved even faster than before.
"Accelerate the movement, let the battle begin sooner," Thel 'Vadam ordered the warrior operating the shield.
The warrior nodded, and the machine moved faster. It became harder for the operator to keep up with shifting the shield; more hits ricocheted off the Krogan armor and made the Vorcha figures twitch. But now it only angered them, forcing them to rush forward. Ha-ha! The heretics will be swept away today!
"Three-quarters of the way! Vrrraaaaaaarrrrrrrr!"
And a roar, deafening everyone, made the cave tremble as hundreds of throats answered!
"Raaaarrrr!"
The shield shuddered again from a heavy hit. And again. Then a sector of the shield slid open, revealing the sorcerers pushing the shield apart with gravity, and from the other side of the shield, the shots of enemy warriors were revealed. From that side, a command came:
"Grenades! Fire on the freaks!"
Grenades flew into the breach and struck the generator, and a firefight began. The generator exploded, incinerating the operator. The shield, turning into a mere wall of liquid, began to fall. No longer restraining the bullets, they began to fly through, wounding and killing.
"Attack! Kill them all!"
And with a roar, the crowd rushed through the magnetic liquid, through bullets and shells. Above their heads, the beams of Kig-Yar snipers flashed; shotguns and machine guns thundered. Less than fifty meters remained to the defensive line, and Plasma Grenades flew at the wall, sticking to the protective structure. Blue flashes vaporized weapon barrels and melted the wall itself, turning the cover into a semi-liquid, flowing substance, heating the air in the corridor—mostly for the defenders. Those without full armor wheezed, trying to breathe and no longer interested in the battle. They became easy prey for the attackers' weapons. The sorcerers covered their own slightly with shields, but those blocked not only air but also shots, giving the faithful time to regroup.
"Forward! Forward!"
"Kill them!"
"For the Prophets!"
"Kh-Khassssshhhh!"
Finally, even the sorcerers' shields failed, and the attackers broke into the last fortress of this filth, Omega, inhabited by heretics. A fierce melee ensued, in which the acolytes showed their numerical and physical superiority.
"The Journey is coming!"
"Die! Die! Dieeeerrrr!"
Heavy machine guns struck the passage, crushing the warriors breaking through the gaps; in response, grenades and plasma flew. Blood, scraps of burning meat, and body parts began to form puddles and vile heaps, but the surge did not stop, no.
Moreover, numerous flying green insectoid Yanme'e drones penetrated under the ceiling, so effective within the confines of the station. They flew chaotically under the ceiling, dying by the dozens, but showered the defenders with Plasma Pistols, forcing them to retreat to the buildings, leaving the courtyard to the faithful. And there she was, the witch.
Gravity crushed the armor and the warriors within them; the drones were cast from the sky to the ground, though not all. Construction elements flew at the attackers, and sudden changes in gravity threw the warriors, smashing them against the walls. The witch stood proudly, not in armor, but in a dress that exposed her flesh, mocking us. Filthy, lustful heretic! Die!
"Kill her! Kill the Matriarch!"
But the witch's purple shield held bullets far too well. Three Krogan managed to reach the witch in close combat, but she drew a long, thin blade, and with the first swing, deprived the first Krogan of his arms, shielded herself with his body from the second's shot, and crushed the third right inside his armor. A pair of Sangheili with swords were also cut down by the witch, who bent at unthinkable angles, as if deliberately demonstrating her body and its flexibility while killing his subordinates. The sword sliced through a warrior right through the armor, flashing slightly purple; it seemed her power parted the shields slightly. Hmm. The second tried to impale the witch on an energy blade, but she evaded with a light pirouette and decapitated the warrior from the side with a vertical strike. The Sangheili fell to his knees, flooding the concrete with purple blood, but the witch moved on, as if this were not a slaughter, but a ritual dance.
"Beautiful," a Sangheili grunted, standing nearby and firing at the heretics with a Beam Rifle.
True, a beautiful female. But a heretic, so it was time to intervene personally. Especially since as long as she blocked the passage, the attackers couldn't reach the buildings, and the defenders had better equipment.
With a snarl, Thel 'Vadam feigned a rush at the witch but immediately rolled aside from an attack. An attempt to close in and reach the witch with a blade required hacking through the armless Krogan the witch threw at the Sangheili, and then dodging the blade. Good, dangerous. But faith is with us, faith is our shield. And yet... She was a good warrior, very experienced in using her weapon.
"What is your name, heretic? I want to know whom I kill."
The witch mockingly flicked her blade, spraying blood onto the ground.
"I am a Matriarch of the Asari Republics. Benezia T'Soni, butcher."
The Sangheili stopped, placing a hand to his chest and holding his blade vertically, acknowledging the enemy's skill.
"My name is Thel 'Vadam, witch. And you are worthy of dying by my blade. Your heresy ends today!"
They rushed into the attack simultaneously. The witch, not forgetting to hurl purple spheres, barrier blocks, and debris at the attackers, and the Sangheili with the blade. A rapid exchange of blows, but at maximum distance, as a hit on the opponent would be fatal; the witch was clearly empowering her weapon, it glowed with a dull purple light. He could not afford to be hit.
It was a dance, a dance of death; whoever landed the first successful attack would win. And the Sangheili was the first to succeed, sharply changing the direction of his strike and severing half the blade's length instead of an arm. The witch suddenly found herself in an awkward position, as she could no longer reach with her strikes. She tried to throw the warrior back with a sphere, but he took it on his sword, which was knocked from his hands, and leaped at the witch, ignoring the pain as her stump of a blade entered his chest.
Benezia tried to stop him, but the Sangheili had already grabbed her, and the "throw" hit both, casting them toward the attackers. Spinning, Thel 'Vadam flipped in flight, braking with his opponent, and as soon as she hit the concrete, he snapped her neck with one movement.
The fight around them continued, but the warrior in gold, overcoming the pain, rose. The blade was firmly stuck in his chest and armor. Where humans have a heart, but not him. Breathing heavily, Thel 'Vadam spoke.
"A good fight, witch. But your heresy predetermined your fate. Your body will be cast at the feet of the Prophets. For such is my penance. For such is the fate of all heretics. Such is the truth."
The battle was finished, the penance complete. Omega had found the true faith. Now it needed to be protected, but that was someone else's battle. The Sangheili in gold would return to his duties as a victor, and this dump would be guarded by someone else.
***
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