Chakwas stood up, sensing that the asari wanted to be alone, stepped to the screen, pulled its curtain closed behind her, and headed toward the work table.
The ship’s doctor felt that Saren was already awake.
And she decided it would be best if the meeting between the turian and the asari took place without her personal medical presence.
They were both adult sentient organics; they needed to talk in private.
Sitting down at the work table, Chakwas sent her friends a message that the clothing had pleased both patients.
A few minutes later, replies came: her friends were delighted that their efforts had not been in vain.
Typing a more detailed message on the keyboard — Chakwas had no plans to use video or audio channels extending beyond the medbay for now — the doctor rejoiced along with her friends.
Indeed, a new life must begin with everything new, including clothing.
For Saren and Benezia, the ship had become new, its inhabitants had become new acquaintances, and the clothing was new.
And now they, who had possibly been forced enemies before, would find between them both mutual understanding and new grounds for normative interaction.
Benezia raised her head from the screen of her wrist omni-tool when Saren stepped cautiously and quietly into her “cubicle.”
The eyes of the turian and the asari met.
There was no malice in them, no wariness.
Silently pointing Saren to the chair where Chakwas had recently sat, Benezia closed the omni-tool screen.
The turian approached and sat down in the chair.
The matriarch felt that he could not bring himself to start the conversation, and if he did, it would be with apologies that were unnecessary now.
“Saren,” the asari said quietly, mindful of the turian’s sharp hearing and not wanting Chakwas to appear in the cubicle immediately.
That the doctor would hear their conversation, Benezia had no doubt.
“I know what you want to say to me now.
So…
don’t bother.
Back then, when you held me by the throat…
several times…
and did many other things, including not to me — that was not you.
And I don’t want to remember the past right now.
It wasn’t too good for either you or me.
Let’s leave the past in the past.”
The turian hesitated, then nodded cautiously and slowly, continuing to remain silent.
“I know that your student, Nihlus Kryik, is aboard the Normandy.
I think you need to meet and talk with him.
As for me…
if I am given that opportunity, I want to find my daughter.
With whom, for some reasons, I have not…
communicated for a long time.” Benezia looked at Saren more closely.
“As you can see, each of us has…
urgent matters.
And one more thing.” She paused, as if reluctant to abruptly broach the subject.
“I will most likely not remain aboard the Normandy.
As soon as I find my daughter, I will return to asari space.
What will happen to me there — I don’t know in detail right now.
Quite possibly, I will be judged and punished…
for my transgressions.
I do not expect my fellow tribeswomen to fully and well understand what it is like to be a husk.”
“They won’t punish you,” Saren said quietly.
“The Normandovtsy…
won’t allow it.
They understand what you went through.” Saren did not call the asari by name.
“And, I think, they understand better than any other sentient organics.
I am sure of it.”
“Perhaps.
Nevertheless, I am an adult asari, a matriarch, and I must understand that not all sentients can be considered too perfect.” Benezia fell silent.
“So inwardly I am prepared to be condemned and to bear punishment.
At the very least, I will be permanently expelled from the Asari Council of Matriarchs.
They will give me…
some minimal ‘social’ pension, so that I…
for now…
don’t starve to death.
After that, they will try to forget.”
The matriarch did not sigh, although at that moment she very much wanted to take a heavy, deep breath:
“Forget about my existence.
Forget that much of what is useful, which my fellow tribeswomen now use, was done either on my initiative or with my active participation.” She fell silent for a few seconds.
“The main thing for me is to do everything so that, while punishing and condemning me, the Council of Matriarchs does not affect the life and fate of my daughter with its…
negative punitive influence.”
Saren listened to Benezia in silence, not moving and not striving to necessarily look her in the eyes.
The matriarch took his apparent detachment calmly: he listens, he understands — and that is enough for now.
Chakwas entered the cubicle quietly and cautiously.
Saren raised his head, looked at the woman who had entered, and stood up.
Karin gestured for him to return to the chair.
The turian complied.
“It’s good that you came, Karin.” Benezia turned her head toward the newcomer.
“I suppose we won’t be able to meet with Captain John Shepard anytime soon?”
“You are right, Benezia,” the doctor confirmed.
“The first mate is currently occupied outside the ship.
And he will be occupied, as I assume, for a long time.”
“I understand,” the matriarch nodded.
“And…
Nihlus?” Saren said hesitantly.
“And…
what about my face?”
“Nihlus Kryik has not left his cabin so far, Saren.
And he has reasons for such behavior.
He…
attempted to exceed his authority.” Chakwas briefly, without going into too much detail, told Arterius about the conversation between Anderson, Shepard, and Kryik that had taken place not long ago.
“After that conversation, he has not left his cabin.”
Chakwas checked the instrument readings:
“And as for your face…” the doctor said to the turian Spectre, “we’ll deal with that a little later.
First, we need to finish the work outside the ship.
At least its first stage.
That will take several hours, at minimum.”
“I suppose you are right, Doctor,” said Arterius.
“Nihlus remembers me with this face.
Although…
I have no particular doubt that he will recognize me even with a restored one.
I am ready to wait as long as necessary.”
“Good, Saren.
Don’t tire Benezia.
It would be best if you both spent most of today in bed,” the doctor specified as she left the cubicle.
Watching Chakwas leave, Saren understood that the mistress of the medbay did not require any verbal response from her patients.
“The doctor is right.” Saren stood up.
“It would be best for both of us…
to stay in our beds for now.
We need to recover more fully.
And then…
we’ll see what the results of Shepard’s and his colleagues’ work outside the ship are.”
The turian turned and left, pulling the curtain of the screen closed behind him.
Benezia heard the slight creak of the mattress on the bed.
The matriarch understood Saren.
As best she could at that moment.
Yes, the turian was ready to apologize.
He, without any doubt, felt…
guilty.
After all, he had been the first to become a slave of the Reaper, and then…
directly or indirectly contributed to her also falling under the influence, and then the control, of the Reaper.
And now that they were both free, he felt obliged to ask for forgiveness.
Perhaps she had inwardly forgiven him, and outwardly…
Outwardly, probably, too.
After all, she had cut off Saren’s attempt to apologize verbally.
Which meant she had accepted his apology.
Even if unspoken.
Accepted.
It could be considered that he had apologized to her.
The matriarch did not sigh, although at that moment she very much wanted to take a heavy, deep breath.
She sat on the bed, feeling the softness of the mattress beneath her.
She was tired.
Not physically — the doctor’s work had been excellent — but mentally.
The conversation with Saren, the memories, the thoughts about Liara…
It all pressed down on her.
She looked around the medbay.
It was small, clearly designed for a frigate’s crew.
The layout was obviously of turian origin.
The humans had managed to adapt the turian reconnaissance ship design to their own needs and requirements well enough.
But they hadn’t “inflated” the hull.
In reconnaissance, usually…
if it comes to combat engagements, there are unlikely to be many wounded or injured.
Reconnaissance troops are killed immediately, on the spot.
Or, as humans sometimes say, “for good.” Unless, of course, the task is to capture the scouts.
Then…
then the medbay of a captured frigate could easily turn into a torture chamber.
The matriarch stopped in front of the darkened medical wall screens.
If not for Shepard, if not for Chakwas’s skill…
How many unsuccessful attempts would have been made to return both her and Saren to a normal state, even in some way?!
How many unsuccessful, perhaps futile, inept attempts…
Saren, with his implants…
would have been a very difficult patient.
Benezia felt inwardly convinced: the Reaper had done everything to ensure that Saren could never escape the state of complete subservience to it.
The matriarch, of course, knew a great deal about the ways, means, and methods of subjugating sentient organics to another’s will: the batarians alone, who used near-universal chipping of sentient organics who fell into their slavery, were worth something.
But the Reaper…
That was a completely different level of subjugation.
Yes, implants, but the psychological pressure on Saren that this semi-synthetic or semi-organic — at the moment the elder T’Soni did not know how to correctly define the essence of the Reaper — ship exerted was, without any doubt, the most powerful.
So…
a classic double “ring.”
Looking at the wall clock, the matriarch checked her internal sensations.
Quite a lot of time had passed since she had regained consciousness.
Behind her was the conversation, or rather, the communication with Saren.
Behind her were several meetings with the Normandy’s doctor.
Of course, it was strange that a military ship had no other medics besides a single doctor.
Quite possibly, there were paramedics, male nurses, and female nurses among the Normandovtsy — the matriarch understood that both men and women served on the Terran ship.
But still, a single doctor…
That was in the traditions of many peoples of Earth, but for her, an asari, it was…
unusual.
Benezia still felt deep gratitude in her soul toward Karin for her masterfully performed restorative surgical operations.
Or manipulations.
Not being a medic, the asari matriarch could not precisely determine “what was what” and how to correctly name what Karin Chakwas had used to get her back on her feet so quickly.
Age…
Only now, once again, did Benezia acutely feel how old she was in years.
And again thoughts of her daughter returned.
The daughter with whom she had not only not communicated but had not seen for more than fifty years.
Thirty of those years were now firmly tied to the appearance and establishment in Greater Space of the race of Terrans, humans.
And twenty years before that moment, when humans first entered Greater Space through a mass relay they had suddenly activated, which had previously been reliably silent and seemed switched off.
Thinking about the thirty-year period tied to the establishment of Terrans in Greater Space, Benezia realized that compared to this period, the additional twenty years of silence…
now seemed a trifle.
Too much was changing rapidly in Greater Space as soon as humans appeared in separate parts of the explored Space of the Galaxy.
Humans pushed further, deeper, did more than representatives of the key Citadel races — asari, turians, and salarians — had done before.
Now humans had helped her, Matriarch Benezia.
Who, thank the Goddess, still had a living biological daughter.
Yes, while being a husk, Benezia could not simply think about Liara like that.
But now…
now memories flooded the consciousness of the elderly asari.
Born shortly before Benezia’s pregnancy could have resulted in major health and developmental problems for the child, Liara…
did not resemble — first and foremost, inwardly — her peers.
She did not want to join the ranks of mercenaries and learn the warrior’s trade, did not want to become a commando and join the ranks of the Asari Republics’ VKS.
She also did not want to become a dancer in one of the entertainment establishments of Asari Space.
Liara also showed early on her deep and firm unwillingness to leave Thessia for long, the planet on which she had been born in one of the best capital hospitals.
The younger T’Soni had probably inherited too much from her father — the Rebel Matriarch.
Who certainly had no desire in her youth to become a commando, a mercenary, or, least of all, a dancer.
The Rebel Matriarch had been absorbed from early youth in social work, which she had turned into service.
And, of course, such work required, first and foremost, the ability and capacity to process a multitude of the most diverse data.
And for that, one needed not just to read a lot, which could take a considerable amount of time, but also to reflect on what was read.
To ponder, analyze, find correspondences, interconnections, to learn, and subsequently to be able to predict and plan the development of situations in their majority of variants.
Liara, perhaps, in this sense, had taken more from the Rebel Matriarch.
Aethyta, meanwhile, as Benezia remembered, had not paid much attention to Liara.
And not at all because she was not her biological mother.
Thank the Goddess, asari do not have the “hang-ups” characteristic of Terrans regarding who plays what role in the family.
For humans, asari could be quite officially sexless or bisexual — whichever of the Terrans preferred, that’s how they considered it.
Aethyta…
Yes, for the first five years of the little one’s life, she was almost constantly near Benezia, helping in every way, and very actively, but then…
she returned to active social work, to socio-political activity.
And she grew distant from Liara.
It was unlikely that the little asari remembered much and accurately from what concerned Aethyta.
Later, she often asked Benezia to tell her more about her father.
But Benezia found dozens of excuses time and again, not wanting to drag Liara into the maelstrom of political squabbles, inwardly believing that this would be the almost inevitable outcome of satisfying such requests from her daughter.
And Liara…
somehow managed to understand her mother, with whom she was almost inseparable.
Although…
Benezia was then a religious leader, a recognized and authoritative member of the Council of Matriarchs, so she also could not spend much time with Liara.
Work, trips, flights to other planets — and not only in Asari Space.
Liara was left alone for long periods.
Perhaps her internal tuning for absorbing vast amounts of information helped the little asari survive when her mother was not around.
Liara could well have gotten used to loneliness becoming her constant companion.
Or her constant curse.
Liara…
read a lot.
And was very actively interested in details.
She didn’t just collect these details; she looked for interconnections between them.
Obvious, non-obvious…
All kinds.
This search — in the end — led to a rift between Benezia and Liara.
The most serious one.
The matriarch, now remembering it, feared most of all that it was final.
Benezia did not want to think about the circumstances of the rift.
What was there to clarify now, since after that they practically stopped seeing each other, and then…
Then Benezia fell under the influence of Saren.
Who was being controlled by the Reaper.
And…
the years of impersonality dragged on.
Now Matriarch Benezia T’Soni felt with particular clarity that the years had passed.
With particular acuteness and certainty.
Although for asari, capable of living a guaranteed thousand years, such sensations were not particularly significant.
They were not, unless, of course, representatives of the race of blue-skinned beauties found themselves in situations like the one she, Matriarch Benezia, had ended up in.
Liara had disappeared.
She had stopped returning to Thessian space, moving directly from one archaeological expedition to another, and there…
there even time flowed differently.
There was no hurry, because one had to work with material that had been dead for a long time and reliably.
So Liara, who had chosen the study of the long-vanished Prothean race as her specialization, worked without noticing time.
Worked.
A dozen years after graduating from university, and she had never once returned to Asari Space since.
She did not write to her mother or father, did not contact them by audio, let alone video.
Although…
she undoubtedly had such opportunities.
That’s how it turned out.
The paths of mother and daughter after that conversation…
diverged sharply and completely.
Liara buried herself in endless excavations, and she…
she, Benezia T’Soni, mother of an only daughter, had become…
It was frightening even now to think about it sharply and fully — a husk.
Which most asari did not even know about.
And certainly had not thought about.
She, Matriarch T’Soni, had become a slave of the Reaper.
The very Reaper about which the blue-skinned beauties, who were reputed to be fairly highly professional diplomats in Citadel Space, knew only as characters of legends.
Yes, quite a legend, one and a half to two kilometers tall.
Any asari dreadnought, including the ceremonial Predestination, would seem a mere trifle compared to that behemoth.
The elder T’Soni thought about how the Reaper had probably never dropped its camouflage for long.
It remained unknown to the majority of the Galaxy’s inhabitants.
But its influence…
Now the matriarch was realizing more and more deeply just how effective the Reaper had been: it acted not by itself, but through two fully subservient sentient organics and an immeasurable number of geth — synthetics, robots, armed and led by high-class artificial network intelligences.
The medbay’s porthole was covered by an armored shutter.
The external view screens were dark.
Yes, a military, combat ship, which had recently survived a collision…
A collision with what, just a few days ago, had been only a legend for the vast majority of sentient organics.