Title: *OSaBC II : That Which Cannot Die*
Category: Games » Mass Effect
Author: LogicalPremise
Language: English, Rating: Rated: M
Genre: Sci-Fi/Tragedy
Published: 04-11-15, Updated: 05-14-20
Chapters: 53, Words: 754,264
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*Chapter 1: Arc I : Some consider unnatural*
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/*A/N and Intro:*/

/Welcome to *OSABC II : That Which Cannot Die.*/

/*TWCD* is a continuation of my AU rewrite of Mass Effect 1, titled "Of
Sheep and Battle Chicken". This story covers the period of time from
Shepard's death and the recovery of her body, the entirely of Mass
Effect Two, and my own take on the DLC. /

/I'll warn you right now: when I say AU I mean fucking //*AU*//. I have
taken a shotgun to canon in every possible way, and if you think I
changed things up in the first and second stories, oh gawd./

/That means you will be completely lost if you haven't read the first
two stories – and if you click my profile, you can see other supporting
documentation that fleshes out the back-story of the universe, such as
the /*Cerberus Files, the Systems Alliance Order of Battle, and the
Encyclopedia Biotica*/./

/None of these are required reading, but if you ever wonder why
salarians operate in bullet-time, asari have biotic lightsabers,
Cerberus can run a taco stand, and the entire universe is a vile,
conspiracy ridden shithole that makes 40k look like My Little Pony...you
may wish to check them out./

/In case the story summary eluded you, this is Fshep/Liara. There are
other pairings, but it's not a romance fic. (Sorry ladies. If nimraj12
asks me real nice I might try my hand at a gushy romance, but it would
have to be Mshep/Miri or Fshep/Kaiden for me to pull it off.) The other
pairings are rarely if ever conventional – you'll see things like
Joker/Tali, Chakwas/von Grath (finally), Jack/Morinth, and the first
actual Kasumi/Taylor that is more than Kasumi-chan pervving on Taylor's
abs./

/Things you will see is a different take on Shepard's resurrection, the
Council's reaction to said resurrection, the Alliance still acting like
assholes, and a much more intelligent plan to the Collector attacks than
"hurr durr throw yourself through a relay that kills everyone lolzors".
Goddammit, Bioware. You'll also see some pretty hectic fighting, but
more of a focus on exploring, on learning about the characters, and
about the Reaper threat. /

/And of course, god-stomping the crap out of batarians. That never gets
old. /

/Things you will not see include a stupid Council, moronically evil
Cerberus, weak-ass turians, or pretty much anything that Bioware
half-assed. The story runs on the Rule of Crazy Awesome, so in game
terms the setting is a mix between Insanity and Easy. /

/It's also a story about the difference between /*/revenge/*/and
/*/justice/*/. /

/As an aside: This is rated M for strong language and heavily violence.
While there are a number of sexual innuendos, there are no explicit sex
scenes in this work. Given my version of Shepard's proclivities, that's
probably for the best. Nothing is MA (and if you think something is, let
me know and I can take it out. NO, there will NOT be lemons or any of
that shit off site, do you know what the hell Shepard's kinks involve?
Ugh.)/

/As with ATTWN, there are five arcs./

/The first arc is something of a prologue, going over what the major
characters are doing, framing the setting, and allowing me to explain
just how in hell you can bring the dead back to life. /

/The second arc covers the 'primary mission' – figure out what the hell
the Collectors are up to. /

/The third arc is sort of my take on Lair of the Shadow Broker. This is
going to be where the rule of Crazy Awesome takes the driver's seat and
takes us right over the side of the cliff. Answers are questioned,
questions are answered, and Shepard goes from merely angry to really,
really pissed. /

/The fourth arc is about the 'secondary mission' – more details later.
No spoilers. :D/

/The fifth arc is the closing arc, the take-down of the Collector Base,
and a showdown with the Council. /

/The appropiate music for this book is on Youtube, search for "Epic
Legendary Intense Massive Heroic Vengeful Dramatic Music Mix" VOL I
through III. And the rest, I guess.
/

/This one is dedicated to Griffin, Charlene, Michael, Lais, Ahmet,
Alyssa, Quintin, Sherry, James, Rob J, and of course Yonis. You all know
who you are. /

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/PS: For all the PM's about the trumpets, you're thinking along the
wrong lines. I give you one important hint: *Vorlons*. LAWL. /

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*THE FIRST ARC : DO NOT CALL UP THAT WHICH YOU CANNOT PUT DOWN *

/'You may want to rethink your clever plan. You had her killed once
already and all you did was piss her off.' /

/-Garrus Vakarian to Harbinger/

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The office, like much of the base was cold, sterile.

White walls, trimmed in black, gleamed under the hard banks of overhead
lights, the tile floors spotless. Every surface had the pristine
appearance of a facility built to exacting specifications, no expenses
spared. The room was luxuriously appointed, the best technology and the
most comfortable extras, but it remained a place of cold, deadly science.

The air smelled of antiseptics, ozone, and the barest hint of corruption.

Miranda hated that smell. No matter how they adjusted the filters, the
barest touch of rotting flesh somehow lingered, as if a reminder from
God at the abomination they were performing.

She cleared her thoughts, sitting in her offices aboard Aristeas
Station. She disapproved of the fixation the Illusive Man had with
ancient Greek mythological naming, but the name was ironically
appropriate in certain ways.

As usual, her mornings were all the same. Wake up and perform her usual
aerobic workout, mental exercises and memory games. Review all the work
orders for the nanite groupings Vigil oversaw in the nightly builds.
Examine chemical and biochemical compound reads from the clones and
implement any framework changes into the subject. Spend a good twenty
minutes reviewing their progress thus far and marvel at how far they had
come. After just over two years of hard work, Miranda was starting to
believe they could do the impossible.

This wasn't just cheating Death. It was /mugging/ him and making off
with the goods in broad daylight.

The challenge at the beginning had been one of scale. They had to revive
the dead, and the subject in question was the single deadest person
Miranda could imagine.

Sara Ying Shepard had died in a manner almost too gruesome to
contemplate. Literally burned alive while being smashed by the wreckage
of her own ship, choking on her own blood and with her oxygen cut. The
crime syndicate that extracted her body from the wreck of the Normandy
had no reason to be very careful, rendering all her extremities useless.
Being frozen solid was just a final indignity.

The Illusive Man's original plan was to resurrect Shepard just as she
was, a normal human woman with perhaps a touch of corrective cyberware
or bionetic implants. That had been tossed out three weeks into the project.

Almost eight percent of Shepard's brain mass was gone. Her heart and
lungs were crushed. Less than twenty seven percent of her skeleton was
intact, and her body was so ruined as to be beyond the help of any
regeneration device. Every single organ was damaged, her remaining leg
was mostly a frostbitten stump, and her remaining arm had been mangled
so badly that the left hand could touch the left elbow.

The use of advanced cybernetics could correct some issues, at least on a
purely physical level, but just cramming her full of replacements would
only give them a zombie thing with a rotting brain. Much more would be
required.

It took over seven months and well over three hundred million credits to
even be confident that they could restore her physical form in any way.
Entire companies were bought out and new technologies researched.
Scanners with picoscale capabilities. Nanites that could read and
reconstruct DNA on the fly.

Biotic cyberware – known as blueware – would be required as well, for
Shepard had been a biotic prior to death and that ability made up a
large part of her arsenal. Each piece had to be custom designed, fitted
carefully into a plan of action that was mostly theoretical and
dependent on breakthroughs in human medicine that didn't even exist.

When they'd started, she thought the project was impossible.

That was when Jack Harper changed the goalposts.

Now they just had to bring her back. It had to be her – her mind, her
personality - but he was willing to accept that she might have memory
loss, or be so cybernetic that she wouldn't even technically classify as
/human/. The Systems Alliance considered anyone over forty-five percent
cybernetic to be impaired, and legal limits restricted any conversion
past 55%.

Every scenario they saw would require at least 75% to 80% conversion.
Maybe more. And so the planning had begun, and the arguments.

The psychology of Shepard had to be carefully researched first. The
chief psychologist had pointed out Shepard suffered from many issues
before her death, and simply stuffing her organs and brain into some
kind of freak-show cybernetic body, ala Richard Williams, would end up
in failure. Shepard already saw herself as a monster and killing machine
at one point, and dehumanizing her – especially given the loss of her
wife – would only create additional mental issues.

Nor was that the only challenge. Even with cybernetics, they wouldn't
solve all the issues. While Project Osiris had created artificial
organs, the efficiency of such devices was still hotly debated. Some of
the research showed that high percentage cybernetic conversions suffered
more mental decay and what was known as cell-memory drift the more they
were 'disconnected' from biological systems.

Miranda felt this was a load of spiritualist hooey, but the data didn't
lie. You could literally plot the amount of cancer, the lifespan and
mental stability of the Alliance's veterans with cyberware along a line
corresponding to their cyberware percentage.

Shepard's exposure to the Prothean Beacon had also damaged her mind on
some level – they didn't know how well she could hold up without the
constant prop of her bondmate, Liara, who was now very dead. Trellani
said she could try some things, but serious thought was given to making
some kind of clone of T'Soni, or even engaging some other asari to bond.
Trellani shot that idea down and spent weeks poring over stolen texts
and interrogating asari priestess brutally captured by Kai and Pel,
before personally and sadistically executing each one.

She claimed she could fix the issue, and Harper said it was handled.

Unfortunately, that was only the mental problems. On a physical level,
merely re-cloning and replacing tissues wouldn't work either. The damage
to the brain would require several cybernetic systems to correct and
monitor, and Shepard had done something before death that had left many
of her cells highly irradiated – Joker thought it was probably the
explosion of the Kyle class torpedo she'd damaged the attacking ship
with that might have caused that. A full clone replacement attempt
usually resulted in multiple cancers. Every clone had to be
DNA-examined, genome proofed – which reduced their yield and meant they
went through a truly sickening amount of clones during the project.

Worse, no clone could be created with the nervous modifications and
alterations to the lymphatic system caused by eezo exposure. Even if
they could expose a prenatal Shepard clone to eezo, they couldn't wait
for it to grow to full size, nor could such things be merely swapped
over. If they could have done that, humanity could create biotics at
will. Luckily, most of Shepard's original eezo nodes remained, and while
they couldn't clone new ones, they could induce additional nodes in the
body while she was functionally dead at little to no risk, boosting her
power – but only by utilizing her real, natural body tissues where possible.

Finally, there was always the ugly fact that fully cloned tissue seemed
to decay and age faster than 'natural' tissue. They still didn't know
why, and Vigil was unhelpful, as Inusannon bio-science had never seen
this issue, but even with its help they were unable to overcome the
issue completely. Vast banks of clones were flash grown and harvested
for healthy cells, which were used to create more clones, but none of
them would be fully viable.

They could cheat – a little – by culturing existing, surviving cells
without heavy damage. But that would be painstaking work, with any
imperfections resulting in starting over from scratch. Vigil was
confident they could come up with a clone Shepard that would last, but
Harper rejected the idea.

He didn't want a copy. He wanted the real thing, no matter what it cost
or how much effort it took. He would compromise on many things, but not
on that. And so they began.

Shepard's original body – or at least her torso and head – would have to
be salvaged, strengthened, and augmented. The design specifications were
simple, but daunting. Shepard would need strong protection on all
internal organs, as they would be far more fragile with the type of
repair and patch job she was undergoing. Sub-dermal armor, arterial
mesh, nanorepair systems, onboard medigel systems – anything and
everything that could mitigate damage would be used. The skeleton would
need heavy augmentation and bracing, not only to support the cyberware
and myomer musculature, but to shield the carefully vat-grown
replacement marrow and small nanofactories that would enhance her blood.

Shepard's eyes were gone, and no one had ever mastered making new purely
biological ones that were more than cosmetic fillers, so she'd end up
with cybernetic replacements there. Her hearing was still functional,
once the nanites repaired her delicate inner ear bones, and nothing
would be wrong (or changed) about her smell or taste. But additional
vision mods and hearing augmentation was built into the empty cyberskull
they planned to put her brain inside once it was done being fixed.

They'd spent a month getting the exact coloration of the eyes down, and
six days on the subtle folds around the eyes that hinted at Shepard's
Chinese heritage. Miranda shuddered when she remembered the four hours
they spent on the damned teeth. Or the endless fucking tedium of
checking and rechecking the damned hair. None of it was hooked to the
body, but it all had to perfect before that point, anyway.

Every detail had to be perfect, not just for psychology's sake, but so
that there could be no accusations of Cerberus genning up some kind of
monstrous fake. Every bit of the flesh from Shepard that could be
salvaged was, carefully bathed in nutrient growths, and overlain where
feasible.

More planning was done on what extra features to include in the body
that would be used. Some things – gyroscopes in the wrists, protective
features against small arms, choking, poisons – were obvious. A low
powered pulse stabilizer was Trellani's suggestion, that would stop
pulse suppressors and grenades, although not phase disruptors and
disruptor rounds, from blocking her biotics.

Clones were made, exposed to horrific death scenarios, and the damage to
the brain modeled and examined carefully. The corpse itself was injected
with stabilization nanotechnology, as well as something the Inusannon AI
known as Vigil created called a 'serenity matrix', some kind of energy
field that prevented cellular decay for short periods of time.

The planning began to take on more and more complex aspects, as new
people were brought in under heavy scrutiny and some of the first new
tools came online. More cultures of cells were taken and examined. The
body was laid out and carefully debrided of damaged flesh too wrecked
for salvage, while any remaining harvestible cells were cultured.
Shattered bone fragments had to be extracted, one by one, in
painstakingly delicate operations too fine for the human hand or even
most VI's – Vigil itself performed these.

Injections of nanite-laden serum and medical omnigel, packed with
building materials, vitamins, amino acids and other less salubrious
materials were carefully placed at certain points. The head was left in
stasis panels while the body was literally cored, carefully prepared,
and set aside. Each organ was given its own critical examination, and
the liver, stomach, and kidneys were written off as losses and replaced
with cloned replacements, augmented by cybernetics such as filtration
systems, chemical analyzers, and a small device that could automatically
discharge both clotting and anti-clotting agents.

The badly damaged heart was augmented with cloned tissues and corrective
cybernetics, wire mesh and plastic sheathing wrapping around it.
Microscopic robots stiffened dead muscular tissue, and nutrient baths
and regeneration machines worked on it. The lungs were flash-cloned a
dozen times and various models tested and examined, augmented with even
more complex and intricate built-in filtration systems.

Miranda had to stop for three months and learn, alongside her slowly
growing staff, the delicate details of cybernetics from a sneering
Vigil. But the Inusannon biotechnology was literally millenia beyond the
best technology the Alliance had, and she put up with the thing's
insults. The cybernetic devices they created were 'living metal',
capable of regeneration and rebuilding on their own.

Months passed. Entire teams were formed – doctors, biotechnological
specialists, cybernetics experts. Two Nobel-Manswell prizewinning
biologists joined. The limbs were given to one team, the primary organs
to another, and so on and so forth. The progress reports she sent to the
Illusive Man became less defensive, more assertive.

The shape on the table began to look less like a mess of meat and tubes,
and more like a robot spliced with a human. An entirely new operating
theater, highly automated and designed with Vigil's specially programmed
VI's in charge, was built at staggering cost. The integration of flesh
and metal began, with every cybernetic system overlain with living flesh
or a bionetic equivalent. No expense was spared in making the results
feel as natural as possible, down to the point where Miranda and one of
the cloning techs had a screaming argument over how bouncy her ass
should feel to the touch.

Somehow, a recording of this got to Pel, who made endless jokes about
it. Miranda offered Kai Leng anything he wanted to stab the other
Cerberus agent, and two days later Kai sent back a picture of Pel having
suffered a fall down several sets of stairs with his new cyberarm busted
and spurting out hydraulics in all directions.

The image had made her smile, if only for a day. She still had it as as
screen saver on her portable terminal. The next day she was back to the
grindstone, struggling with learning the field of hematology and why
Shepard's blood had to have certain elements.

Entirely new fields of medicine were discovered as the new year rang in.
Blood chemistry blended with biotechnic developments as they came up
with a synthetic blood that would augment natural blood.

Clones were created, harvested, disposed of. One of the key researcher
shot themselves, the ethical and legal implications of what they were
doing too much for them to handle. Another one went crazy and Taylor and
Ezno put him down, throwing the body out the station airlock when they
were done.

Miranda realized she wasn't eating enough, but her days blurred together
as they worked. Weeks swept by, as progress crawled. Two of the doctors
on the ocular implant team ended up having a torrid affair and the woman
getting pregnant. Arguments about bringing families to the station were
shot down by Ezno with his trademark cold glare.

By the late third of the year, they had ... something. A monstrous body,
slowly being reshaped back into a human form. Every possible flaw was
examined. Meetings dragged on for hours about how to handle possible
attacks. Side effects. Unexpected setbacks and plans were constantly
adjusted. Some of what they were working on now was so far beyond known
medical science that the teams coined their own words for elements of
the work. The alien mix of nanotech living metal and bionetic artificial
flesh was mockingly named 'Sheep's Clothing', for example.

Miranda pleaded with Harper to do more careful screening of people with
a habit of making horrible puns.

As progress advanced, Wilson's work on the gray-box continued. Vigil had
some method of mapping out the neural pathways of Shepard's brain, and
combined with Wilson's own research, the possibility that they could
accurately save almost all of Shepard's memory – and personality – was
rising to close to one hundred percent. Still, it was painstaking,
tedious work – thousands of connections were needed, and these were
carefully stored on the gray-box, even while swarms of nanites laid
billions of chemical trails between neurons, trying to balance the
electrochemical balance of the brain once more to that of a living being.

Vigil had said the Inusannon could be revived from death in this manner,
although he admitted Inusannon physiology was far stranger than human
physiology. Wilson worked diligently, even if in Miranda's opinion he
bitched far too much and was too cautious in his approaches.

Two months ago, the breakthrough had happened. Wilson had found a
chemical sequence that seemed to produce neural reactivation in the
brains of clones killed and left for dead for several hours. It was a
mixture of drell mental proteins, mapped to the human genome with coding
to mimic the drell genetic pattern as closely as could be achieved with
human DNA.

The mixture was tested for weeks on a dozen clones before Miranda went
to the Illusive Man for authorization to use it. They'd all held their
breath as the gray-box was installed, the microscopic leads threaded
through the brain, and the serum injected.

They'd nearly panicked when they realized they were seeing faint neural
activity, but Miranda had kept her cool, focusing the team on the
integration. A grueling and marathon surgery of twenty five hours had
reunited Shepard's brain with her now overhauled body. Nerves were
reconnected. Blood vessels clamped shut by nanonic doors were reopened.

It wasn't life. But it wasn't death any longer either. Now they merely
had to finish what they started. The celebration had gone on for several
hours that day, she remembered.

She glanced up at the status repeaters for the medical bay. No changes.
A flicker of a smile crossed her face as she remembered the glow of
fierce pride she'd felt. The drinking, the night with Taylor, the rare
and proud smile of Jack Harper – it had been a good night.

Now, a month later, they faced new problems. The body had to
synchronized with the brain, and the eezo nodules carefully interlaced
with both the nervous system and the blueware. A single mistake in one
of the nine operations would ruin Shepard's biotics forever.

Assuming that the body on the slab ever woke up. Miranda finished her
green tea and walked over to the heavy window in the wall, looking out
over the medical bay.

Nude, Shepard seemed to merely be sleeping. The life support docket
still extracted waste and kept her breathing, her blood pumping and her
other needs taken care of. Robots monitored every system constantly,
with human oversight at every level – no failures could or would be
tolerated.

Only the most extreme care had been taken to attempt to restore her
wrecked body to what it was. Some scars were missing, which Miranda did
not think Shepard would miss. The body itself was ...entrancing. The
cocoa toned skin rippled with finely tuned muscles, concealing the
carefully placed sub-dermal plating covering many of Shepard's vitals.
Those muscles were mostly artificial myomer – much stronger than human,
and they'd never tire or produce waste products. Still, even laying
there, she radiated a sense of power, of dark sensuality.

Miranda didn't envy Shepard's looks...exactly. But no one looking on
Sara Shepard would think she was any kind of cyborg, that was certain.
Too much attention had been spent on the tiniest details.

The breasts had to be rebuilt, and Miranda had found to her chagrin that
Alliance records didn't include bra sizes. Miranda had erred slightly on
the side of caution – she didn't think Shepard would complain.
Reconstructing the other sexual organs was trickier. Vigil had argued
there was hardly a need to compromise the hip region with such things,
but Miranda had violently and vehemently disagreed.

Bad enough Shepard was sterile. Flash clones were incapable of producing
viable ova in any case, and it didn't seem fair to somehow unsex her
without her consent. Oddly enough, it had been Matriarch Trellani's
agreement that won that particular argument.

Trellani's job, when it came time to wake Shepard, would be to try to
stabilize her mind. Harper had been furious when he learned Liara T'Soni
was dead, and Trellani had repeatedly warned that they were taking a
serious chance that Shepard might become suicidal or depressed upon
learning this. When Miranda suggested simply hiding the truth, the
Illusive Man had shook his head.

"The one thing we cannot afford with Shepard is to lie to her. She won't
accept that, or having things hidden from her. To make this work, we
will have to play by her rules – her ability to accept and deal with
things."

It had lessened none of the load on Miranda's shoulders, knowing that
even if they brought Shepard back, they could still fail the moment she
awoke.

More testing, more lab work, endless examinations. More cybernetic
installation, more blood work, more samples. Every day was a new set of
data to examine, to review, to see if they were missing something
critical. Vigil had gone over the body of Shepard several times,
scanning closely, but never found anything out of place.

Now all that was left was the final stretch, and seeing if their dark
miracle would actually get up off the table and live...or if their work
was in vain after all.

With a sigh, she turned from the window. It was time for the meeting.

Exiting her office, she walked through the wide corridors of the base
towards the primary meeting room, nicknamed the Shit Pit by the less
than eloquent members of the research team. The name came from the dark
brown carpeting in the room, the sloped walls, and the constant amount
of arguing and disagreement that occurred in the meetings it hosted.

The station itself was paranoia made manifest. It was built inside a
massive asteroid, tucked into a ragged chain of other asteroids in the
'hot zone' of a neutron star. Electromagnetic radiation and torrential
storms of hard x-rays would have normally made it uninhabitable, but the
entire asteroid was hollow, the crust fortified by sixty feet of lead
and filled with a quarter mile of graphite-fortified water. It also
huddled behind a more massive asteroid that had been impregnated with
iron over the course of months by nanites sprayed into the dark face of
the stony body.

The station itself was relatively small. Three floors of medical labs,
cloning facilities and testing labs. A floor for the medical operations,
and one floor for offices and meeting rooms. Three floors of living
spaces, entertainment facilities, exercise rooms and the like. A hangar
bay that was actually a huge box on rails that moved from the base
itself to an external mounting point, each end of the bay a giant airlock.

The outer shell of the base was a defensive deathtrap, manned with the
bizarre, carved statues Vigil created and somehow animated, along with
various mechs of the Illusive Man's own design, a maze-like layout
studded with traps and false leads, and five floors of a completely fake
base dedicated mostly to producing various equipment unrelated to the
real project. Harper was sure the Broker could infiltrate his forces
given enough time, and had taken every reasonable and unreasonable
precaution.

Only those scientists willing to have a cortex bomb installed in their
head and undergo a shallow link and screening by Matriarch Trellani
could work on the project. The rewards Harper dangled in front of them
were blindingly attractive: ownership of patents and designs, shares in
the new GenSynth corporation that had been fronted to prototype much of
the more esoteric technology, cash rewards, and more.

Of the nine specialist doctors leading the project, only two - Wilson
and Chambers - knew their patron was Cerberus – the rest thought this
was a highly classified Alliance black project. There were no Cerberus
logos on anything, no black and orange armor suits. Even the security
force Taylor and Ezno ran so carefully wore standard Alliance uniforms.

The people staffing the base were mostly not 'real' Cerberus, either.
Explaining Vigil to some of them had taken more than a few days, but
everyone got used to it, and seemed to be pleased the Alliance had
'gotten one over' on the Council. The cover story – that the Alliance
had stolen Vigil, that Shepard was being brought back to life per the
orders of the High Lords, that the technology would advance human
science and power – was lapped up. Some of the scientists, after all,
had been involved in other black projects.

The presence of Trellani was handled by the amusing act of the asari
dressing up as a Commissar, and Miranda was always sourly impressed by
how much like one of those nuts she could act.

She even carried one of those outre flamethrowers around.

Miranda was fairly sure one reason for the security was that most of
these people would have to die once the project was completed. That
didn't bother her as much as it might have, two years of the most
ethically questionable science in human history eroded one's sense of
outrage.

As she entered the Shit Pit, she suppressed a grimace at the decor once
more. The room was circular, with seats for nine people. The table was
brown wood-grain and plain armaplast, but the walls were colorful pale
brown pastel colors designed to promote calm thinking. The thick brown
pile carpet was comfortable, but utterly wasteful. The big haptic
displays on the walls were currently displaying status reports,
Shepard's life-signs, and a real-time view of her nude body still on its
life support table.

She took her seat the table, slightly early as was her usual habit, and
focused her thoughts. As she was doing so, the far door slide open, and
the nominal head of security, Randal Ezno, walked through the door. His
blue eyes swept across the room in a quick search for threats, just like
they always did, before he closed the door behind him and sat in his chair.

She didn't like Ezno, but she didn't dislike him either. He was just ...
very stolid. Cold features, cold voice, cold actions. He was a good
leader, disciplined and certainly more professional than Pel or Kai
Leng. He was nearly as much of a stickler for procedure and accuracy as
she was, and drilled his people hard. If not for the fact she had more
than a bit of an attraction to Jacob, she would have considered him an
ideal chief of security.

But since she did prefer Jacob to this unfeeling wall of a man, she
often found herself comparing the two. Jacob led through his own
determination and will, inspiring his men to do better. Ezno's icy
demeanor and inhuman level of perfection in every aspect of combat was
almost demoralizing. He dismissed failure as a sign of incompetence, and
expected everyone to adhere to his own standards.

His lack of empathy was useful when it came time for security to
tighten, however. He was the only one in the room with no true medical
knowledge, but his insight into combat augmentations – and his own
experience, with cybernetics, biotics, and weapons – often let him make
not only useful but practical contributions to the discussion.

She met his blank gaze with a polite nod, waiting for others to enter.

It only took a few minutes for most of the team leaders to enter and get
settled. She reviewed them mentally as she prepared for the meeting.

Wilson himself was at the far end of the table. Short and acerbic, given
to outbursts of frustration and a tendency to 'throw shit at the wall
until it stuck', he was still brilliant with neurology and neuralink
programming, if hopeless at more basic medicine. His development of the
mapping techniques for force-filling a gray-box – and having those
memories capable of merging back into a human mind without the usual
sythesia – was key to the project. Wilson was sloppy and slovenly, but
only with his personal appearance – his notes and research materials
were immaculate, his testing eccentric but strict, and while he was
inclined to do things by the seat of his pants more than Miranda liked,
he also produced results. As usual, he was more occupied by his cup of
coffee than his surroundings, eyes mostly glued to his padd as he
reviewed baseball scores.

Next to him, Doctor Chandar Gayan was reviewing his own notes. A
dark-skinned man of Indian extraction, he was the team lead for
hematology and oncology. The amount of modified genetics, cyberware, and
other foreign materials they were cramming into Shepard's corpse would
cause severe toxicity and feedback issues, and Gayan was the one trying
to avoid or mitigate those. His dapper appearance was set off by the
coldness of his eyes and his deep, booming voice, which always sounded
as if he was selling something. Unlike everyone else, his lab coat was
worn atop an immaculate three piece suit of the most modern and stylish
cut, his dark hair was always freshly trimmed, and his strong cologne
was a constant identifier of his personal presence.

Doctor Natalia Kyursko sat next to him, in a conversation with Doctor
Kelly Chambers. The bombshell blond Russian woman's flirtation with
Chambers at any possible moment was more rumor mill grist for the base
personnel – hardly surprising. Kyursko could favorably compare with
Miranda herself in terms of the way she carried her supermodel looks,
but unlike Miranda was outgoing, extremely friendly and had a roving eye
and a reputation for playing both sides of the isle. She'd been playing
sweet-glances with Chambers since she'd gotten here a year and two
months back, her background in muscular systems and myomer integration
valuable to the team, but so far Chambers had shot her down for the
often rumored liaisons Kyursko was famous for.

Chambers herself was the one team member Miranda was truly ambivalent
about. Kelly was Cerberus – she was the Illusive Man's personal
psychological specialist, and far more dangerous than her innocent,
bubbly personality would reveal. She looked as if she was twenty six but
was far closer to forty, and her sparkling green eyes danced with
mischief that Miranda instinctively distrusted. As the team
psychological and mental therapy specialist, she would be busy alongside
Trellani stabilizing Shepard when she woke up, but her input had been
critical in how they chose to rebuild Shepard.

It had been Kelly who had gone to the trouble of recreating Shepard's
Tenth Street Red tattoo, and who had demanded they save both the strange
notebook of designs and drawings in the stasis pod and the multicolored
hammered gold bracelet on her remaining arm. Miranda was amused when
Trellani backed Chambers up, and she grudgingly admitted she mostly
distrusted Kelly because she got along so well with that asari ...
person. It didn't help that of all the team members and researchers,
only Kelly's file was unavailable to Lawson.

She hated being in the dark, and the few times she'd gotten testy with
Kelly, it was readily apparent the psychologist was more than capable of
dismantling Miranda's own fragile mental state with a handful of words
and a dismissive smile. Miranda would have gladly removed her if she
wasn't so useful – and kept that dreadful Kyursko woman from hitting on her.

Ignoring the two of them, she swept her eyes past Ezno to the rail-thin
figure of Doctor Carla Andira. A slender woman with dark black hair and
intelligent eyes, Andira's ancestors had been Brazilian, a dark mark on
her entire life so far. Struggling to find funding for her research into
exotic applications of nanotechnology and immune systems, she'd been
snapped up by Miranda and was the only one of the non-Cerberus team
leads she was considering salvaging after the project completed. Andira
was as driven as Miranda herself, something of an introvert, and
completely without ego – willing to compromise when it was needed, but
standing firm when she knew she was right. Always helpful and positive
without being bubbly, the young doctor was probably Miranda's favorite,
and surprisingly the only real friend she'd made in her days here.

The last two doctors were the more morally troubling of the group.
Doctor David Ahankar was some mongrel mix of Scottish, Italian,
Ethiopian and Samoan, giving him dark red hair, black eyes, the build of
a sumo, and a surprisingly good tenor. From Arcturus, his patois was
mostly gone and his accent mostly clean, but on occasion he would drop
into the old tongue and unleash scathing profanity. Ahankar was the lead
in charge of cloning and organ integration, a fully trained internist
with six degrees and several patents under his belt. He was also an
egomanical skirt chasing asshole in Miranda's opinion, and far too quick
to answer any question with tests of clones that killed said clones in
horrible ways. He didn't care if Shepard lived or died, he just wanted
to prove his theories on clone harvesting to improve natural cellular
efficiency was right.

But even he was pleasant compared to Doctor Jeremy Hyrim. A doctor from
Bekenstein, his pale skin and dark hair and eyes weren't unusual, but
his Jewish kippah hat and long, ultraorthadox beard certainly stood out.
Ahankar was a womanizer, while Hyrim hated women and was a sexist pig
when it came to anything and everything. His specialization in bone
regeneration, skeletal support, and cybernetic mounting made him
critical, but his inputs were rarely anything but sandpaper to the
nerves. Worse still, he was the first one calling for more outrageous
and inhuman modification to Shepard's body – any cost to her mind was
dismissed. He was still miffed, she thought, that the whole project
didn't center around a man.

She sighed, as one seat was still unfilled. As she did so, the door slid
open, and the lean form of Doctor Saylish Six-Hawks walked in and sat
down. His craggy face was twisted in a smile as he did so. Six-Hawks was
an American Indian, a skilled bioengineer and a masterful neurologist
and nerve surgeon, but his actual specialization was in biotic therapy
and care. While certainly good at his job, he was almost chronically
late to every single meeting, and had tendency to 'indulge' in various
esoteric theories that always sidetracked each discussion and enraged Hyrim.

Miranda sighed. "It's time for the monthly status recap. Before we get
started, I wish to thank your teams again for their hard work over the
past week. We're now showing seventy eight percent integration on the
nervous voluntary level and ninety-two percent involuntary – that means
we can take the subject off life support as early as this week and set a
final date for reawakening in the near future."

She forced a smile, and then continued. "However, as you all have seen
the reports, we have increased failure signals as well. Neural tissue
growth is barely moving at two-tenths of a percent. Scarring has once
again set in across the shoulder joints and the cloned kidneys are still
not filtering correctly. Shepard doesn't need to wake up with gallstones
the size of a golf-ball, I think we can all agree on that."

She checked her notes. "Also, toximal gas buildup is up half a percent.
We need a better way of eliminating that from the body until we get the
artificial blood up and running at full capacity. We also are worried
about the most recent MRI scans – we're not seeing enough neural
activity, well below the planned threshold."

She looked up. "Now, let's review our current status, system by system.
Doctor Wilson?"

*O-TWCD-O*

Four draining hours later, she stood in the primary communications room,
before the semitransparent QEC image of her leader.

He'd listened carefully to her report, smoking and sipping his drink as
usual, and then nodded as she finished. "It sounds as if you are nearly
complete with your preparations. The facility we'll be moving Shepard to
for the awakening process is nearly finished, along with the support
materials and personnel we'll need for her to complete the tasks I have
in mind."

He put out his cigarette. "And with that being said...I have a
proposition for you, Miranda. I know you've pushed yourself to the
limits on this – first getting Shepard's body out of the mess at Omega,
then tackling a project that challenged everything we assumed we knew
about the human body and the nature of death itself, and you've risen to
the challenge every time." He smiled – a rare, real smile, not his usual
thinly mocking one – and she found herself helplessly smiling back.

"Thank you, sir. I have done the best I could, and while I'm not
entirely satisfied with the way things ended up, I'm convinced we
certainly achieved the goals you set for me."

He nodded. "You did. But as amazing as what you've accomplished is, you
must realize it is only the very first, small step in a much larger plan."

He leaned back in the chair she could only barely make out. "Before I
lay out my proposition, some framework understanding is needed. The
Reapers are still out there. The war with the geth is grinding down, and
the batarian Empire is mostly a fraction of its former might, but both
are still dangerous and possibly under the control of Reaper forces. The
Council, thanks to the honeyed words of the Broker, think they have
decades until the Reapers strike."

He lit a fresh cigarette. "I disagree."

She frowned. She'd not been able to keep up on outside events or
politics as much as she would have liked, and she knew she was out of
the loop. "Is there anything specific that is worrying you?"

He nodded, slowly. "There have been, over the past year, six wildcat
colonies of humans in the Traverse completely wiped out. By what, I
don't know. Every one of them is simply vacated of human life, as if
something came along and scooped them up in the middle of work, play, or
sleep. There is no evidence of a culprit, no signs of battle, no sensor
logs that give us even the slightest clue. Every one so far is reachable
by FTL from multiple relays, so we haven't even got a good fix on where
the enemy is striking from."

She turned that information over in her head. "It wouldn't be the geth,
then, since they never bothered to hide their activity when attacking
before, only their attempts at building anchorages outside the Veil."

He gave her another smile. "Exactly my thinking. I've narrowed down the
possible culprits, and there are only three possibilities. Slavers or
raiders, independent military of an alien species...or an unknown actor,
something we've not considered."

He puffed on his cigarette."Slavers and raiders don't have the capacity
for the sort of surgical precision and flawless execution I've seen.
Every colony with GTS defenses was taken with said defenses firing a
shot. Pets were unharmed. Twice, asari were on the wildcat colonies, and
were found simply dead, of a completely unknown toxin that was
administered via some kind of injection – possibly a sting or bite."

He sipped something from the glass on the arm of his chair, then set it
back down. "I've ruled out alien military action for the simple
expedient that not a single solitary drive trace or any identifiable
weapons fire residue has ever been picked up. The only thing my ships
found six hours after a raid was a hint of exotic particle traces."

Miranda frowned. Why did that sound familiar? She reviewed her memories
and then looked up. "The Normandy picked up exotic particle traces right
before that unknown ship attacked and destroyed it."

Harper nodded. "Exactly. Based on what we've been able to put together
from the scattered recollections of Mr. Moreau and the hull scarring on
the wreckage of the Normandy, whatever destroyed her was using some kind
of weapon much like the main gun of Nazara, although with a different
focus. More like some form of supercharged particle stream."

He tapped a control on the other arm of his chair. "My scientists on
another project tell me that it is very unlikely anyone could have
reverse engineered such a weapon at the time of the Normandy's
destruction...and that the 'Thanix Cannon' the turians have come up with
is no where near as powerful and efficient yet. No one else had access
of any kind to such weapons. To me, it implies a connection to the Reapers."

She nodded slowly, then shook her head. "That may fit, but it's weak,
sir. No one will buy that argument, even if it fits the data."

Harper smiled wryly. "A sadly accurate assessment, Miranda. The new
Addison Administration and President Huerta don't want to rock any
boats. Why should they? They hate the very idea of wildcat colonies, and
every one that vanishes without a trace only makes the rest more nervous
without SA protection." His eyes narrowed, the blue circles within each
iris seemingly glowing brighter for a moment. "And it reminds me
entirely too much of the plans Richard and Rachel came up with to build
a base of support for Cerberus operations."

She sourly nodded at that idea. It had become clear, in the years since
the fall of Cerberus, that somehow Richard Williams had survived the
fall of the headquarters. The so-called group known as Hades was
definitely bearing all the hallmarks of his meglomaniacal actions.
Cerberus was still weak, still wary of openly exposing themselves, while
Hades was seemingly everywhere, especially on the outer colonies, fed up
after what they saw as SA intolerance and constantly rising taxes.

Miranda shrugged. "If your surmise is right, then the Alliance still
should be concerned. If this is some Reaper scout force..."

He shook his head. "Nothing so dramatic, I think. It took a great deal
of digging, and more fruitless bribes and maneuvering than I liked, but
I've pulled together several pieces of the puzzle." He tapped his chair
controls again, displaying a different image in the QEC. "Shepard found
a second Tho'ian on the ruined garden world of Eingana, wounded and
nearly destroyed. On that world she found a single survivor, a Exital
scientist who recorded an assault by what we've confirmed were
Collectors." He touched another control and a video began to play.

A shaky image of some forest-strewn skyscraper appeared, the plantlife
obscuring most of the ruin a sickly blue color. In the distance off to
the left of the tower, a cylindrical ship, half comprised of arches of
gray or black metal, half comprised of what looked like rock, hung in
the sky. A few turian fighters or gunships flew past, but a beam of
golden light seared through each one, blasting them to little more than
fragments.

Hulking black creatures with tear-drop shaped heads, four glowing eyes,
and insectile wings descended, firing weapons that were more of the same
beams of golden energy. Turians they hit were disintegrated, collapsing
to piles of smoking char and ash. Swarms of what looked like fist sized
bugs choked the air, obscuring the battle.

A large group of the winged, insect-looking aliens was heading on foot
into the city, cutting down anything in their path. The video ended
suddenly, in a burst of static, then faded to black.

Miranda shrugged. "I fail to see the relevance."

Harper blew out smoke as he leaned back. "The ruins have, of course,
been seized and sealed by the turian Hierarchy. But they ran tests on
the damage to the building, and to the wrecked turian fighters. The
weapon that inflicted that damage is almost an exact match to the weapon
that destroyed the Normandy."

He looked at his glass, and frowned, handing it off to someone out of
the pickup's cone of vision. "We also know, based on some of the
information seized at Saren's base on Noveria and from bits found at
Virmire, that Okeer was defiantly working with Saren. The Broker claimed
to have killed him, but our ears in the Traverse have more than few
rumors of missing krogan clans or mercenary groups, and we have video of
what looks like a Collector vessel – nearly identical to the one in the
video – operating in the vicinity of Korlus, a backwater salvage world.
A world that suddenly has a large number of new krogan recruits, all
supremely well trained and savage. It is possible he survived and struck
some kind of deal with the Broker."

Harper dumped ashes from his cigarette, as a new drink was placed by his
side. "Okeer was a famous genetic scientist and aided the salarians in
the creation of the Genophage. He was also, according to Rana Thanoptis,
who was captured at Virmire, responsible for the rachni-krogan
crossbreeds seen on the Citadel during the Benezia Incident."

Miranda felt lost. "I'm still not following."

Harper inclined his head. "Patience. The final piece is the one that
I've been awaiting confirmation on. Doctor Thanoptis and records found
at Ylana's base both tell us that Collectors did business of some kind
with Saren and with Ylana."

He spread his hands. "We have a very tenuous connection that implies the
Collectors might be involved with Reapers and were definitely involved
with both Saren and Ylana, as well as responsible for exterminating a
Tho'ian. We know, based on Okeer's message to Ylana found on Lehan, that
Okeer dealt with Ylana. We know, based on what little we found out, that
the Broker claims to have killed Okeer, but someone is on Korlus,
dealing with Collectors, possibly selling krogan and breeding new ones.
The thread is thin...but I think the Broker and Okeer may be tied to the
Collectors."

His eyes narrowed. "I assumed that the Broker had been involved in the
sabotage of Shepard's mission and her death because someone in the
Alliance ordered it, but I found absolutely no evidence of that."

Miranda folded her arms. "Saracino killed himself. I thought we assumed
that was the source?"

Harper shook his head. "His bank accounts were untouched, and in any
event I'm not totally convinced it was a suicide. Someone on his staff
bypassed his security system overrides and left his house unsecured for
over six hours the night of his supposed suicide, then reactivated it in
the morning and vanished from the face of the Earth. The AIS wanted to
nail Saracino and didn't follow up on this, but I think he was killed
because he knew something. What he knew, remains a mystery...but he was
the child of Michael Saracino and Rachel Florez."

She placed her arms behind her back and waited. "And now?"

The Illusive Man finished his cigarette. "Right now, we're in a holding
pattern, until Shepard wakes up and we can see what sort of mindset and
state she's in. But the Collectors are the only party who fit the
evidence we have for who is attacking human colonies. Three quarters of
a million people do not just vanish without a trace, and I want to know
why these colonies are being hit. Biological research to come up with a
weapon to use against us? Terror tactics? Something else? It's a bad
time to be blind."

She bit her lip. "Understood, but ... you said you had a proposition for
me?"

He gave her a flat stare. "Yes. When Shepard wakes up, the best chance
we have to convince her to work with us is to give her a focus for her
anger and rage. A duty to perform, once that has no morally questionable
overtones. One that allows her to ... find her bearings."

He paused, examining a data-padd in is hands."Based on Doctor Chambers
recommendations, I'm already putting together a crew and we've been
working for some time on an appropriate vessel. What I need, however, is
someone who knows Shepard's medical condition and special needs, as well
as someone who can be a competent executive officer and take command of
the mission if Shepard goes...off-script. I need eyes, and a presence I
can trust. I need you, Miranda, to continue working with her."

Miranda nodded, although she had reservations. Before she could speak,
though the Illusive Man held up a hand. "I know you must be close to
exhaustion, given how you push yourself. There will be a least a little
down time on this. You're of no use to me on this mission if you're so
worn down as to inefficient, and once she awakes Shepard will require
... testing."

He sipped his drink. "You won't be alone either. I can't part with
Trellani, but I can give you good backup – Jacob Taylor for security,
and Doctor Kelly Chambers for insight into Shepard's mind." He paused.
"If she makes the call, she's also authorized to try to seduce Shepard,
if that helps."

Miranda coughed. "Shepard's ... ah, memory streams as recorded on the
gray-box indicated she had rather extreme tastes, sexually speaking. I
know those are incomplete when viewed externally but - "

He shrugged. "Dr. Chambers is well aware of that. It is only an
option...one I didn't want you trying, in case that worried you such
would be required."

She smiled, but weakly. She'd been tasked more than once to use her body
and looks to ensnare targets for Cerberus, something she hated. The
tutelage of how to do so under an alien witch like Trellani was even
more humiliating, even she even made men like Kai and Pel stare at her,
and Jack himself crawl to her bed.

She had caught even Richard Williams, a thing that wasn't even alive
anymore, staring at her ass more than once at headquarters. Disgusting.
Clearing her thoughts, she nodded. "Thank you. I'm afraid my tastes do
not really run towards my own gender."

Not that she hadn't thought about it. She figured a great many women in
her position probably did. But it didn't seem to have any point to it.
Sexual pleasure empty of any meaning behind it was certainly a stress
relief, but never appealed to her. The few men she craved the attention
of were all attractive...but they all caught her eye for a different
reason, mental rather than physical.

She didn't know what the hell she was going to about Jacob, and having
him along would certainly complicate things. But she could figure that
out later.

She exhaled. "What else do I need to prepare for to take on this task, sir?"

He sat back, expression blank, eyes glancing to one side, and she
recognized his pose as one of carefully considering his words. After
long moments he finally spoke. "You need to be familiar with how Shepard
thinks, and reacts. I'm certainly not above using her ... but if she
feels used, or worse, manipulated, Chambers thinks she will react
poorly. When she asks for data, give it to her. She's not a natural
charismatic leader – yet she can lead. People want to impress her, to
make her react. Put her into situations where she could be
double-crossed by us and show her that we won't."

He folded one hand into a fist. "Don't, whatever you do, let her anger
outrun her control. Don't make us a target. If she focuses on what
Cerberus has done wrong, don't try to defend the organization or me,
Miranda. She's going to be fragile at first. Be her friend."

The dark haired beauty gave Jack Harper a nigh incredulous look. "That's
easier said than done! She is likely to look at us as a pack of terrorists!"

The Illusive Man smiled. "No, she would have. Once she sees the position
she's in, she'll start blaming people. Her mind isn't one to analyze a
situation, but to react to it. She rarely chooses the wrong answer. It's
almost like she has a pragmatic engine for a mind, discarding anything
but what has to be done. She'll realize that the Alliance and the
Council both are ultimately not going to get involved. And the people of
the wildcat colonies are weak, helpless. Innocent of the misdoings of
the Alliance."

He smiled. "We might imply, although we have no proof, that the
Collectors are gathering some kind of slave labor force."

She thought about that, and compressed her lips. "I'll have full
information on Shepard?"

He nodded. "Not just the full dossier on her. Chambers is already
working hard to prepare one for her interactions with the crew, past
interactions with other people in her life, and position dossiers. I'm
in the process myself of figuring out what kind of tasking to give her,
and what sort of support she'll need, but I'm not just going to send her
out on a ship to gather a pack of killers and hurl her at the Collectors."

He sipped his drink. "That's ... an inefficient use of the six and half
billion credits we've invested so far."

She nodded. "How long do I have?"

He shrugged. "I'd like to see Shepard up and running in three months,
Miranda – but if you need more time, take the time. Accuracy is more
important than speed. I'd like to move her out of that base of yours and
into the facility to wake her up when feasible, but I'm willing to give
you five more months if you need them."

Miranda considered. "We'll be able to do it in three, sir. Have you
given any thought to the idea we had of a control chip?"

Harper grimaced. "I have. And after careful thought, the answer is no.
The stakes are too high. If it were discovered by other parties, and
hacked, it could undo all our hard work – and no matter what security we
put on such an interface, it would be a weak point. If discovered by
Shepard or others, it would ruin any relationship with had with her, and
turn her against us."

Miranda sighed."Then I hope your facility for waking her up has
sufficient security, sir."

He nodded. "Oh, it does. It will serve as a base of operations for her,
so I'm hardly going to leave it defenseless. For now, keep me updated on
progress. Good work, Miranda."

*O-TWCD-O*

Somewhere between a dream and a memory, in a brain that only worked in
some ways and not others, a tiny black-haired child dreamed of endless
sunny skies. She felt alone, and frightened, until a blue hand reached down.

A somehow familiar face, with eyes full of love above freckled cheeks,
smiled at her. /"You will never be alone, Sara."/

The little girl smiled, and sank again beneath the waves of awareness,
drifting on a sea of shifting, rustling leaves. Tides of vast forests
and a sky of spinning starships whirled overhead, with the light coming
from a single vast crescent moon.

/Wake up, Shepard./

/Wake up./

/Wake up, Sara./

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 2: Arc I : Awakenings*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

/*A/N*:
/

/People have recently asked about my pace of updates.
/

/Today - April 12th - is the anniversary of my wife's death. The
original OSABC was written to distract me from the pain of that, and
around this time each year I tend to distract myself with writing once
more. Perhaps it's just a habit now. I don't write this to generate
sympathy, but to talk about something else. Make sure you hug your loved
ones today. You will never know when they are going to be gone. /

/Trust me, the alternative sucks. She used to nag me about not writing
more, since she told me I was good at it, I used to write her little fan
fictions for her favorite shows to correct the fuckups she didn't like
in them. I guess this is more of the same. /

/Anyway. Enough of me rambling. You came here for awesome, so here it is./

/As with the last chapters of ATTWN, AN's will be shorter and rarely
comment on the coming chapter. I would point out that I've made the full
text of ATTWN available for download at my site logicalpremise dot org
if you are interested. /

/Reviews are always welcome.
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'I have to admit, having an angry Shepard staring down at you with a
clenched fist is not exactly something you can face totally calmly.'
/

/- Jack Harper to Trellani
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first sensation Shepard could feel was cool air, blowing gently
across her face. It seemed to caress her, carrying with it the scent of
clean linen, and a bare hint of something sweeter, like perfume.

She blinked sleepily, mind fogged. She must have overslept. As usual,
the part of her that would normally feel for Liara reached out.

A jagged sense of red pain for the barest split second was all she felt,
that and nothingness. She sat bolt upright, eyes flying open, head
moving back and forth as she looked around.

She was in some sort of hospital room, she could tell that right away.

The floors were pale wood decking, the walls light pastel blue and the
ceiling had expensive, hexagonal lights, but she was in a medical bed –
if one more comfortable and elaborate than usual – with a big stack of
monitors, haptic panels and what not next to it.

She realized a moment later she was nearly naked, rather than wearing
the usual hospital gown, she had on thin black boxers and a sports bra
on. Her eyes snapped around the room, and she frowned. Her vision was …
strange. Too clear. Her eyeballs felt gritty.

Her mouth was dry, but her lips were...they felt springy when she ran
her tongue over them. A tooth she'd lost in her youth was somehow
replaced. She flung the soft white covers off of her body.

She glanced over herself, calming only slightly. None of her goddamned
limbs had been hacked off, at least. That was good. She reached for her
biotics and felt a tingle, but nothing more. Her hands shot to the base
of her neck and found the empty port where her bio-amp would slot in.

She frowned. There was supposed to be a ring of scar tissue around the
port, from the clumsy hack job Doc Bonesy did back on Tenth Street, the
scars the Alliance doctors never bothered to fix when redoing her port.
She was still muddled, and scared – she couldn't feel Liara at all.

She glanced around, but the far door was still shut. The instruments by
her bed, she saw now, were on, but not connected – no wireless data pads
were stuck to her anywhere. She pushed her hair out of her face,
frowning as it seemed longer than she remembered, and slid out of the
bed, getting to her feet. There was a trashcan by the bed, empty.

She blinked and swayed as she stood. She felt...heavy. More balanced,
yet .. weird. She moved her fingers, watching the interplay of muscles
below her skin, and was more confused. Scars were missing, one on her
left ring finger. The ugly ones on her thigh.

She was more confused because the pair of scars on her stomach – one a
gift of Saren, the other an old war wound from Dirth – were still there.
She turned her head, glancing over her shoulder – her ink form the Reds
was still in place, faded and broken up by a narrow slash.

She padded over to the wall sink on the nearest wall, and the lights
around the mirror came on. She stared at herself for long seconds,
turning this way and that.

Most of the scars on her body were gone. Not the ones from battle...just
the reminders of her torture in her childhood. The ugly puckered mark
from Benezia's warp sword was there, but the barely-there ache it always
gave her when she pressed down on it was missing.

Her body didn't feel right. She was always in good shape, but never in
this good of shape. Every muscle on her body stood out in highlight, as
if tensed. Her skin was creamy and flawless, not dry and flaky at the
knees and oily in places. She turned sideways, eyes narrowing.

She was pretty sure her breasts were bigger. What the fuck?

She went to the door, trying the handle, finding it locked. The door
itself wasn't the usual flimsy wooden barrier in most hospitals, this
was a thick slab of metal with no little window, and the door frame
around it was heavily reinforced. She frowned, then glanced back at the
bed. It too was supported with more beams and struts than a normal bed.

The room had no windows, only the bed, the sink, the mirror, a
slide-away door leading to a toilet, a pair of comfortable looking
chairs, and a wall locker. She frowned, and headed to the locker,
opening it with a single tug.

Inside hung a single set of clothing – plain white t-shirt, a pair of
loose, silky black pants, a long sleeved cardigan of some kind, and a
set of hair ties. Thin ankle high black socks and a pair of flats sat at
the bottom of the locker.

On the small shelf above the clothing were four items. Her notebook, a
haptic picture frame, turned off, what looked like an omni-tool
bracelet, and her bonding bracelet.

Memory hit her. The Normandy. She'd been on the Normandy. She remembered
fire, pain, tears – then nothing.

What the fuck had happened?

Given little choice, she did the obvious thing. She got dressed. The
clothing fit her exactly right, and she noticed they were loose enough
not to hug her body. Her notebook seemed fine, although one corner of
the cover was stained with blood. She frowned at that.

She flicked the haptic picture frame on and it displayed an image of
Liara, smiling gently. Shepard swallowed, worried, and cut it off,
slipping into the single pocket on the cardigan sweater, then picked up
the omni-tool and her bonding bracelet.

The omni-tool connected without a hitch as she placed it and her bonding
bracelet on her arms, a cool female voice speaking.

"Sara Shepard, you have obviously awakened. There is a great deal of
information you must be ready to absorb, but we want this to be as easy
for you as possible. This is a recorded message, so please don't try to
reply."

"When you are dressed and feel ready to leave this room – I would
suggest making sure you use the restroom first – walk to the door. The
omni-tool will unlock it. Follow the corridor to the door at the far end
of the hallway – the other doors will only open into empty rooms, but if
you must look, go ahead."

The omni-tool message cut out, and Shepard frowned. This almost felt
like the way the Alliance was treating her after her near break at
Torfan. She wondered if she'd lost her mind at some point. Was this a
mental hospital? How did she get here? What happened to the Normandy,
her crew? Liara?

She sighed. No point standing here like an idiot. She didn't need to use
the restroom, so she walked out the door, tucking her notebook into the
waistband of her pants in the small of her back.

There were two doors on either side of her own, all ajar, and then a
short expanse of walls – bare steel – that curved inwards to meet the
edge of a corridor stretching in front of her. The walls of the corridor
were pierced by heavy armaglass portholes, and she walked forward,
looking out of one.

Bright lights illuminated a seafloor, waving coral and strange
sickle-shaped fish with no eyes moving through the green-tinted water.
She was in some underwater base? Most mental hospitals weren't built
underwater.

"Okay, what in the actual fuck is going on here?"

There was no answer, and she huffed and walked quickly through the
hallway. She heard a rumbling sound, and a heavy metal door slid down
behind her, sealing off the room she'd awoken in, bare blank metal.

Well, that was /creepy/.

"...great. I'm in some nutjob's secret fucking ocean base." She wished
she had a weapon, or her bio-amp, but she remembered Ahern's stern
advice – everything was a weapon, including her own body.

She reached the far door, which slid open, and stepped through it.

The room she was now in, as the door shut behind her and locked, was
strange indeed. It was large, twenty by twenty, and the far wall was a
thick but clear armaglass barrier pierced by a single archway currently
blocked by a kinetic barrier. The floor was more hardwood decking –
expensive shit – and a thick rug of plain black wool in hexagonical
shape sat in the middle of the room, trimmed in burnt orange.

A comfortable leather chair flanked by a small black metallic table sat
in the middle of the rug. A pack of expensive looking cigarettes, an
ashtray, a lighter, a bottle of scotch, and a single crystal cut tumbler
sat on the table. A low shelf below the table surface held a small ,
clear plastic bucket filled with ice.

The armaglass was currently smoked and dark, and the voice sounded from
a speaker implanted in the wall, the same voice as before. "Please, have
a seat. Have a smoke or a drink if that will settle your nerves, Ms.
Shepard. I'll be down very shortly to speak with you."

She gritted her teeth. "Am I a prisoner?"

There was no response. She stewed in her own frustration for nearly a
minute before giving an exasperated sigh and sitting in the chair. It
was extremely comfortable, with leather padding and curved, sturdy
feeling steel armrests.

Another twenty seconds passed, and she finally snatched the pack of
cigarettes, examining it.

They were an expensive Bekenstein brand, one she'd smoked a few times in
her time with the 2 RRU. Someone had studied her pretty well. She lit
one, inhaling deeply, the fragrance of the cigarette crisply moving
through her body.

A few seconds later, she heard a muted thump, and the armaglass began
changing hues, before going suddenly transparent.

The room beyond was a mirror of her own, with a single heavy doorway
leading out. Sitting in a chair to her left was an asari. She wore a
long black gown with a repeating pattern of burnt orange hexagons
diagonally down the bodice, a gray-black shawl with a hexagon pattern to
it, and simple slippers on her feet. She was a darker blue than Liara,
with complicated, almost sinister looking black facial markings, narrow
cruel purple eyes, and thin, curved lips.

Where Liara was elegant and innocent, this asari looked sophisticated
and sensual, but there was a hard edge to her gaze that made Shepard
nervous.

To Shepard's right sat a human woman. She had clear green eyes and a
wide smile, even if her jaw was a touch prominent. Messy red hair
perched atop her head, and she wore a white lab coat over a black
jumpsuit of some kind, with combat boots on her feet. She had a
data-padd in her hands, and looked a bit nervous even with the smile.

Shepard glanced between them. "Okay, where the fuck am I and what the
fuck is going on?"

The asari woman spoke first. "Ms. Shepard, my name is Trellani."

Shepard's eyes widened. She recognized that name, from her time with
Liara. "You're some kind of asari terrorist? The fuck is going on?"

The asari gave her a smile that didn't comfort Shepard in the least.
"That is ... one way to look at my past history, I suppose. Although
that would be about as fair as calling you a genocidal murderer for your
role in destroying the rachni. Those who do not know you should not
judge you. I would ask the same courtesy."

Shepard didn't like her tone, but shrugged. "You aren't with the Asari
Republic, or the Alliance."

The smile widened. "No."

Shepard sat back. "So I'm a prisoner."

The eyes danced with mirth. "No. Well, technically, at least until we've
finished this conversation, you are. But once we're done and you've
spoken with our superior, if you really want to leave, we'll be happy to
let you go. We have no /legal/ rights to detain you."

Shepard narrowed her eyes. The subtle stress on the word legal made her
worried. "Alright. I interrupted you. Go on."

Trellani inclined her head and made a gesture of siari. "As I said, my
name is Trellani. My associate is Doctor Kelly Chambers, a psychologist
and councilor. We are here to attempt to answer the many questions you
have and offer you an opportunity."

Shepard folded her arms. "Is that so? First question – where the fuck
have you put my wife?"

Trellani's eyes flickered with something like pain and pity, and the
human woman licked her lips and spoke, her voice quiet, but with a
sympathetic tone. "Ms. Shepard, I have some bad news for you. Actually,
I have quite a bit of bad news for you."

Shepard felt dread curl into her stomach. "No. No no no. She's not dead.
She can't be dead. I was... I was on the Normandy. I got her away. I
remember that."

She gripped the edge of the chair. "Did they kill her? Why? They were
coming for ME!"

Chambers spread her hands slowly. "Ma'am, what you remember is correct.
The people who attacked your ship left after destroying the Normandy,
and Liara T'Soni escaped unharmed."

Shepard paused, confused and scared and upset. "Wait, what?"

Kelly took a deep breath. "Please, I ask you just to listen. Your ship
was shot down. You were still on it, and you impacted with the planet
Alchera, but your last minute attack on the alien attackers drove them
away. You lost only nine crew members in the attack, all ops techs."

Kelly continued, the green eyes holding hers, not looking away. "Liara
and the rest of your friends returned to Alliance space...but the
Alliance did not recover your body from the wreckage."

Shepard felt as if she was dizzy. "My...body?" She paused. "Wait. I'm
…dead? Am I me? What … am I some kind of clone?"

Trellani spoke, a single sharp word. "No." A pause. "You died. Your
Alliance did not want to risk combat with Aria to recover your body. The
Shadow Broker schemed with certain parties to recover your body and sell
it to the Collectors."

Shepard's mouth trembled.

Trellani continued, her voice cool and hard. "Your corpse was shipped to
Omega. But your bondmate, along with several of your friends and some
assistance from the group we are with, assaulted the station. We
recovered your body, and fled. In the fighting, your bondmate was
killed. Along with Garrus Vakarian, Telanya Nasan, and Beatrice Shields."

Pain washed through Shepard's mind. "I..."

She buried her face in her hands. Liara was dead. She struggled to
comprehend that statement, and her mind just refused to do so. After a
long moment, she exhaled and looked up. "If I died, why am I talking to
you?"

Kelly spoke again. "Our organization revived you."

Shepard's eyes snapped to meet hers. "I was fucking dead! You can't
bring back the dead!"

Trellani nodded. "Yes, I know. I saw you upon arrival. You were
extremely dead. But science marches ever onwards...and it seems even
death hath no dominion over you."

Shepard was speechless. She'd died. She was alive. Liara was dead.
Garrus … Tel. Shields. What in God's name was Bea doing there and why
would she die for her?

Liara. Was dead. She couldn't even figure out how to process that
thought. Shepard's brain fumbled for stability. For something to say.
Emotions she couldn't describe swept through her and she found herself
shaking, biting her lip, as her vision blurred.

She wiped her eyes angrily. "You brought me back. Bring Liara back."

Trellani looked at her sadly. "We cannot. We had your entire body, or at
least most of it. The only thing we could salvage of your bondmate
was...not enough to revive her. I know your pain, child. I have lost a
bondmate, one cruelly murdered. My entire family died, while I was
helpless to stop it. The soul is empty, no fire races through the blood,
and every memory becomes a knife."

Shepard felt the impact of her words somewhere inside. She met the gaze,
the sad knowledge those old eyes held, and felt fresh tears. "I...why in
fuck would you bring me back to … when..."

Kelly Chambers bit her lip again and spoke gently. "Because the Broker
is the one responsible for your death, and the destruction of the
Normandy. And because, if our information and surmises are correct, he
is working for the Reapers."

Something slowly descended on Shepard. It wasn't a thought, or an
emotion. It wasn't a state of mind, it was like a switch flicking on. Or
off. A single, solitary pulse of something so far beyond hatred as to
have no clear name.

She heard her own voice speak, as if from a distance. "The Shadow Broker
destroyed my ship, and killed me. And he was involved in Liara's death?"

Trellani gave a single slow nod, and Shepard trembled with rage.
Burning, searing rage. She gripped the steel arms of the chair – and
then blinked, shocked out of her anger, as they crumpled like cardboard
under her grip, the thick metal warped and buckled.

She lifted her hand to look at it, and found it wasn't even bruised. She
then looked up at the expression on Kelly Chambers face, and took a deep
breath.

"I think you two need to explain a few things to me more clearly."

*O-TWCD-O*

"Let me get this straight." Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. "You
resurrected me using some kind of techno-magic bullshit that I
understood six words of, but you don't know how long it will keep me
alive. You've crammed me full of technology even a goddamned AI of the
Inusannon can't be sure it understands, and I might fucking melt or blow
up or have my fucking eyes fly right out my skull, if my biotics don't
set me on fire. On the plus side, my tits are bigger."

She set her jaw. "The Broker might /possibly/ be /maybe/ working with
Collectors, who might /possibly/ maybe be the scouts or spies or fucking
heralds or some other shit for the Reapers, who haven't made any moves
in the past two years I've been dead. But you aren't sure, and all you
have is a bunch of goddamned hunches."

"Most of my friends are dead, fucked in the head, or disgraced. The man
I look at like my father is in a motherfucking mental hospital, General
von Grath is in exile, the Alliance is being run by a zombie and Terra
fucking Firma, and I've been resurrected by, of all the fucking people
in the galaxy, a kinder gentler Cerberus."

Shepard narrowed her eyes. "On top of everything else, not only did you
pack of fuckups get my wife and one of my best friends and HIS wife
killed, but you also managed to piss off the Council so bad they trust
the fucking Broker's word, when he's the bastard who set me up to get
killed in the first place!"

She exhaled, jaw clenching. "And now you tell me some fucker is outright
stealing humans from colonies, and no one is doing shit about it but
you. Cerberus. The people who thought cutting up aliens was nifty. And
you want me to work with you."

Chambers bit her lip and nodded. "A bit more colorful than my
summary...but yes."

Shepard folded her arms. "Y'know, maybe I'm just a petty and ungrateful
bitch, but what I'm not hearing is the part where I shouldn't go through
this fucking base and execute every single goddamned one of you."

Trellani smiled. "There are three reasons for that. First, it would be
utterly unproductive. We didn't kill you, Shepard. If anything, despite
our unorthodox approach...we have given you an opportunity to avenge
your own death, and that of your loved ones."

Shepard snarled. "They wouldn't be fucking DEAD if you hadn't dragged
them into it!"

Trellani laughed quietly at her."Are you truly that naive? I have not
bonded with you, but in the course of stabilizing your spirit and mind
so that your severance from your wife's bond would not kill you, I saw
deeply into you. The AIS would have killed Liara as soon as they could,
on the off chance she knew anything that you did. The Commissars knew
Aethyta had done a link with her daughter at least once and would have
gone after her too. The main reason the Illusive Man made the offer is
that those orders were already being prepared when we hustled them off
Earth."

Shepard blinked. "You're lying. You have to be. I know the SA isn't all
lights and goodness, but – "

Trellani smiled coldly. "You know full well the Asari Republic would not
be at all displeased if Liara suffered an accident. There were elements
on Earth who found the idea of an asari member of the Lords of Sol
insulting. They tolerated it when it was her married to you, but her
alone? Not something they were prepared to accept." The asari's words
became clipped and hard. "Do you think your friend Jiong could have
stopped them?"

She leaned back. "I will admit that Mr. Vakarian and the clanless girl
might have survived. But we had no other assets to draw on, Shepard. We
sent everyone we did have along for the ride and none of them returned
unscathed, nor did Tali'Zorah."

Shepard's eyes snapped up. "I want to see her."

Kelly nodded., tapping her omni-tool. "And you will. But...please,
listen to the Matriarch."

Trellani smiled again. "The second reason you shouldn't act against us,
and instead work with us, is that no one is doing anything about the
missing colonists. The Alliance does not care, as each loss frightens
those colonies who attempt to remain independent, driving them back
under the Alliance banner. The Council will not act because they believe
the perpetrator is Aria, or perhaps slavers. There is little to no
evidence they will listen to that proves otherwise. Only Cerberus –
which, given they employ me, and Ms. Zorah, should tell you their
stances and opinions on alien life are not what you think they are – is
taking any action. Are you going to simply let this continue while these
helpless people are enslaved, or butchered – or worse?"

Shepard grit her teeth. They had a point.

Trellani folded her arms. "Finally...I have been where you are. I have
suffered and watched my soul bleed and my emotions darken, the small
light I had left in my life eventually fading to nothing but bitter hate
and a need for revenge. In many ways your initial statement about me was
right. I am indeed a terrorist. Why else would I be here, in the arms of
Cerberus?"

She paused. "But you do not have to venture down those dark tides with
no goal. We cannot restore the light of your bondmate to you. But you
can redeem yourself. Act to stem the abuses and horrors of your own
government. Lead the fight against the Reapers, when they come. Help
those of your friends who are still alive, who suffer or are hurt. The
alternative is to throw away all the effort spent on bringing you back
and turn your back on the fate of everyone."

She leaned back. "A failure of monumental proportions."

Shepard flinched. She wanted to sleep, to drink. She wanted to smash her
head against a wall and fall into a boneless pile and cry, and she
couldn't let herself do that.

She understood all too well what was being asked of her. She trusted the
Illusive Man to do what was best for him, and whatever fucked up vision
he had in his head of humanity. This Trellani was clearly damaged and
had seen some things – that didn't mean she was being straight with her
or that what came out of her mouth was the truth.

The Chambers woman seemed the most open, the most empathetic. She didn't
shade what she said, but she looked upset to have to relate it all to
Shepard. Maybe she was just faking – shrinks couldn't be trusted, after all.

It didn't matter. She had no illusions – if she didn't play along,
they'd probably kill her and start over. Anyone who had the money and
tech to bring the dead back to life wouldn't be interested in no for an
answer.

Seconds ticked by, and Shepard licked her lips. They still felt off. Too
soft. Too...perfect. She was always having chapped lips, and now they
would never chap again.

"I need more answers. About what you fucking people did to me. On what
I'd be expected to do. On … what I am going to be asked to do. Where my
friends are." She stiffened. "And I want Tali here. Now. Before I do or
say anything else."

Trellani traded a long glance with Chambers, who shrugged and spoke.
"She's on her way now. Do you want to speak to her privately, or did you
want me to stay?"

Shepard glanced around the room. "You expect me to believe you don't
have cameras and microphones in this room?"

Chambers shook her head. "No, we do. But I do expect you to believe Tali
is good enough to shut them off if you told her to...and that she
certainly would rather follow your instructions than ours in that regard."

Shepard exhaled. "Hah. Then yeah, privacy please."

The two females got up and left, the door shutting behind them. Shepard
lit another cigarette. She didn't trust the drink – and she needed a
clear head anyway, even if her heart was heavy.

She hated her cybernetic eyes. They didn't hurt when she cried, just
kept on working as if nothing was wrong. She tried to clear her head,
wiping her treacherous eyes again, smoking and tapping her feet nervously.

The door opened, and a tall quarian woman stepped through. Shepard
blinked. "Tali?"

The quarian touched a panel on her omni-tool, and the red-tinted
faceplate changed to a transparent version, revealing Tali's alien,
beautiful features. She had aged. Her eyes were wider, brighter, and her
cheekbones shifted.

Her reik was now a dark black with hard red trim and swirling patterns
of dark gray, wrapped in a different fashion around her body. She was
taller, more curvy, and the leather-texture and black metallic bodysuit
she wore looked somehow more sexualized, or just tighter. Heavy boots
with a holster holding some kind of knives on either side dominated her
lower body.

Her arm was cybernetics, heavy myomer muscle in black and silver,
defiantly stamped with, to Shepard's horror, a Cerberus emblem. Tali
finally spoke, her voice hesitant, deeper and more husky than Shepard
remembered, but still hers.

"They really did it. Keelah. Sara..."

Shepard managed a weak smile."You grew up."

Tali gave a small start, and then her hands came together, one hand
wrapping around her other wrist rather than wringing together as she
used to. "I had to. It...it has been an ugly two years. More than two
years. And I couldn't be a kid anymore."

Tali sat down carefully, still leaving her faceplate transparent.
Shepard frowned. "Could you have done that before? With the faceplate?"

Tali shook her head. "It's a … it's something Jeff wanted." She sighed.
"How do you...feel? I mean...oh what a stupid question. Babbling. Are
you … okay? I mean I know you aren't but..." Tali trailed off, eyes
seeking hers, and the worry was clear on her face.

She sighed. "No. I... Wait. Before we talk, I need you to do something.
The Chambers woman said you could shutdown their cameras."

Tali sighed. "Ugh. These people are beyond paranoid. Yes, I can fix that
much." She tapped her omni-tool, and the lights in the room flickered.
"That should block them, for now. They may be able to see us, but they
definitely can't hear us."

She paused. "So. Are you okay or not, Sara? Did they hurt you? I know
you must be … confused. I would be."

Shepard shook her head. "No. I mean yes. Shit. I'm not hurt. I actually
feel fine. It's just everything is so fucking … fucked. I'm...dead. But
not dead. Liara is gone. All I did...everything. Everything is fucked.
It feels like...yesterday. I was on top of the world, joking in the
Normandy cockpit, sipping good coffee. Then fire. Then this."

She looked up. "I'm not making any sense, but nothing is making any
sense to me. My world is ashes right now. And Cerberus..."

Tali nodded. "I can't imagine how you must feel. I'm so sorry, Shepard.
I … I wasn't much help when we went to get you. I got in the way, got my
arm blown off. If they hadn't had to cover me, maybe..."

Shepard held up a hand. "Don't, Tali. There's only one person
responsible for this outrageous bullshit, and it's the fucking Broker.
I'm going to pull his motherfucking spine out through his ass, then
choke him with it. He did this. Not you. Don't beat yourself up."

Tali nodded. "I... well. You're a little late to stop that. I've learned
a lesson from it, a sad and cruel one. But I'm happy you don't hate me."

Shepard sighed. "I don't know what I feel, Tali. I don't hate you.
You're still the person I dragged into this bullshit. But you've
certainly changed. Last time I saw you, you didn't sport that logo on
your shoulder."

Tali's voice dropped a notch, and her hand crossed her chest, tracing
the Cerberus hexagon. "Yes, well. My people have a saying. 'One follows
where one is welcome.' Last time you saw me, my bosh'tet of a father
hadn't tried to kill my husband or throw me in a jail cell for my
choices in life."

Shepard's jaw dropped. "W-what?"

Tali folded her arms. "My father – Admiral Rael'Zorah – was displeased
when we returned to the Flotilla – Jeff and I. The Alliance...threw us
out. Said we were acting in a manner unbecoming to chase your body down
and bring you back. General von Grath tried to cover for us. So did
Jiong. Didn't help. They gave us less than honorable discharges and told
us to get lost."

Shepard snarled, but Tali shrugged. "We had almost no money, and no
where to go. So we went to the Flotilla. I had no choices, and neither
did Jeff. I knew my father would not take us being together well, but I
didn't think he'd..."

She closed her glowing eyes. "He...struck Jeff. Hard enough to … hurt
him. Badly. He was going to kill him, and Admiral Han'Gerrel tried to
stop him. He broke Han'Gerrel's arm and was going to shoot Jeff to death
on the bridge before I shot him first."

Shepard's eyes widened more. "You shot your dad?"

Tali's slender features behind the mask twisted into a smile. "I sure
did. Marines hauled me off, hauled Jeff off. I was tried. For treason.
Assault. Attempted murder. The Flotilla was in an uproar. The trial..."

She trailed off, and clenched a fist. Shepard watched anger and fury mar
the gentle beauty of her friend's face, the eyes burning with hatred,
and then Tali sighed, and closed her eyes. "I was stripped of my rank,
my Family, and exiled. Jeff was beaten, they stole the eezo from his
braces. And they dumped us on the Citadel."

Shepard clenched her own fist, but was careful not to fuck up her chair
any more than she already had. "I knew your dad was a first-class dick,
but this..."

Tali sighed. "I … I don't know. I've had a lot of time to think about
it. He was under a lot of pressure – the first world my people tried to
colonize turned out badly, and he was... not acting like himself. And I
think in his way he loved me, but his love was not the kind of love a
father should have. He couldn't take the idea of losing me, like he lost
my mother. His love was...it was twisted, Sara. Unhealthy. He wanted me
to be safe even if that meant making me miserable, and what kind of love
is that?"

She shrugged, running her hand along her thigh. "And when I told him I
loved Jeff, he just lost it completely. He wanted to tell me who to
marry, who to bear children with. How to live my life. How to think.
I've hung around you too long, I think – my answer to him was 'fuck that
shit.' He didn't take that well."

Despite herself, Shepard found herself smiling. "Good for you, Tali.
What happened after the fucker threw you out? How did you end up with
Cerberus?"

Tali looked at Shepard directly. "The Illusive Man rescued us. Got us
off the Citadel. Cleaned up my … injuries. Replaced my cyberware, got me
a new suit. Got us a clean room, paid for Jeff to have operations,
proper medicine, therapy. Got me what I needed to remake braces. Gave
him a chance to fly, put me in charge of …" She trailed off, and then
smiled wickedly, displaying sharp teeth. "A little surprise for you when
you woke up, eventually. A good surprise."

Shepard leaned back. "So he saved your lives. I guess. Do you trust him?"

Tali immediately shook her head. "The very first thing he tells you when
you work for him is that you shouldn't trust him. You should believe in
him to do what is best for humanity, then those aliens who are not
hostile to humanity's survival. You should believe in him to level with
you and tell you the truth. But he told me – and Jeff – that if it came
down to it, he'd sacrifice us both in a second."

Shepard nodded. "Okay. But he lives up to his word?"

Tali nodded. "Yes. He's a sneaky bosh'tet , but he also rarely if ever
promises anything. And if he does, he always follows through with it –
and not just the letter of what he said, but the spirit of it. He's not
a good man, I don't think. He probably wants to be. He's really, really
good at controlling his body language, but there are times I've seen him
and he is sad. Or upset. Or angry, I think, with himself."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "So he's not just some nut who hates aliens?"

Tali smiled. "The rumor is he's been sleeping with Matriarch Trellani
for years and years. He almost never goes anywhere without her."

Shepard was surprised. The leader of a pack of racist nuts banging an
asari just didn't compute. "Fine. Does he have other aliens working for
him beside you?"

Tali sighed. "There is one other quarian...another exile, Kiala'Raan,
who I brought in. Other than us and Trellani, no. But he's not ..." She
paused. "He sat Jeff and I down one day and explained why Cerberus was
so anti-alien. About some of the things the Salarian Union and the Asari
Republic were doing, and how much they were messing with the Turian
Hierarchy. And he showed me things...Council discussions he'd gotten a
hold of, from centuries back, where the asari wrote my people off on
purpose, hoping we would all get killed! They were going to try and take
over our worlds and steal our technology, after the geth destroyed us."

Shepard sighed. "Shocking."

Tali shrugged. "Jeff doesn't trust him...but that's okay. He thinks Jeff
is funny. And as long as he keep having him test new designs, Jeff is …
pretty happy. We're both happy. I won't say that just because he treats
us well you should trust him. I know I'm ...um, biased?" She smiled
sadly. "And I won't say that everyone in Cerberus is wild about aliens
either. But not a single one of them, even the nasty ones like Minsta,
are really bad people. I think they're frustrated and scared."

Shepard thought about that, then shook her head. "That doesn't excuse
the shit they did."

Tali nodded. "I fully agree. But this Cerberus doesn't do that anymore.
At least, not that I've seen. It's all spying and finances and things
like that. They are keeping a pretty low profile." She shrugged. "And
after some of what the Illusive Man told us and showed us..."

She fingered the insignia again and lifted her chin. "They didn't make
me wear this. I asked for it. Like I said...I'm happy here."

Shepard nodded. At least two of her friends were okay, then.
"That's...that's good, Tali." She exhaled. "Now. Should I listen to him?"

Tali didn't say anything for almost ten seconds before slowly nodding.
"I think, Sara, if he went to all the trouble of bringing you back from
the dead – and the other things he's doing, in hopes you'll work with
him – you can at least listen. He may be treating Jeff and I nice just
to have me feel like you can trust him...but .. I don't know."

The quarian woman folded her arms. "It would be like him to be nice to
us just so you think he's worth trusting, if you get what I'm saying.
But it would also be like the Illusive Man to actually be wanting to
help. I don't know all the details of what went on the past, but … I did
some digging. The Systems Alliance used to be in charge of
Cerberus...and gave him his orders. I think if he's really evil, I'd
have seen it by now."

Tali looked at her. "Whatever you decide, Jeff and I will have your back
either way. When he told us what he was planning, we demanded that. You
needed people to be here when you … woke up, that you could trust. I'm
in this for you – Jeff and I both are."

Shepard smiled. "I get it, Tali. And … thank you." She leaned back,
thinking.

She knew her mind wasn't working right, at the moment. Her emotions were
a mess, she was angry, upset, weepy, and, to her own surprise, more than
a little scared. Death, after all, was supposed to be it.

/Goddamn it, Death, even when you take me to third base you fuck up and
prematurely ejaculate. I'm done with your ass. /

Shepard suspected the Illusive Man didn't employ Tali and Joker out of
the sheer, baby-snuggling goodness of his heart. He wanted them to feel
grateful, and use that gratitude as a way to convince her to listen to
whatever shit he had planned. On the other hand, she couldn't imagine
Jeff and Tali just going along with this nut if he really was some kind
of terrorist tool.

But why bring her back at all? God only knew how much it cost to bring
her back. And yet he'd chosen to do so. So he had some specific, clear
goal in mind for her, and she only had to figure out if she wanted to
listen to it, or see if she could punch through this armaglass wall as
easily as she crushed the chair handle.

Given that it was the fucking Illusive Man, she guessed if she tried to
escape it would fail, but damn it would feel good. She flexed her hand,
wondering what they had done to her, and then looked up at Tali.

"We'll...talk later. Go tell Chambers I have a couple of questions for her."

Tali nodded, blanking her faceplate. "I will. It ...it's good to see you
up, Sara. I know this sounds selfish...but I .. I missed you."

Shepard swallowed and smiled. "Well...I'm here now. We'll see how it all
ends up."

*O-TWCD-O*

It took about ten minutes for Kelly Chambers to return. Shepard paced
the small room, and finally broke down and had a small drink.

It was scotch – Vindrasian, if she remembered correctly. From Terra
Nova. Anderson's favorite. She scowled as she recalled what Chambers and
Trellani had told her in their explanations.

The idea that she had been dead for two years was hard to get around, to
deal with. She didn't feel like she'd died. She remembered the pain, the
burning, the going black. But there was no angelic choir or burning hell
pit. No memories of any kind.

It was basically as if she'd dozed off and woken back up. Except she
wasn't sure what the hell they'd done to her. She wasn't educated enough
to follow some all of Chamber's complex explanations, but she got the gist.

They'd tricked her body into thinking it wasn't dead, stuffed her full
of crap that made her go, then slapped a picture-perfect set of skin
cloned up from her real skin over it. Except it wasn't quite skin.
Something else.

Her body was some freakish thing, and she imagined she could hear gears
grinding away inside her. She knew it was a silly thing, but she felt
that way emotionally. The scary part was that physically she felt fine.
Normal, even. If they'd lied and said she magically survived the crash
and they did some plastic surgery on her, she wouldn't have known the
difference.

Well, except for crushing a solid steel armrest like a tin can. That had
possibilities, both scary and exhilarating, but she was ambivalent about
being turned into some kind of zombie robot thing.

She couldn't really verify or disprove what they'd done to her until she
got away from this pack of lunatics and to a medical facility, but that
raised it's own problems. She was dead. She'd been dead. If she just
showed up in Alliance space, she wouldn't be surprised if they shot her
dead on the spot.

She was trying very hard not to think about Liara, and keep her anger,
frustration and fear going. If she sat down and really thought about all
the ramifications of this, she felt like she would just go mad. She had
to be tactical. Channel Ahern. Be fucking unpredictable.

Anderson was basically locked up in a loony bin. The details, they
didn't know, and maybe it didn't matter. Ash was alive, but on some kind
of classified mission from the Alliance. Humanity's Spectre was now
Delacor, of all the fucking people. He worked solo, his last Spectre
partner had gotten killed by a meteor strike.

She resisted an urge to giggle madly at that. She'd known that fucker
was walking bad luck, and there was the proof.

They weren't sure where Adams was, but Pressly was in a hospital on
Dirth, tended to by his family, suffering from some minor brain damage
and physically crippled. The Alliance had paid for cybernetic
reconstruction but Pressly had declined, deciding he'd had enough of
service. She found that strange, and wondered what the real story was.

Her own status was actually quite interesting. Her Family –
Shepard-T'Soni – still was technical extant, as once a Family was
created it was not usually removed from the Honor Roster. There was talk
in some corners of 'adopting' someone into the name of Shepard (and of
course, dropping the T'Soni part). The small list of weapon designs
she'd given to Mayor Inman had paid off handsomely with the creation of
a small weapons firm called Shepard Memorial Industries, owned – to her
mix of amusement and disgust – by her old weapons officer, Colms.

Chambers didn't know exactly where most of the rest of her people were,
except that none of them had died recently. She told Shepard that Von
Grath had quietly retired away to some outer colony world with Chakwas
of all people, dropping out of the public eye while his father handed
the Family over to a younger brother. President Windsor had been forced
out of office from medical complications, grief and scandal. Turned out
Eliza wasn't his niece, but his daughter from an affair, carefully
smuggled into the family by his brother and raised as his own.

Shepard wasn't surprised that bitch al-Jiliani had broken that story.
Windsor had a breakdown after Eliza died from more complications of her
heavy wounds, and he never recovered physically or mentally. The Coleman
Administration had collapsed when Saracino's girl-rape fetish came up –
the bastard shot himself, but the Commissars burned and beheaded the
corpse anyway.

The new administration had mostly been a compromise, but as time went on
they were more and more isolationist. The new Terra Firma was a lot
slicker, claiming they wanted 'peaceful co-existence' but 'cultural
respect', while quietly sponsoring all kinds of underground terrorist
activity.

The geth war had raged on for more than a year after her death,
culminating in a massive battle barely four months back involving over
five thousand ships. The geth base at a place called Haestrom had been
shattered, and the geth splintered. But the Council losses were heavy
and instead of going into finish them off, the Council had backed away,
licking their wounds.

Goddamned cowards. The turians and humans had led every battle, the
asari claiming they were 'keeping peace' in the outer Rim and along the
borders of the Traverse.

All in all, the galaxy was about the same mess she'd left it in when she
died. She was hardly surprised by that shit.

Chambers finally came back in, carrying a larger data-padd, and sat
down. "I'm sorry for the delay...had to talk to a few people."

Shepard sat back down in her own chair, stubbing out her cigarette.
"Whatever."

The young-looking psychologist smiled. "Ms. Zorah said you had a couple
of questions for me. I hope I can be of service in answering them."

Shepard folded her arms, and crossed her legs. "Yeah. First, when are
you letting me out of here?"

Chambers' expression became more serious. "That depends on you. As we
told you, your physical strength and speed were augmented in your
rebirth. The room is specially designed to contain you in case you get …
well, violent. Not that I think that you will – but we like to take
precautions, especially with such a traumatic set of events as you've
awoken to."

Chambers bit her lip and continued. "To more fully answer your question,
you'll be released as soon as you have a conversation with my boss. The
Illusive Man."

Shepard snorted. "And why in fuck would I want to talk to him? 'Hey,
thanks asshole, for bringing me back to life only to find everything I
worked for is shit and the only person I loved is dead.' Doesn't sound
like his speed."

Chambers sighed. "He has expended a great deal of effort to bring you
back, and all he wants is for you to listen to him and hear him out for
a small amount of time. Once you've done that and made your choices,
you're free to go."

Shepard narrowed her eyes. "Made my choices?"

Kelly nodded. "Shepard, I've been instructed – and I have always advised
– that we are not to lie to you, ever. He's going to ask you to work
with us, to solve the colonist disappearances, to help fight the Reaper
threat. The only two outcomes of that is you work with us, or you don't."

Chambers gave her a worried look. "If you choose not to work with us,
then everyone here will evacuate onto several shuttles. You'll be routed
to a hangar bay with a different shuttle, and you'll leave after our
shuttles FTL away. The shuttle you will be provided has enough fuel –
and speed – to get you to either Alliance space or to the Citadel. What
you do after that point, if you don't want to work with us, is really up
to you."

Shepard shook her head. "You expect me to believe if I say no he's just
going to let me go?"

Chambers shrugged. "What you believe or don't believe is nothing in my
control, Ms. Shepard. I can't say that your suspicion is unreasonable,
but … if we just wanted to dominate you, we could have put some kind of
limbic system override, or control chip, or something in your head. We
could have messed with your memory or something. We didn't. The Illusive
Man wants you as an ally, and that's not going to work if you look us as
hostiles."

Shepard frowned. That still sounded crazy, to spend God knew how much on
someone who could flip you off and throw up deuces. "And if I chose to
work with you ...people?"

Chambers gave her a smile. "Then the discussion would be on what demands
you had to agree to such a thing."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "Demands?"

Chambers laughed. "I told him that you were unlikely to trust Cerberus –
nor did the fact we brought you back to life win us any points in your
head. I know he has plans for you, ideas – but he's also prepared to
meet whatever requirements you have to feel like you can actually work
with us." Her voice quieted a little. "Not like the Alliance or Citadel
would welcome you back with open arms."

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yeah, I thought about that."

Chambers made a motion with her hands."But we're not going to force you
to work for us, that isn't our style. We can't just bark orders at you
and expect you to fall in line, or throw you into space with a ship and
a bug net and tell you to stop the Collectors."

Shepard found herself trying not to smile at the phrasing Chambers used.
"Fine. And once I've talked to him, you let me out of this fancy cage,
what's to stop me from killing you all?"

Chambers eyes met hers. Shepard was impressed to see despite more than a
flicker of fear, there was also pity and determination there. "Nothing.
No one involved in your resurrection is innocent, Shepard. We've done
things that I'm sure you might see as criminal. We can't stop you from
leaving without alienating you, and if you choose to try and deceive us
and kill the people here, we'll fight – but probably lose. Even with no
biotics and no weapons, what we've done to you is enough you could kill
most of us bare handed."

Chambers exhaled. "But the numbers we've run, Ms. Shepard, tell us that
you're the best shot we have at stopping the Collectors, at stopping the
Reapers, at stopping the Broker. We can't get the Alliance to listen. We
can't get the Council to listen. The Broker is convincing everyone the
Reaper threat is far in the future. If you don't help, we'll be dead
when the Reapers hit us anyway."

Chambers leaned back. "And personally? God, what kind of repressed and
ungrateful bitch are you to kill people who brought you back from the
dead without even hearing them out? Toss all the death threats you want,
Ms. Shepard. Killing US won't bring your wife back, or Mr. Vakarian, or
Ms. Nasan."

Shepard gritted her teeth. "You've got nerve."

Chambers shrugged. "Yeah, well. You're don't like listening to bullshit,
so why give it to you?"

*O-TWCD-O*

The Illusive Man, Trellani and Miranda watched from another room as
Chambers fenced words with Shepard.

"She really is good at this, Jack." Trellani's voice was rich with
amusement, and he nodded.

"It helps when you have a complete psychological profile on who you're
dealing with, and the manifests from the gray-box Even so, Shepard isn't
a simple woman to understand, and Chambers has to punch her buttons and
then deflect her anger."

He inhaled on his cigarette, as the two women began shouting at each
other, and then smiled widely as Shepard punched the armaglass barrier.
A faint spiderweb of cracks was the only effect.

Miranda looked alarmed. "I don't think this is the method we should be
using...antagonizing Shepard -"

Harper shook his head. "She's not antagonizing Shepard, Miranda. She's
letting her blow off anger, while carefully steering the conversation.
Shepard has always been someone who can become very angry very fast, and
has worked hard to control that. Chambers is merely draining it away."

He put out his cigarette. "I'd better get ready. You'll see, Miranda.
This is going better than I expected." He paused. "Still, make sure the
secondary kinetic barrier is in place. I would hate to be killed by my
own handiwork."

*O-TWCD-O*

"That doesn't fucking justify the shit your people did in the past!"

Chambers rolled her eyes. "You know what? Fuck you. You want to claim
you're so righteous, fine with me. But don't sit here and defend that
pack of assholes running the Alliance. Cerberus isn't the ones creating
monster humans, deliberately getting our own people killed, or selling
Marines up the river. The things we did bad in the past are in the past."

Shepard glared. "So that means I should just cooperate with your pack of
lunatics? Sing campfire songs, pretend all is fucking well? You could
have been involved with the shit we found in your base for all I know,
and now you want me to trust you assholes?"

Chambers folded her arms. "You don't know shit about me, Shepard. You
don't know shit about anything. You did what you were told and had your
eyes closed most of your life. And even when you had them opened for you
– by information WE gave Kyle – you kept letting the Alliance lead you
around by the nose."

She stood. "And now that we brought you back, you blame us for the fact
that your life is a wreck. It's not our fault. We're doing what we can
to fix it."

Shepard trembled, then looked away. Chamber's voice finally softened. "I
understand your anger and frustration. Being told the only way to make
things better is to trust a group with the past Cerberus has is probably
not easy. I won't lie. I won't tell you that we are suddenly in love
with aliens. But we're not in this just to protect humanity at this
point. If the Reapers show up, everyone dies."

Shepard glared at her. "I think I know that a little better than you do.
I have a goddamned movie in my head of it happening to the Protheans."

Chambers sighed and nodded. "I know. That's why you have to work with us
– even if you don't like the idea. It won't turn you into a criminal. If
we do something you find objectionable, then I know we'll end up paying
for it."

The door on Chamber's half of the room chimed.

Shepard glanced up, and Chambers frowned. "One moment, please."

She went through the door, and Shepard turned to face the door, folding
her arms, placing her weight on one leg and frowning.

A moment later, a familiar face walked through the door, a glass of
brandy in one hand, lit cigarette in the other. He sat down on one of
the chairs, setting his drink down on the small table, and then looked
at her, the blue circles in his eyes glowing faintly.

"Hello, Shepard."

She forced down her anger, glaring. "So, you finally showed up. Your
goddamned shrink pissed me the hell off."

Jack Harper nodded. "She does that, from time to time. She's very
passionate about her work, and I think you upset her. She admires you
greatly, but sometimes she is not very willing to examine her own biases."

He puffed on his cigarette. "But that's not important. It's time you and
I had a face to face talk."

She gestured to the armaglass. "Yeah, with me sealed in this cell."

Harper took a deep breath, then touched his omni-tool. The kinetic
barrier in the archway separating the two halves of the room shut off.
"Bring the ashtray with you, please."

For two long seconds, Shepard contemplated crossing into the room and
smashing her fist into the face of Jack Harper. She could feel her body
responding. She knew she could probably move fast enough to do it before
any kind of defenses could stop her.

He was testing her. The thought made her angrier for a moment, and then
she forced it down. She picked up the ashtray and her own cigarettes,
and walked through the archway.

She walked up to him, staring down as he sat in the chair, then with a
grimace sat down herself, placing the ashtray on the table.

He smiled, and licked his lips. "Thank you. For not crushing my
face...and the ashtray."

She stared at him. "You are the most insane sonofabitch I've ever seen."

His smile became almost a smirk. "I have a bad habit of gambling. I
rarely do so with my own life, but there are times exceptions must be
made, in order to make a point. This is one such time."

He dumped his ashes. "We don't have a control chip or any other method
of stopping you. Right now, you can decide we need to go our separate
ways. That isn't a trick. I need you either committed to working with
me, or this entire endeavor has been pointless."

She narrowed her eyes. "Then why not just fuck with my head? Edit my
memories?"

Harper sighed. "We will not be able to keep your existence a secret
forever. At some point, you will be interacting with the Alliance, with
the Council. They will interrogate you, examine you. You have to be able
to have the free will to pass that, and the only way you can do so is by
us not tampering with who you are."

He sipped his drink. "I don't need an obedient minion. I have enough of
those. Nor do I need someone who is forced into servitude, who hates me
and has no choices. That always ends up backfiring. What I need is an
advocate. An ally, who will eventually bring more to the table than I
put into it."

Shepard folded her arms. "And just how much did you put into it?
Bringing me back?"

He met her gaze. "The cost of bringing you back alone came to six
billion, four hundred million, seven thousand ninety two credits. It
also cost us three suicides and two people going quietly insane, and
another billion and a half in related costs."

The numbers washed over her. "That's … you could have created an entire
fleet and army for what it cost to bring me back!"

He nodded. "Perhaps. Of course, building such and keeping it hidden
would be very difficult. We have no association with the Systems
Alliance, and thus can't hide in the open. And the truth of the matter
is that a pure military force of that nature would be of no use to me. I
have a target and no way to hit them, I have enemies and no locations to
attack. What I need is not force, but information."

She frowned. "I'm not a spy, either."

He sat his drink on the table and adjusted his position in his chair. "A
fact I'm well aware of. But you are tenacious and you can put together
facts when you hunt down a target. You brought down Saren and Benezia,
with remarkably little help from much of anyone, after all."

He took a drag on his cigarette. "Most importantly, Shepard, you are a
symbol. You can't be corrupted or bribed. You won't tolerate criminality
or injustice. An army of goons is merely the extended hand of their
master. You working with me implies that Cerberus' goals are benign."

Shepard snorted. "You haven't convinced me of doing that, not even
close. I'm glad you saved Joker and Tali, and I'll admit the things the
Alliance and Council are doing sound pretty fucking stupid. But you must
have your own badasses who could have checked into this Collector
bullshit Trellani is telling me about."

Harper's smile was smaller. "I do, after a fashion. But they lack some
of your skills. I have a skilled general. I have men who can
assassinate, or assault. I have intelligence agents, psychological
warfare specialists, and money to throw at problems. What I don't have
is a leader who can bring these pieces together."

He pointed at her. "You are unique, Shepard. Not only for what you
accomplished and represent, but what you have experienced. You faced and
spoke with a Reaper, and defeated its plans. The fact the Broker had you
killed tells me they fear you."

He leaned back. "And I will admit there are things you offer that I
don't have. Once you bring down the Broker and the Collectors, and the
Alliance and Council have no choice but to wake up and face reality,
then your Spectre status and your nobility will be useful once more.
Your heroism in stopping Saren, in stopping Balak, in defending
humanity, has not been forgotten."

She pulled a grimace. "That's worth billions of credits?"

The Illusive Man shrugged. "I have more available. But I'll admit, the
primary value you have is that you are unexpected. No one can imagine
you have returned from the dead. You can operate with the knowledge and
skills you have and the Broker can't prepare for it. His plans – and
those of who he is working for – are predicated on you being dead. The
value of shock and surprise will give us an advantage as well."

She narrowed her eyes. "You'll pardon me if that still seems a stretch.
Two years and billions of credits, and yet you don't even know if I'll
say yes or no? That's a hell of a gamble."

He chuckled. "I don't think you'll turn me down once you actually hear
my offer, Shepard."

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 3: Arc I : Hatred*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

/*A/N*:
/

/My new favorite quote, courtesy of *MonkeyEpoxy* at the DLP Forums,
that somehow I missed earlier:
/

/"God, I *hate* the Alliance. Long live Cerberus. But at the same time,
*fuck* Cerberus." /

/That alone lifted my spirits today, which I needed. I'll admit this
chapter was ... ugly to write. It was venting, in some ways. Some of it
is based on my own experiences. Most of us don't have bionic bones when
we punch a wall and end up fucking our right hand up for the rest of our
lives. /

/I don't want to dwell too much on this. For lots of reasons. Enough so
that the point gets across, not so much to where it becomes repetitive.
But it is repetitive, in your soul. It's always there. /

/Reviews are always welcome.
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'You want me to beg, Aria? Fine. *spits in face* I beg your pardon'
/

/- Aethyta to Aria, Omega
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shepard leaned back in the chair, thinking, eyes watching the man
sitting across from her carefully.

She knew she was face to face with probably one of the most dangerous
human beings in the universe. Not in a physical sense – even before
they'd turned her into the fucking bionic woman, she could have killed
Harper with her bare hands in any of a dozen ways.

No, she had enough sense to realize he was dangerous because of his
mind, and his ability to convince people. That's why he was risking his
own neck to meet her face to face, to dismiss the barrier between them.
Because he knew full well she would respect that risk.

It hit her that they had all the time in the world to figure her out.
Decide exactly how to play her. She had to stay cool, despite the fact
she felt like a wrung out dishrag, or the bastard would no doubt hustle
her like he'd hustled her friends into chasing her body.

She blanked her features. Somehow that was easier now. Maybe because her
face was fucking fake, or maybe because her heart was a hollow, cored
out wreck. She could cry later. She could grieve later. Right now, she
had to decide what the hell to do.

"Alright, convince me. But I'm only going to say this once, /Jack/. I
don't like being played or lied to. I've had enough people try to use me
for their own ends. I'm done with that shit."

Harper, for his part, merely leaned back in his own seat. "If you say
so, Shepard. I have no intention – or need – to lie to you. And while I
don't plan to manipulate you, I do plan to use you. When I say I need
your help, that doesn't equate to an equal partnership. I have my
strengths and weaknesses. So do you. Yours, right now, are more severe
than mine."

She folded her arms. "That's not a real reassuring opening."

He lifted his cigarette to his lips, drawing on it before waving his
free hand. "Chambers says you dislike elaborate talk, and prefer people
to be direct. So I am going to indulge you in that regard. First, I will
explain why the Alliance and the Council can't help you. Then, why
Cerberus can. And finally, I'm going to show you why you will want our
help."

She gave a small exhalation. "I'm listening."

He leaned forward. "The Alliance is involved in a number of troubling
projects, Shepard. Before her death, Lady Liara informed one of my
lieutenants that you had somehow learned about the NOVENSILES project."

Shepard gave a sharp inhalation, then nodded. "Kyle left me details
about it." She winced. "Shit. Those were on the omni-tool of my suit."

Harper nodded sadly. "I know. When they recovered the Normandy, David
Anderson demanded to be a part of the recovery team. He found the
remains of your armor and helmet in the ruins, and we believe the reason
he had a mental collapse is due to what he found on said omni-tool. We
know the AIS committed him and seized the omni-tool."

She sighed, and he continued."After, Commissars raided your home on
Intei'sai, your offices, and interrogated several other people. There
were no arrests – from what I gathered, Anderson deleted whatever he
found, and interrogation did not seem to bring out any additional
details. Sources I have within the AIS suggest that they were able to
recover only bits of data – enough to let them know you knew about
things you weren't cleared for."

She nodded. "Yeah. I was surprised your group didn't play a role in that
shit."

He grimaced. "I find the goals of NOVENSILES understandable in the
abstract, but ultimately self-defeating in execution. Humanity can stand
upon its own feet without distorting itself with a mishmash of stolen
genetics and sickening experiments. What would be left of us after
NOVENSILES would no longer be human. But even if that had value, the
concept of enslaving the minds of humanity to handful of nobles and
business men strikes me as the worst sort of tyranny possible."

He sipped his drink. "I did not create Cerberus to subjugate the human
spirit, but to protect it. I won't shy away from extreme methods to do
that, but I draw the line at turning us into monsters in the name of
survival. And once we did it, the people behind it seem to think it
would be accepted as a done deal. I disagree. I think the asari and
salarians would do to us what they did to the rachni, or the krogan."

Shepard nodded slowly, and he continued. "Unfortunately, NOVENSILES is
not the worst thing the people in power are up to, Shepard."

She looked up in shock, pushing her hair out of her face. "Are you
fucking shitting me? What in fuck could be worse than that?"

His voice was sardonic. "Do you really want to know?"

She paused. Did she? Didn't she have enough bullshit on her plate
already? She pushed that thought aside. "Yeah, I do."

He nodded. "I discovered almost eight months ago that – and I do not
know how – Richard Williams survived the carefully choreographed
destruction I crafted in having you take out the Cerberus HQ. He altered
his size slightly, and his face, hair, and eyes are different – but one
cannot conceal certain things done to his body, and he is now passing as
Richard Manswell."

He paused. "We lost six deep cover operatives obtaining a single image
of what Richard was studying in a secured location deep in the Black
Zone, and came up with this." He tapped his omni-tool, and a grainy 2-D
image flashed up, of an ominous black pyramid with sloping, organic
sides and hard, jagged lines of baleful red running down its length.
Strange shapes like runes or letters decorated the base.

Shepard had seen these before – on Noveria, at Virmire. She'd seen the
script in the images Garrus sent of the slaver marks on the Tho'ian
thralls. "...that's a Reaper artifact."

He nodded grimly. "And the fool is studying it. It looks like they
attempted precautions against indoctrination at some point, and for some
time, but these have begun to fall by the wayside. Vigil is convinced
that at the very least Williams is most likely indoctrinated by this
point – and we have no idea if the rest of Earth's upper nobility may be
exposed."

He exhaled. "Since there is a test to detect indoctrinated personnel, we
do know Alliance High Command – and the President – are both not
indoctrinated. Nor are several other high ranking nobles who have
visited the Citadel in recent months. But it is a very disturbing find,
and makes any attempt to trust the Alliance … doubtful."

Shepard thought about this for a long moment. "I don't see why. Just
notify high command. Hell, send the image anomalously. You're a sneaky
bastard, you could figure out all kinds of ways to let them know."

He smiled. "I could. But think of what you are suggesting. No one
outside of a handful of the highest ranking leaders and military
commanders of each Citadel race know about the Reapers. Sending it to
the media will only result in it being dismissed as a crank. Sending it
to the Citadel will make the asari and salarians suspect the Alliance is
hiding Reaper technology from them. They might even see humanity as a
threat."

He puffed on his cigarette, then scrubbed it out. "I also am not in
possession of any hard proof that even Williams, much less anyone else,
is indoctrinated. Hurling accusations at the High Lords of Sol will only
make them lock down harder than they already are, and I can't exactly
produce Vigil to back up what I'm saying. I've carefully sent a few
messages to some Alliance people I trust – but all they can do is keep
an eye out."

He shifted in his chair. "Bottom line, however, is that the Alliance –
and the people really in charge – know you are aware of NOVENSILES. They
may or may not be indoctrinated. Most importantly, no one knows you have
been brought back to life, and any investigation into your body will
reveal certain … techniques used. Techniques that will let them know
that Cerberus was involved in your resurrection, even if you don't tell
them that. Taken together, there's a ninety-seven percent chance if you
go back to them empty-handed, they'll kill you and this time make very
sure you are dead."

She exhaled. "And that changes if I join up with Team Torture and the
rest of your goons how?"

He gave her a mirthless, thin smile. "Because you will have a chance to
contact them before you are in their power, armed with blackmail that
will be openly transmitted to the Council if you suddenly die in their
custody. Because, if our partnership works, you'll have evidence to show
the Broker killed you. That the Broker was involved, I suspect, in the
assassination attempt on Windsor. Most of all, that the Broker is lying
about the Reaper threat and is in league with them."

He smiled a bit wider. "NOVENSILES has no value if aliens know about it.
The people behind it know that. They will abandon the project – right
now, it hasn't even gotten off the ground, with only two prototype
templates made, both … somewhat flawed in execution. I'm sure they'll
come up with something else appalling, but that gives you time – us time
– to remove the people who aren't acting in humanity's best interest and
replace them."

She frowned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She had to admit, that
made a lot of sense. Not that she really trusted the Alliance anyway –
having both Dragunov and Hazred basically admit to horrible shit and the
intent to go right on doing horrible shit had broken a lot of her
beliefs, and what she'd learned from Kyle's data had driven the point
home. She'd just been too busy and distracted to face it.

"Fine. Fuck. What about the Council, then? I know their goddamned
default answer to anything is no, followed by how I fucked something up,
but I would think they would at least listen."

He sighed. "Perhaps they would. In the time you were being rebuilt,
however, the galactic situation has changed. The quarians are now
integrated into galactic society, and it has shifted the balance of
power. The turian economy has stuttered, and in yet another example of
how the asari-salarian bickering always has unintended fallout, this has
kicked off a recession still being recovered from. The power blocks are
now humans and quarians against the asari and salarians, and the turians
are the wild card."

He finished his drink. "But that is not in our favor, sadly. Sparatus is
the only Council member still pushing in any way to prepare now rather
than later for the Reapers. He has become something of an outcast in
Council votes because of it. The quarians want the geth exterminated,
more colony worlds, and more market opportunities, while the salarians
want the quarian fleet reduced to prevent them from flooding salarian
markets, and so are undercutting quarian exports with inferior but
cheaper goods. The asari are dealing with all-out cultural revolution,
as another ten million asari fled the Republic to join the Alliance, and
since then immigration has been heavily restricted, so much so that some
asari are actually fleeing to join Aria."

He folded his arms. "The turians are distracted by … various uprisings.
More than one. They're on the brink of another unification war, and
Fedorian is losing the confidence of most of the turian people. The
volus have begun buying up clans of vorcha from the krogan, breeding
them and using them as a military force, to bolster their own bid for a
council seat, even while they economically sabotage the elcor and their
own bid for such."

Shepard stared at him. "...so, since I died, everyone in the fucking
galaxy has become a goddamned idiot. Great."

He coughed, the sound one of mirth. "That is a fair way to put it,
Shepard. In short, the Broker has convinced them the Reaper threat is
now more than a century away. He has built some kind of massive
detection array in the Shrike Abyssal, and the data from it would seem
to indicate the Reapers are … hibernating. They've identified a mass of
them - over a hundred and fifty at last count – but they are barely
emitting any power."

Shepard frowned. "There's more of them than that. The vision – "

He nodded. "Vigil confirmed that. He won't give me the exact
numbers...but he told me the Inusannon were active in more than one
galaxy, and they personally confirmed the Reapers were as well. There
are at least a thousand of them. Possibly... far more. Whatever game the
Broker is playing, he's playing it well enough that no evidence I have
can counter it. And as a result...the Council has long range plans for a
military buildup, but it has slowed due to the economy."

He pulled out a fresh cigarette and lit it. "Right now, they're passing
around various military spending bills to spur investment, but it isn't
a coordinated effort. And not much of the technology gleaned from the
Reaper, like self-healing metals, MHG weapons, or Reaper-based computer
systems, has not entered even prototyping, much less general use."

Shepard closed her eyes. "Why the fuck did I nearly get killed showing
them the fucking truth if they're going to ignore it?"

The Illusive Man sighed. "From what I saw, they were moving as rapidly
as they could until the Broker started feeding them information saying
the danger was a distant threat. I think, Shepard, that they listened.
But once given evidence that the danger was not coming tomorrow...they
acted like politicians are inclined to do."

He puffed at the cigarette. "I've made various attempts, using proxies,
to change their viewpoints. I have not yet been successful. And given
the cachet my organization acquired before I liberated it from the
Alliance's control, I very strongly doubt they're going to listen to me."

He dumped his ashes, turning the edge of the fire on his cigarette
around the rim of the ashtray idly. "I also have my doubts how much they
would listen to you right now. The same problems with you running to the
Alliance, given the source of your resurrection, apply to the Council as
well. But more importantly, you can't go to them as a supplicant."

He smiled. "If you work with us, and we can prove the Broker was lying
to them, it will raise your value – and the warnings you will present to
them – to a new value. Once again, they will owe you a debt. Most
importantly, Shepard, vindicating Sparatus may win you a staunch ally
who doesn't play the backstabbing games of Tevos and Valern. They could
always, after all, make up some kind of story about your death being
fake. The Alliance would have little choice but to play along. Which
would allow you, if we play our cards right, to give you back … some
semblance of your former life."

The words rang hollow, and she exhaled. "Yeah. The part I don't want
back." She bit her lip. She wouldn't let herself start crying again in
front of this asshole. She angrily rubbed her eyes, and then compressed
her lips into a thin line. "Let's say you've convinced me that running
to either one of them is a bad idea. That doesn't mean I want to join you."

Harper nodded. "I can understand your hesitance. To you, Cerberus is a
collection of monsters. And as you told me long ago, the fact that I was
involved in Cerberus, and didn't stop their excesses, makes me , in your
view, the worst kind of criminal."

She smiled thinly. "You seemed pretty confident I wouldn't get a chance
to put a bullet in you at the time."

He nodded, and folded his hands in his lap. "And here I am. Nothing
between me and you except cigarette smoke. You know at least some of
what we've done in bringing you back. You could kill me right now."

She narrowed her eyes. "I doubt it. Either you have some sneaky way to
stop it, or I wouldn't survive doing so."

He gave her a thin smile. "I'm sitting here – which, I assure you, is
not without a certain level of trepidation – with no defenses, as I
said, to make a point. I don't disavow what Cerberus did. It wasn't my
idea, or by my instigation. I tried, where I could, to rein in some of
the worst of it."

He stared at her. "I won't lie to your face and say I'm innocent,
Shepard. I began Cerberus not as a terrorist organization, but a way to
defend humanity. Our original goals, which we have now returned to, were
to protect against economic sabotage, infiltration, and subversion of
our government and intelligence systems."

He sighed. "Along the line I had to make … ugly calls. Decisions that
got people killed. Decisions that ruined lives. And I became so good at
doing so that the AIS wanted me to work for them directly. When I
objected, my organization was … subverted, and I was put under the
supervision of Rachel Florez and Richard Williams."

He held her gaze. "If I had refused to go along with what they wanted,
they would have disposed of me. Dying in the name of righteousness never
appealed to me."

She sneered. "So you just let them go along with their little butchering
spree, and your hands were clean?"

He shook his head. "My hands aren't clean. Cerberus was /my/
organization, my design. Even if it was taken in a direction I hated, I
still was responsible. I could have fled later, with cash and hidden
away from the galaxy. I chose instead to clean up my mess. My plan saved
your life, there on Edolus. It allowed you to bring Rachel to justice."

Shepard looked away. "It almost got Liara killed. It almost got me killed."

His voice was cool. "And at the time, that was an acceptable price to pay."

She almost did it. She felt her fist curl. "Harper, the next time you
call Liara a 'price' you're going to need some really good
reconstructive surgery." She opened her eyes, glaring at him, and he
didn't flinch.

"You said you wanted the truth, with no bullshit. You wanted no
manipulation. So I am doing what you asked. I didn't say it would be
something I wanted to do, but Florez and Williams were a danger to
humanity at that point, and in my opinion Williams still is one. If the
plan had failed, I was very willing to sacrifice myself if need be to
bring them down."

She exhaled. "Fine. It's good you at least have enough of a fucking
spine to take responsibility for that unbelievable bullshit we saw in
those bases. How the fuck do you sleep at night?"

He gave her a smile that while wry, almost looked tired. "With sleeping
pills and more Wild Turkey than my doctor feels is safe. I'm on my
second liver. That isn't the real thing you want to ask. You want to
know how you can trust someone like me, who could stand by for even a
second as those events happened?"

He folded his arms. "Bluntly, I had a choice. Me protesting and dying
would have left those two free to continue what they were up to. Going
along with it gave me a chance to stop it. I regret it happened.
Cerberus was never about experimenting on humans, or killing aliens
merely for being alien. I don't trust the Council of Matriarchs, or the
SIX, or the Unbroken Circle. That doesn't mean I hate asari or
salarians. I will freely admit I'm not fond of turians, as Saren
Arterius and his brother killed my best friends, my pregnant fiance, and
the woman who I looked at like a mother – simply because they could."

She swallowed, watching rage flicker ever so briefly across his eyes and
then fade. She knew that feeling now. She knew it well. For the merest
split second, she could understand.

If she could get her hands on who killed Liara, would she stop at
anything to kill the fucker? She didn't think so. She would like to
imagine she wouldn't hurt the innocent or weak...but she didn't know.

Rather than speak, she merely shook her head.

His voice was cold and bleak. "You're not alone in losing everything
that matters, Shepard. And as time goes on, it becomes much easier to
simply not care."

She laughed weakly. "I tried that before Liara. It's a pretty empty,
stupid way to live."

He shrugged. "And sometimes it is all that allows one to function. I
have burdens on my shoulders that I have to discharge before I can
grieve. And so do you."

Her nostrils flared as she looked back up. "I don't owe anybody shit.
Especially not you, motherfucker."

He made a motion with his hand. "No, you certainly don't. Some of my
people thought you would be grateful for being resurrected, but they
don't know what it's like to lose everything. There are many days death
would be almost refreshing for me. But that was not what I meant by my
words. You don't owe me. You owe the person who murdered your wife."

She trembled. "...yeah. Oh, fuck yeah. I owe him, alright. The Broker."

Harper paused, then shifted in the chair again. "Before I go into more
detail about that, I said I'd explain why you should work with us. Are
you willing, for the moment, to accept that the Alliance is not a viable
choice, nor the Council?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. I'm not willing to say you guys are worth
trusting. The shit Saren did to you is bad. It's not an excuse for going
full fucking Ardiente on a bunch of helpless aliens. Maybe you're right
about staying alive to stop them down the line, but I don't have any
proof that's how it all went down. For all I know, you were cool with it
until they did something to piss you off, and double crossed them out of
pique."

She smiled sadly a moment later. Until she'd done some studying, at
Liara's and Jiong's prodding, she'd not even known what the word pique
meant. She felt another bolt of pain in her mind and just concentrated
on staring at Harper.

He shrugged. "And yet you haven't killed me. I think, Shepard, you don't
trust me – but you understand, instinctively, that you need me anyway.
And in return, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust."

He exhaled slowly. "The Alliance, until the latter part of your career,
did not support you – and even then, the support you got was solely due
to President Windsor blatantly smothering you with duties and rewards to
both bind you to him as some kind of personal agent, and soothe your
resentment of the Systems Alliance. You were not given the tools you
needed to be effective, and you were never given the big picture. The
Council was even worse – none of the vast resources of the Spectre
offices were truly put at your disposal, such as Final Line soldiers,
STG cells, or Council ships and funds."

She couldn't deny any of that, so just listened.

"I, on the other hand, am willing to give you not only whatever you
require, but ensure you have more than enough information, discretion
and authority to get the job done. I offer an entire financial network,
capable of not only providing nearly limitless funding, but all manner
of weapons, armor, vehicles, supplies, and technical equipment. I offer
a large number of Alliance veterans – all people with absolutely no
previous connections to Cerberus, and the access to verify that for
yourself – to support your operations."

He continued, smiling as he did so. "I will give you a complete team of
scientists and doctors to monitor your condition – some of the most
talented specialists in the Alliance. You will have expert intelligence
advice, strategic and tactical information from a very familiar general,
and unlimited authority when it comes time to use and distribute these
resources."

"The Alliance gave you one small ship, then a small number of ships. I
will give you a fleet – complete with skilled, experienced commanders –
and a flagship unmatched in the annals of history. I will give you
soldiers and specialists who you have the final say in equipping and
deploying. I will give you carte blance to craft your own approaches to
problems, and while I reserve the right to put in my opinions and
suggestions, once you decide on how to go after an objective, that is
the way it will be done."

"I will give you a base of operations to strike out from, one where the
people aboard – with a single exception – will answer to you, not me.
If, at any point, you decide you can't or won't work with me, then the
resources I hand over to you will be yours – they are not part of Cerberus."

"You will have unlimited access to my most powerful weapon –
information. I once boasted to you that I'm the best information broker
in the galaxy after the Shadow Broker himself. I maintain that has
unchanged, and my network has widened. You will have the big picture
view you need to make the choices that I put into your hands, with no
vetting, no hidden agendas."

He folded his arms. "Most importantly, Shepard – I am confident I can
give you a chance to not only take down the Broker but bring you the
person directly responsible for the murder of Liara T'Soni, Garrus
Vakarian, Aethyta Vasir, and Telanya Nasan."

She gritted her teeth. "And the price?"

He held out a single hand. "That you work with me, Shepard. That you
help me stop the Collectors from taking any more humans. That you help
me fight the Broker, to unveil his lies. That you aid me in finding a
way to expose the threat of the Reapers, before it is too late. And
ultimately, that you help me bring to justice the people who are going
to eventually bring the Alliance to harm."

She stared at his outstretched hand. "If you lie to me, or double cross
me even once – no matter why, no matter the justification – I am going
to kill you. Are we clear?"

He nodded, and she shook her head. "Jesus fuck, I must be crazy." She
shook his hand, and he smiled widely and stood.

"In that case, I have the first part of your payment ready. The person
who killed your friends and wife was Tetrimus Rakora, the Hand of the
Broker." He exhaled. "There is a video. Of him doing it. If you require
proof."

She quailed inside, even as for some reason she stood. "God...I don't
want to look at that." She glanced down. "But show me anyway."

*O-TWCD-O*

Shepard had a name for her hate now. Tetrimus.

She paused the armor-cam video, wiping her eyes angrily with her sleeve,
and exhaled shakily.

She glanced around the room she was in as she tried for what felt like
the hundredth time to pull her shit together. Like everything else in
the small base, it was clean, modern, utilitarian and soulless. The room
was maybe fifteen by fifteen, with a comfortable bed, a small bathroom,
a comfy chair in front of the data terminal and haptic screen, a wide
armaglass window looking out onto the seafloor, lit by lights from
somewhere above.

The room was comfortable and quiet. After she'd agreed to work with
Harper, he'd lead her out of the room, into another, wider corridor
lined with underwater windows. He'd walked her personally to this very
room, and told her the video was on the data terminal at the small desk
inside.

He said someone would be by to talk to her later, and said she probably
needed to rest and think about what they discussed. She'd agreed to that
much. And had sat, and watched. Watched as her brave friends and the
Cerberus people had fought so hard for her – bringing down that giant
salarian, dozens of lethal looking Broker soldiers.

Watched them defeat P., who had caused this mess in the first place by
looting her body like some kind of fucking relic.

Watched their relief when they though they had won. Their shock when the
black-cloaked figure appeared.

She watched them fight, watched them lose, and watched them die.

Watched her wife die.

Watched her friends die.

Watched them be killed by a laughing, mocking Tetrimus, as he literally
killed them the way she used to go through slavers. The only one who
even /wounded /Tetrimus at all was Aethyta, and she was probably crushed
to paste doing it.

She'd broken down crying, over and over, what felt like a dozen times.
And she watched to the end, and again.

She'd watched the video of her friends dying three times and didn't know
why she'd asked to see it in the first place. The look in Liara's eyes
as she, Telanya and the slab of metal Tetrimus had cut with his biotic
beam was haunting.

Liara had been smiling.

Shepard hung her head, letting herself slump in the chair. Despair and
anger were battling back and forth across her head, her heart.

She let out another long breath, staring at her hands. The facts
remained. Her love was dead. And someone was going to pay. There would
be blood, and screaming, and begging, and then silence. Shepard was
going to make the Broker die in slow fucking /agony/.

And Tetrimus? She was already thinking about how long a turian could
live with all his plates pulled away from his body. She didn't give a
shit how strong he was, or how he'd never been stopped. She was going
tear the remaining mandible he had right off his face, shove it up his
ass, and then beat him to death with his own fucking severed limbs.

And then she was going to let herself get really, really mad.

The fucker had just … butchered the entire team like they were children.
She was sorry to know poor Aethyta had to see Liara die before she
bought it too. She was sorry Garrus had to watch Telanya die.

Sorry, however, wasn't going to fix shit. She angrily cut the video off,
then buried her face in her hands, and then screamed, and kept screaming.

A second later she had driven her fist through the data console,
straight into the metallic desk. She screamed again and flung her arm,
tearing it free of the metal. She punched the wall and it buckled around
her fist, and then she hit it again, and again, until smears of blood
stained the crumpled metal.

She sank to her knees, the pain in her hand, her arm barely even
registering, letting herself go. She couldn't stop crying, clutching at
her fake heart in her fake chest.

She wasn't supposed to be /alone/ again. Liara had promised. She'd
promised. And now she was gone. It wasn't fucking fair.

Hadn't she done what she was told? She'd done it all, done everything
right. Everything! She'd followed her fucking orders. She'd chased down
lunatics. She'd risked her own life, the life of the people who reached
out to her and supported her.

She'd gotten Alenko and Cole killed. She'd gotten her marines killed,
her people blown out of space. Pressly in a lift chair. And for what?
Why would she be given a glimpse of being happy, just to be thrown into
fucking misery all over again, worse than before?

She didn't know how long she knelt there, but she realized at some point
her hand had stopped bleeding, the artificial flesh slowly kneading
together on its own. She knew something smelled sweet, like rose petals,
and she felt tired. She didn't know how long she was there for, but she
knew at some point someone came in and lifted her up, guiding her to the
bed, and laying her down on it.

Something light and warm settled over her, and she wiped at her eyes. A
gentle, elegant female voice spoke. "Just...rest. Please."

And Shepard did.

*O-TWCD-O*

Miranda Lawson, as a rule, rarely let herself get angry. She was often
irritated. It was rather simple to draw her disdain. And exasperation,
Jacob had once told her, was her default state it seemed.

But true anger? Rare.

Anger at the Illusive Man, who'd raised her from a frightened girl? Who
had taught her everything she knew, encouraged her to master whatever
she fancied? Who had named her his heir, who she secretly wished saw her
as more than just a little child?

Anger at him was, until now, something she had never imagined.

She slammed the door open into the hangar bay, where he stood, his face
immobile and emotionless, talking with Trellani and Chambers. She glared
hard at both of them, and then at him. "We need to talk now, Mr. Harper."

He arched an eyebrow at the hardness of her tone, the heat in it, and
nodded. "Doctor Chambers, see to it that Shepard is stable and
comfortable. When she wakes up, let me know." He turned to face Miranda,
who stomped into the nearby conference room.

When he got inside he shut the door after himself, and gave her a
curious look. "You are not usually this agitated, Miranda."

She took a deep breath. "There was no need to inflict that on her, sir.
She just completely came apart in her rooms and I had to gas her to get
her to stop punching the wall before she knocked a hole in it. Why would
you do that?"

The Illusive Man sighed, sitting down in one of the comfortable chairs
in the room. "Miranda, I know you have a certain level of investment in
this project."

She narrowed her eyes. "Investment? I spent the past two years going
over every bit of Shepard's life, her body, her mind. I saw her dreams
and worries. We know what she went through as a child, as a teen. The
disgusting mess Florez sent her stumbling through. There's only so much
mental damage a person can take before they break completely, sir, and
she was almost there before she died!"

She shook her head. "Why show her that video?"

Harper gave her a hard look. "Because it had to be done. I won't pretend
that I'm not manipulating her, Miranda. I just won't lie to her or tell
her how she's being manipulated. You heard the way the conversation was
going. She agreed, but she didn't really want to. She was reluctant, and
she was more upset and conflicted than … committed. Chambers told me
that Shepard was still in a state of shock, and that if she didn't move
beyond that anything she agreed to now might not be true later."

He glanced away. "In a way, you did your job too well. She's not an
emotionless thing. Whatever armor she had, whatever control she'd built
up, is no longer working for her. And as Chambers pointed out to us, the
longer she internalizes it and doesn't face the truth, the longer she'll
put off making any real choices or decisions about her life."

Miranda gritted her teeth. "I thought we wanted this done right, not
fast. She couldn't even be given a day to grieve without being hit in
the face with the murder of her wife? Is that what that hack Chambers
told you to do?"

Jack Harper smiled. "You never did like Kelly, because she didn't fall
into a neat little box. She challenged you, made you feel as if you
weren't in control. That was on purpose, Miranda – you needed someone to
act as a foil, to make you question yourself."

He pulled his cigarettes out of his jacket, lighting one with his
ever-present lighter. "Despite seeing Shepard in a clinical light for
two years, you emphasize with her. That's good."

His voice hardened. "But let's not forget the goal of Project Revenant.
I can't have Shepard making the choice to walk away from us. I need her
committed and feeling that we're the only option that works. And I took
a shot at making her really realize that her old life was gone, and we
were her only choice if she wanted revenge."

She had never felt such an urge to punch someone in the face in her
entire life. "With all due respect, sir, I think this was a mistake. It
hurt her. When she's still trying to deal with the fact that she was
dead and is now alive, that her entire life as she knows it is gone. I
thought I was going to have control over how we proceeded in this – that
is what you told me."

She saw something – she couldn't figure out the emotion – flicker over
his face, before he nodded. "And you're right, Miranda. I did say that.
I suppose, from your point of view, it looks as if I went over your
head." He puffed on the cigarette, and leaned back in the chair a bit
more. "But I make the calls as I see them – with the data I have at
hand. I picked you to lead this operation because you can. I picked
Chambers to handle the psychology because you haven't shown that you are
very deft at it."

His voice gentled. "I don't want to pick at wounds you are all too
familiar with, Miranda. You're very important to me. But we both know
that some elements of human emotion seem to … elude you at times. It's
why I haven't said anything about your little blow-up with Mr. Taylor. I
saw it as a positive step, while it lasted."

She felt her face heat with embarrassment, and that only made her
angrier. "And what does, exactly, that have to do with this?"

He inclined his head. "Chamber's assessment was based on fact,
psychological assessment, and the needs of Cerberus. Yours, I worry, is
based on empathy, jealousy, and outrage at having your judgment
overruled. I trust you, and I trust that you will always perform to your
best ability – but this operation can't afford to be sentimental. The
needs of Cerberus come first."

Miranda found herself feeling disappointment. "I thought you, of all
people, would at least have the decency to give her time to grieve,
after your stories of how you never got that chance. I see I was wrong."

He exhaled. "She's grieving now, Miranda." His voice was suddenly tired.
"If you are worried about her, the room I put her in has an
observational window on level two. If that's all, I need to consult with
Doctor Wilson on what medical equipment will be needed aboard her new ship."

Miranda whirled on her heel and left, slamming the conference room door
behind her. Harper stared at the door for a long second, before sighing
and putting out his cigarette in disgust.

"There are times I'm glad you never had to see the monster I've become,
Eva."

*O-TWCD-O*

Shepard awoke, groggy. For a split second she thought she'd been having
some kind of horrible dream, until she sat up and recognized her
surroundings, the wrecked desk, the smashed terminal.

She felt...empty. Cold. Worn out and thin, like an old beaten up rug,
tossed out in the rain and then flung over something to dry out. Her
fake eyes were fine, but her eye-sockets were sore.

She stood up, noticing someone had put a blanket over her, and then
stared at the wall. She shuddered when she realized she'd nearly punched
a large dent into a solid steel wall a good five inches deep.

As she stared, there was a hesitant knock on the door. She glanced at
it. "Come in."

The doorway opened, revealing a dark-haired, attractive woman in a thin
black bodysuit under some kind of stylized lab coat. She was holding a
pile of clothing, topped by a small black case. Deep blue eyes met her
own and the woman stepped into the room, setting the items on the table
by the doorway.

"Good morning, Shepard. I'm Miranda Lawson. I'm the leader and head
researcher of Project Revenant, the process that returned you to life."

Shepard stared at her a moment before sighing. "You'll forgive me for
not hugging you in appreciation."

The woman's eyes flickered to gaze at the floor as she nodded. "Yes. I
understand completely. I brought you fresh clothing – and a makeup kit.
I don't know if you are hungry or not, but there is breakfast set up in
the hangar bay if you are interested."

Shepard arched an eyebrow."Oh, I still need to eat?"

Miranda's perfect lips quirked into a small smile. "Yes, Shepard. We
didn't make you inhuman, no matter how strange things might feel at
first. You still need to eat, drink, and perform other bodily
functions." The woman faltered. "Although...we had to make a few
alterations here and there. Certain hormonal adjustments weren't fully
possible to implement, and some things have changed. You won't
experience a period, for example. According to your records, that was a
… delicate issue."

Shepard exhaled. "Having a bunch of assholes use broomsticks on you for
fun when you're going through puberty doesn't do a lot of good, no. I
won't miss that." She grimaced. "I appreciate the clothes. I... I'm not
really hungry, though."

Miranda nodded. "I wasn't sure, but I didn't want to assume." She
paused. "I cannot know what this must be like for you. I can say that
the entire team that worked on bringing you back is also dedicated to
maintaining your health. All of the team leads will be available to you
at any time if you have any medical issues, and I will always be here if
you need anything at all."

Shepard frowned. "Trellani said there would be medical complications,
but didn't go into details."

Miranda folded her arms under her breasts, and gave a thin sort of
smile. "I'm afraid so. We used the best technology there was – or
invented a great deal of it – and Vigil was helpful in the process, but
some of the things we had to do were more akin to patch jobs than true
healing, and … well, you died. The body was never designed to be turned
back on after that point, and a large part of the cyberware in you is
simply repairing what will wear out."

Lawson made a gesture at her own stomach. "You have been given
substantial bodily protection, and will be given very heavy armor,
because if you take serious wounds to your internal organs or
subsystems, you have a very low threshold for shock. The sort of wounds
you took before your death would kill you now, simply by failing systems."

Shepard grimaced. "Wonderful."

Miranda straightened, her mane of black hair tumbling back as she tossed
her head. "We won't let that happen. I may not be perfect, but I will do
my very best to make your life as comfortable as possible."

She nodded, then hesitated. "Last night, that was you that got me into
bed, wasn't it?"

Miranda nodded slowly. "Yes. I .. I want to apologize for what you were
shown. I vehemently disagreed with the decision, and … while I've been a
member of Cerberus for years and never had any fundamental disagreements
with the Illusive Man prior to this, I was very angry and appalled at
you having to see that."

Shepard didn't know exactly how to take that. On the one hand, lifer
Cerberus goon by her own words – she didn't look that old, and 'many
years' meant she was probably in this most of her life. On the other hand...

"I understand why he did it, Lawson. I asked for it, and he probably
wanted to knock into my head that I can't hate him when I've got a
turian to fucking kill. But...it hurt, yeah."

She turned to the pile of clothes, then tilted her head at Lawson.
"Still...even if you are Cerberus...thanks. For .. checking on me. I
kinda fucked up your room here, but ..."

Miranda found herself trying very hard not to smile. "This base is very
small. Only a few rooms, a conference room, and a hangar bay. It was
only constructed to leave no trace of our operations should you decide
to part ways with us and return to Alliance or Citadel space. Now that
you are not, we'll be leaving here soon and heading to your more
permanent base of operations. This place will be blown up once we're gone."

Shepard realized this set-up wasn't cheap – hardwood flooring was hard
to find and ship clear across space, and everything else looked elegant
and expensive, if too white and soulless for her taste. Cerberus must
really have the kind of money they could afford to throw away.

"...alright. What do I do now?"

Miranda smiled. "There's a small shower in the bathroom area of your
room here. Once you have changed clothes, please follow the red line in
the hallways past the heavy double doors and you will reach the hangar
bay. Keep your omni-tool with you, as the doors are otherwise locked."

Miranda folded her hands behind her back. "Once you are at the hangar
bay – and assuming that Joker is done eating by then, the pig – we will
be departing."

Shepard was surprised by the exasperated fondness in Miranda's tone.
"Joker is here?"

Miranda sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. Exasperating man."

Shepard found herself with a faint smile. "Like I told someone else,
Lawson, he grows on you. Much like a fungus."

*O-TWCD-O*

Shepard was able to shower with only one more sobbing breakdown, when
she recalled the shower Liara and she had shared after their first bond
on the Normandy. Tears never showed up much in the shower, and by the
time she was feeling strong enough to face whatever was outside her
room, she had dressed.

The clothing they gave her was similar to the first outfit – loose, soft
pants and a blousy top that didn't hug her figure. Someone had a good
idea that she didn't like revealing, tight fitting clothing, and that
spoke volumes of just how much information they had on her.

The makeup – another hint – was the same way. It was nothing more than a
very simple foundation and colorless lip gloss, nothing fancy and
nothing scented. A plain black hair scrunchy was in the case, and she
put her hair into a ponytail with the scrunchy instead of using the ties
she'd gotten in the first room.

Miranda had brought her fresh underclothes – again with the boxers and
sports bra – and socks, but left the soft black slippers. Shepard
grimaced when she saw the soles of the slippers had Cerberus logos on them.

"At least they don't have their goddamned logo splattered all over the
place like the Alliance likes to do."

She got to her feet, grabbing her sketchbook and the holoframe with
Liara's picture, and then took a breath and walked down the corridor. A
single red haptic guideline floated serenely above the pale gray
decking, and she followed it through a heavy airlock door.

The hallway beyond was like the others, only the windows now had
delicately etched Cerberus logos on them.

"Ah, fuck. Knew it wouldn't last."

She walked through another set of doors – passing what looked like a
conference room of some kind – and into a large hangar bay. A single
small Alliance shuttle sat on one docking pad, while a much larger
pinnace – batarian by the looks of it, although it had clearly been
modified – sat on the other.

A pair of folding tables were up against the far wall of the docking
bay, covered with black table cloths bearing a white Cerberus logo and
covered in what looked like take out food. A single heavyset black man
in a body-hugging black body suit with thin plates of armor sat at one
table, and a very familiar slender human with a scraggly beard and a
similar bodysuit, minus the armor but plus silvery braces on his legs
and thinner ones on his arms ate at the other table.

She shook her head. "Joker."

Jeff Moreau put down the cheap plastic fork, getting to his feet and
facing her. He looked much the same, except for the fact that his jaw
had a slight indentation on the left side, marred by scar tissue of some
kind. "Long time no see, Shepard."

She folded her arms, taking a deep breath. "Yeah." She glanced at the
outfit he wore, with its Cerberus insignia, and the hat with yet another
one on it. He also wore some kind of black and red scarf of some kind
around his neck. "Nice scarf."

His eyes flickered. "It's the same pattern as Tali's new reik, a pattern
we picked. And it covers up the scars where her dad did his best to pull
my windpipe out."

She blinked, then grimaced. "Tali told me about that, but not all the
details. I'm glad you're okay."

He shrugged, picking up a napkin from the table and wiping his mouth.
"He got his. I guarantee he's never going to walk any better than I do
after Tali shot him point blank. And it's old news." He swallowed.
"I'm... I know this sounds lame, but I'm sorry. If I could have gotten
the ship to the dock faster, maybe I could have shot that Tetrimus fucker."

She shook her head. "I...I saw the video, Joker. And … there's …" She
exhaled. "Like I told Tali. Don't blame yourself for this. I know who
killed her, and Garrus, and Telanya, and Aethyta. And when I catch him,
what we did to Saren is going to look like a fucking love tap. I'm going
to mount his fucking skull in my toilet and shit on it every night."

Joker gave her a slightly hesitant grin. "Good to see you haven't
changed much. You get any details about the ship?"

She tilted her head, and Tali walked up from the side as she did. "No,
she hasn't, Jeff. Stop it. We'll show her when we get to the base."

Joker sighed. "Fine, ruin my fun." He half turned. "You about done
eating, Jacob?"

The big man stood up, brushing crumbs from his uniform. "Yeah, I guess I
am now." The man walked up, his features blunt and fairly plain, his
comic-book muscularity and size apparent as he got closer. "Jacob
Taylor, security. Former Alliance, got mustered out after the Battle of
Port Hanshan."

She nodded coolly. "I see. What do you do as security exactly, Mr. Taylor?"

He folded his massive arms. "Mostly run herd on a buncha mechs and a few
security people. I was second in command of security at the base where
we brought you back. Going forward, I'll be attached to your staff to
help you work with Cerberus's few military assets, as a weapons tech and
your armorer, and as a soldier under your command, ma'am."

She nodded again. "You were Alliance?"

He smiled. "I was a marine captain in charge of armor assets under
General von Grath, eleven years of service. Qualified in armory
maintenance. Mother was in the AIS, and Father was a Corsair captain.
Big fan of your work against slavers."

She sighed. "And why are you working with Cerberus, Captain Taylor?"

He met her gaze squarely. "I'm not much for bullshit, ma'am, and I hear
you aren't either. So I'll give it to you straight. Cerberus has done a
lot of things I don't agree with, and certainly has a checkered past. As
long as the Illusive Man plays straight with me, I'll do the same – when
he stops, I stop working for them."

Shepard smiled. "And you think they'll let you walk away?"

He gave a shrug, unfolding his arms. "I think that matters less than
making the choice not to support something I can't believe in, ma'am. So
far, I haven't seen anything I'm ashamed of being a part of. And
Cerberus gets things done. No red tape. No Admiralty review. Job needs
done, we get it done and go home. No bullshit about not enough
resources, or making us buy our own guns either."

She nodded. "And the people? You'll understand I'm not a real fan of
their work, given what I found on Edolus."

He nodded. "I can see that, and honestly? I was brought in, like I said,
after that point. I'm not saying I couldn't be snowed...but the people
I've worked with, for the most part, are solid. Some of the docs
involved in bringing you back were a bit ruthless in going through
clones, but those didn't have a brain hooked up and they didn't
experiment on anybody else but you."

She gave a small nod at that, glancing at Joker. "And you, Joker? Before
I join this thing, any reservations you have?"

Joker shrugged. "TIM is a dick. A massive, massive dick. I just want to
get that out there. But he patched me and Tali up, gave us a place to
live, made sure we didn't starve, and let me fly. He listened to us,
brought on another quarian lady and her boyfriend, and …" He shrugged.
"I saw and heard what went down at Edolus, even if I wasn't down there
personally. But nothing I've seen is anything like that, and I've been
to a lot of their bases."

She folded her arms. "And how big are they?"

Joker made a face. "Big enough that it scares the shit out of me. Grown
like a weed in the past year. TIM has big money."

She tilted her head. "TIM?"

Taylor gave a wry smile. "Short for the Illusive Man. He hates the name,
it's a good way to get him to glare at you if you like pissing him off."

She felt her lips twitch into a smile. "TIM it is." She exhaled.
"Alright, then. I guess...I'm ready to go."

Taylor nodded. "Everyone else is onboard, I have to set a few things up
in the security center, and I'll leave in the other shuttle."

She glanced at the Alliance markings on said shuttle. "I guess if I said
I didn't want to work with you, I would have left on that?"

He nodded. "Yes."

She exhaled. "Figured he would have shot me and started over if I said no."

Taylor gave her a serious look. "Ma'am...when you came in, there wasn't
much left of you. Meat, and not much of that, and a lot of tubes and
equipment. I haven't got the slightest idea how in hell they did what
they did to bring you back, but more than once they nearly lost you and
scrubbed the project. There's no 'do overs' with this – you die again,
we don't have another model we can trot out."

Shepard rolled her shoulders. "Well, let's get this show on the road,
then. Joker, after you."

He rolled his eyes. "Follow me."

Taylor watched them head into the pinnace, then tapped his earpiece.
"They're aboard, sir."

The voice of Randal Ezno was hard as usual. "Good. Go ahead and set the
self-destruct. The backup shuttle is prepped – the access doors in the
conference room are open now. Flood the base before detonation."

Jacob spoke again. "Yes, sir. Just to ask, why the backup shuttle? Why
not take the Alliance bird we have here in the bay, like I was told to
tell her?"

Ezno's voice was still cold, but held a note of amusement. "Because it's
code-locked to head to go only to Commissar Chisholm's patrol group in
Bekenstein,and I doubt you want to visit the Black Hats. Get moving.
Ezno out."

Taylor clicked off, moving towards the security center. "Could be
worse", he said to himself, as the pinnace lifted up and began moving
towards the hangar lock doors to allow it to move into the ocean
outside. "Half expected them to run it into the nearest star."

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 4: Arc I : Saint of Killers*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

/*A/N*:
/

/Enter Archangel. I warned you he was a little ... off.
/

/Reviews are always welcome.
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'He killed nine krogan in thirty seconds - in melee. Fuck the money.
I'm not staying another day on this spirits-damned deathtrap of a
station with that lunatic on it.'
/

/- Valfaran, turian slaver, to a pit boss, ten minutes before he was
killed by Archangel at the Omega Lower Docks.
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Runners was feeling lucky tonight.

Which wasn't something he felt very often, so he figured it was a good
omen. It put a left-wards tilt to his head, and a slight spring to his
step, as he moved along the crowded environs of lower Omega – of course,
keeping a wary eye out for trouble.

Runners – his nickname was a sneering admission of his foot speed – had
never really struck it big. All batarians knew they were eventually
going to do so, of course – why else would the Dark Gods have given them
so many advantages over the malhai, or non-batarians, after all? But
like many other batarians thrown into the upheaval of the Emperor's
Purge, his fate wasn't to make it big in the new Batarian Empire.

He'd fled his home colony of Guta on a food freighter when the
high-caste running his farm section had been killed in a riot, selling
his labor to the turian ship captain in return for passage – and that
had been the luckiest day of his life, since not a week later the
Imperial Guard had burned Guta and everyone on it to the bedrock in
retaliation for the uprising.

And he'd ended up on Omega.

With little else to his name but his ability to run fast, he'd put that
skill to good use, becoming a runner for the Shadows. He'd run things
for them for almost two years before getting this chance. Low-caste
batarians didn't get much of a break, as most saw them as weak and
shifty. So he'd made ends meet where he could – running data slips,
hustling in the exchanges, doing a few side deals here and there. Never
much more than enough to get by.

He knew that most of the Shadows though he was a bit of an idiot, but
Runners was more savvy than they knew. He was quick and sneaky. He'd
lost a finger to a vorcha, been knifed and shot a few times, and had
some ugly scars on his scalp – but he still had all his eyes. He'd never
had any education but had managed to pick up more than a few minor
technical tricks from the show-off salarians in the gang.

Four weeks ago, that had paid off – listening to some guards of a
big-shot merchant, he'd heard about some kind of nasty piece of
polymorphic VI they were putting in the security systems. He'd bided his
time, snuck in to the security shack of the merchant's warehouse, and
managed to overhear the merchant's quarian tech giving an extremely
detailed rundown of how the security systems worked – including passwords.

He'd given that into to his quad-boss, who had put in for a data-hack –
and the Shadows had scored big. He'd only been given a tiny cut of the
loot, but it was more credits than he'd had in his life.

He grinned to himself, as scratched his chin, the grayish skin flaking
under his touch as he did so. Damned water in Omega wasn't worth crap,
and made his skin dry. But with his creds he could afford a better place
to stay. And soon he would have even more.

He was going places. This run was the culmination of that. Yeah, his
quadmates laughed at him now, but Runners was set. He'd been picked to
run something really dangerous, really valuable – and if he did it
right, he'd be laughing at them by morning.

His luck was hanging strong. As he entered the Lower Runs, he overheard
the gossip from a pair of food vendors. A riot had taken out most of the
greensuits, Aria's security people, in the Lower Runs below Venom. That
gave him a free run towards Grifter's Circle and Fushela's, and towards
the path down to the secondary rings – and his destination.

Still, he was cautious. He moved with the crowd, eyes peeled for gangs.
He didn't have on his gangleathers, instead wearing an old, ratty
jumpsuit, carrying a beat up old toolbox and a half-functioning pad. He
wasn't Runners to anyone right now, just old Mithka, headed to do some
maintenance for his boss. That was the story.

He needed a story. The run was extremely risky. The Shadows wouldn't be
paying him so well if it weren't.

The danger of trying to pull a fast one on Aria were well known, and the
Shadows didn't want to take chances with her anger. In the aftermath of
the Burning of Omega, she'd obliterated more than fifteen smaller gangs
and three rebellious warlords, and had given the rest a stern warning –
disobedience is death.

The Shadows had been involved in hacking the GTS defenses during the
Burning of Omega two years back, but so had the Blue Suns, and by luck
or oversight, Aria's wrath fell on the Suns for that debacle. It helped
that the Shadows themselves had come under heavy attack during the
Burning, and they simply told Aria they'd been too beaten up and busy
defending themselves to be much use. It also helped that the GTS
defenses had been brought back online before the Broker's dreadnought
could close in on the station. The Shadows claimed they'd helped with that.

To the gang's surprise, Aria had bought it. She'd put them in charge of
rebuilding the station's mechs and security systems, and they'd done so
in rapid time. When the Shadows had deflected a probe by Broker
tech-teams to bring down the station's environmental systems, Aria had
rewarded them lavishly.

Backing Aria and catering to her whims had paid off, and the Shadows had
expanded their territory and duties by doing so, even picking up bases
in three outlying star systems.

They were now often employed by Aria's people to oversee and manage
security software, lockouts and mechs. It paid well enough – not great,
but better than nothing – and made them one of the few trusted gangs.
The greensuits didn't hassle them the way they did the Blood Pack or the
Blue Suns, and they'd been allowed access to things they didn't even
know existed about Omega.

Still, the Shadows were hungry and wanted more. Even Runners knew that
if you just sat on your ass and hoped for the best on Omega, you'd end
up dead. Aria was as capricious and random in her affections as she was
dangerous, and she could decide tomorrow to turn on them.

So the Shadows had been looking for opportunities...and one showed up.

A mercenary outfit of some kind from the Black Rim, the Wind Daggers,
had shown up a few weeks back. There were many such groups being formed
– the Council was paying ridiculous sums for private units brave enough
to penetrate the Perseus Veil and go after the geth on their own turf,
and a lot of these units based themselves out of the Black Rim,
Traverse, or Omega itself.

The Wind Daggers were all turians, and the only widely known thing about
them was that they'd been involved in a few actions against the geth and
had come out victorious. Details on the actual funding behind the
Daggers were sketchy, but they were clearly rolling in cash, as despite
only having one ship, it was a very heavily armed and armored salarian
combat pinnace that had just come off the lines.

The Wind Daggers mostly dealt, according to the few people who seemed to
know anything about them, in wet-work missions. But on the side, they
also hustled contraband of various kinds. Weapons. Software. Critical
medications. Drugs.

Runners didn't know all the details – he was far too junior for that –
but someone from the Wind Daggers had struck a deal with the leader of
the Shadows, Mr. Hands. Ninety crates of trade-purity red sand and fifty
turian lance cannons was what they put up as trade for information. As a
'gift' they'd fronted five such cases, and the red sand was beyond
trade-purity, almost pure-grade.

It was too much for the Shadows to turn down, even with the danger.
While they were making money, they were still reeling from the damage
they'd taken in the Burning (not to mention being hammered by Archangel
more than once). They could use every credit they could get, and the
Shadows mostly dealt in theft, data-hacks, electronics and the like.
Nothing that would give them massive amounts of cash at once. Getting a
score of drugs and eezo of that size would be more than the Shadows
brought in all year.

Enough, maybe, to let them expand off of Omega in a bigger way than tiny
outposts. That was all above Runners head...but with the Archangel out
there, getting the hell off this station wasn't such a bad idea, in his
opinion.

In any event, the Wind Daggers wanted something dangerous – detailed
information on Aria's security, layouts, and defenses – but the Shadows
could obtain most of the information with almost no risk, as they were
running Aria's security. Still, 'almost no' risk wasn't the same as no
risk, and Mr. Hands decided to make some prudent opening moves to lower
the odds of being caught.

Their drug-glazed hackers had gotten to work laying false leads, setting
it up where it looked like outside influence and getting the bits and
pieces about the security they didn't know. The really clever part, in
Runners mind, was that he'd overheard the sector bosses using an
independent to hire up a pack of Blue Suns mercs to run an assault on
the main Shadows data-center.

The assault had only killed a handful of the Shadows – ones not in on
the plan, and who'd pissed off the leader somehow – but it had been done
to establish a reason and method for someone else having security
details about Aria's defenses, in case she found out about the breach.
And given that the Wind Daggers probably weren't asking for the info for
benign reasons, the Shadows had to be ready for Aria's displeasure.

In two days, the Shadows had all the information. But handing it off –
that would be tricky. The data included floor-plans, guard schedules, a
run down of Aria's armories, bolt-holes and backup defenses, GTS system
codes, door security codes, mech overrides, VI bypasses, and more.

It was too big and dangerous to transmit, especially given that they
were hardly the only people on the station with the ability to hack and
decrypt. Even if they used a one-time pad and the best encryption
possible, it would raise eyebrows by the size alone. The files were also
far too large to just stick on one or even a few OSDs. They'd need
almost eighty of them.

Sticking it on case of OSDs was suicide if it fell into the wrong hands.
One OSD of data could be passed off as someone hacking or the like – the
entire set would point the finger right at the Shadows if something went
wrong with the deal.

The leader of the Shadows, a rogue salarian named Mr. Hands, had come up
with a better idea. He'd taken some of the lower ranking members of the
gang – the numbers runners, the rat boys, the data-scam hustlers that no
one important cared about – and had his handful of cyberdocs make a few
modifications.

Runners was one of those lower ranking members.

Runners had a customized datajack in his chest, and the storage
equivalent of thirty OSDs in his back, all covered by a patch of
synth-skin they'd salvaged from some asari and dyed to match his back.
The cyberware was wrapped in a thin mesh of lead, blocking remote scans.
It couldn't be seen at a casual glance, and really the only danger was
greensuits randomly shooting him and revealing the cybernetics, or
meat-cutters – scavengers who attacked those with cyberware – looking to
score some new tech.

He was pretty sure he could talk his way out of anything, including some
meat-cutters looking to steal cyberlimbs – he'd pass the silver off as a
corrective spine implant. Not much demand for those. Slipping around the
greensuits would be harder, since they'd been on edge and more
aggressive than usual recently. Still, the chances of them shooting him
up were almost nil.

The rest of the plan was pretty simple. Mr. Hands had explained it to
each of his chosen runners himself.

Three runners would each converge on the meeting point with the Wind
Daggers. Each runner had a third of the information mixed in with
garbage data on the OSDs installed in the cyber in their bodies. Without
the other two pieces, nothing of use could be extracted from the OSD-paks.

The custom data-jacks that would connect the paks to any external
data-port could only link up to specially-coded draw-down boxes – boxes
they'd sent to the Daggers the night before. Anything else trying to
access them would trigger the real data to wipe itself, leaving behind
junk data.

The cybernetic rig would also wipe the data if his life-signs
flat-lined, or if he hit a panic button on his cobbled together
omni-tool. Once all three runners made it – and if one didn't backups
were ready – then the data could be recombined into a final file format
that would decrypt once the Shadows were paid.

The Wind Daggers had agreed, and the deal was on. One runner should have
already reached the meeting point by now, and the other runner was
taking the tubes. Runners would probably be the last one there.

He could almost taste his payday now. He was cautious, but excited.
Halfway to his goal, and no one even paid him a second glance.

Aria knew the data was missing, and was having her people tear the
station apart to find it, but her suspicion was on the Blue Suns, not
the Shadows. Most of her greensuits were up-station, fucking Tarek's day
up. All he had to do was keep his head down and make it to the rings.

And pray the Archangel wasn't hunting tonight. He shivered.

The Archangel was so much bullshit at first. Then the urban legends had
turned into ugly, horrifying reality.

The Angels had been on Omega for years – bunch of two-bit wannabe
vigilantes. They fucked with gangers, boosted stuff from the merchants,
and helped out the no-account scabs at the bottom of the pit. They were
smart enough never to mess with Aria's people, or any of the big gangs.
The people of Lower Omega supported them, which was the only reason that
they hadn't been wiped.

They kept the riff-raff from violating the lower Districts too much,
which was useful in preventing the down-and-out from trying something
stupid, and thus they were allowed to live. But they weren't that dangerous.

That had all changed about a year and a half ago.

The Talons had been seriously fucking with the poor bastards in the Vefu
District. That whole area had revolted against Aria in the Burning, and
she'd withdrawn her protection from it, saying it was free to anyone who
could hold it. The Talons had won that fight and ran the place into the
ground. The only safe people there were the couple of merchants who had
the money to buy the Talons off, and the old cranky turian cyberdoc –
some veteran soldier named Ripper – that some of the Talons knew and got
some minor cyberware from.

Everyone else was game. Those who could leave did. Those who
couldn't...suffered. They'd looted and raped and burned and pretty much
tortured the entire district for three weeks.

That's when the shit started. First, single Talons vanishing, with no
trace of the bodies found. Then, entire patrols were gone. Those, they
found. Sort of. Torn off limbs. Shots from a sniper rifle that had
killed two or three of them at a time. Ambushes in dark alleys where
nine men had fought one enemy and been literally butchered, cut apart
into jumbles of arms, legs, and chunks.

The Talons didn't take that lying down, of course. They'd gone into the
public tube-ways and had shot twenty people dead, demanding answers. The
same night, every one of the gunmen had been found dead, throats torn
out and a winged shape splayed over the walls or floors where they died
in their own blood.

That shape – the turian common-glyph for vengeance beneath an
outstretched pair of wings – had become the embodiment of fear itself on
Omega.

Rumors flew as the weeks passed – the Talons stopped fucking with
people, too angry to care about that anymore. They wanted blood, they
hunted and tracked and finally thought they had their culprit. They
firebombed some old warehouse, killed about a dozen bums.

The Talons had found out the hard way they'd missed their target when in
a single night, sixty of them had been executed in their beds, or at
their gambling houses, or on the shitter. A winged shape cut into their
faces.

Several months of this sort of carnage decimated the Talons, and in a
risky move, they decided to rush the Vefu District. They would start
shooting the place up, draw out Archangel, and then pounce on him,
relying on their numbers to mass fire power and take him out.

That didn't work either. Only a handful of the Talons made it back, all
of them wounded or dying, and when their leader demanded to know what
had happened, they told him the truth – they'd walked into a massive
ambush, full of traps and explosives, and Archangel had killed the rest
of them off, tearing apart the quad bosses before they could even get
organized.

The leader of the Talons, Torsk, took his heaviest hitters and went
right back in. That was the last time anyone saw him alive.

They found Torsk the next morning, cut open in front of Afterlife.
Someone had sawed up him up real good, and then marked his body up with
black markers, and notes like 'fold here' and 'glue here'. Torsk was
well known for cutting up the dancers in some of the poorer clubs, and
everyone figured it was Aria sending a message.

But Aria had simply scowled when she saw the corpse. It wasn't her
people doing this. She sent her own greens into the Vefu District, forty
strong, to find the culprit behind this mess.

Three came back out, babbling, crazy, begging for help. Nothing they
said made sense. Buncha crap bout 'coming out of the shadows' and 'angry
glowing eye' and claws and blood. Aria said whoever challenged her rule
was a dead person.

The next night, the new leader of the Talons was flung through Aria's
bedroom window, sixteen stories above Afterlife and secured by a dozen
security systems and cameras. No one saw anything, no one heard
anything. The new leader had been batarian, and a well known smuggler of
red sand. Whoever had killed him had done it by pushing his face into
red sand until it ruptured all four eyes, then stuffed his corpse full
of it.

The body had a note with it, a note everyone on Omega knew by heart now.

'My fight isn't with you, Aria. If you like living, don't make me change
my mind – Archangel'.

The months since then had been horrific – if you were in the gangs.

Archangel had pretty much taken the Talons apart. They'd been killed in
a number of very ugly and often mocking methods. Many of the turians in
the gang had been killed by having their own talons driven into their
throats or eyes. The slaves the Talons traded in had been set free,
spreading tales of their rescuer.

A gigantic figure in super-heavy armor, with some kind of powerful claws
and a black-metal face mask or helmet, with a single glowing blue eye
and some kind of tracking visor. He struck from the shadows, from the
air – it sounded like a Raptor jump pack of some kind was used – or from
a distance, with powerful sniper rifles.

Aria's people couldn't gather too many more clues from the scenes of
butchery the Archangel left behind. The sniper rifle used was some
custom work, possibly a Widow. Archangel always used explosive rounds,
leaving no firm ballistics behind to find, and never left any trace of
where he came from.

No one ever saw the Archangel face to face and survived, it was said. A
single Talon survivor claimed to have shot him with a lance cannon and
the huge figure just laughed at him before clawing his body nearly in
two – he'd only survived by a fluke of luck and heavy cybernetics.

The next day, the Archangel had gotten into his secured hospital room
and torn the survivor's head off. There was no where to run or hide.

The Talons had met a fiery and ugly end, when one of the ships they used
to smuggle eezo had been hijacked and crashed directly into their
headquarters, on the lower rings. The explosion had killed over five
hundred Talons and wrecked the area, which wasn't a place civilians or
innocents tended to wander in.

Aria had been furious, until a large part of the smuggled eezo shipment
aboard the ship had arrived in six hacked air-cars the next day, along
with another note. No one knew what it said, but Aria was said to have
smiled when she read it.

Runners didn't even want to know what would make that crazy bitch smile.
The rumor was the Talons had been skimming from Aria, and it was a
common enough rumor that Runners figured it was true.

The Archangel struck indiscriminately. The bulk of his fury fell upon
the bigger gangs. The Twelve Bells were taken apart in months, sniped
and bombed into a wreck. But even the small fry wasn't safe. A rapist
was found with a power draw cable from the main power lanes shoved up
his ass, fried to a crisp. A famous saboteur was found dead in a life
support suit that had been itself sabotaged.

The big-shot merchants weren't safe, either. Gus Williams, one of the
biggest gun smugglers on Omega, had been shot to death inside his own
secured compound, with one of his own smuggled weapons. A clone-organ
seller had been found hung from his spurs, his vault of cash and
valuables looted and his own organs harvested.

Archangel was untouchable and unstoppable. They said Archangel had to be
a group, but the scenes of the assault always indicated a single person.
The tactics never indicated that anything more than one killer was involved.

The kills themselves were terrifying. People shot at incredible
distances with a sniper rifle, or else torn to shreds up close.
Sometimes the person would be killed in a manner mocking their style of
kills, or their trade. Other times, Archangel just seemed to go berserk,
leaving nothing behind but smears of blood and chunks of flesh, or one
member of the Suns who'd been shot seventy eight times at point blank
range with some kind of shotgun or heavy flechette pistol.

No security system stopped him. No plot was hidden well enough to hide
from him. He'd hit the Shadows several times, the most recent ending
with the half boss – Mr. Hands' second in command, a giant krogan with
cybered-up arms and eight hundred years old – found literally beaten to
death INSIDE the Shadows most secret hacking sanctum.

The note left behind had been taunting them. 'Cute décor. Unless you
want to be called Mr. Stumps instead of Mr. Hands, you'd best leave my
station. - Archangel.'

Archangel tormented the gangs, the more crooked and vile merchants, and
the slavers. As long as Aria didn't interfere, he left her alone, and
every time she tried to have him stopped, more of her people died, then
Archangel would send her some smuggled good or data that showed the gang
in question was defying her in some way.

People were waiting for the inevitable, the call for a Hunt, or Aria to
go to war herself, but after a year and a half, Aria had done nothing.
Now the rumor was Archangel was working for Aria all along, or they'd
struck a secret deal, or maybe Archangel was Aria's lover.

The rumors went on and on. The common people walked around the station,
less fearful. The merchants nervously started using a bit more
circumspection in their dealings. Slavers stopped trying to hawk slaves
on the station itself, relying on deals on their ships.

As crazy as it sounded, the murder rate on Omega had dropped fifty
percent in the last six months, open gang warfare had almost come to a
stop, and you could actually feel like you weren't going to be shot or
killed just walking the streets for the first time in years.

That didn't suit the gangs very much at all. They liked the fear,
without it people might get ideas of fighting back.

It was obvious Archangel wasn't going to stop – and it didn't look like
Aria was going to stop him. The reason was clear, the gangs were too
busy trying to find and kill Archangel, or defend themselves, to pull
anything against her. Runners suspected Mr. Hands wanted to make a big
enough score with this deal with the Wind Daggers to expand off the
station more out of fear of being killed by Archangel than greed alone.

None of that mattered to Runners. He just had to get to the deal site,
offload his data, and make it back, and then he'd be fifty thousand
credits richer. He planned to get his skin-tone shifted and take up some
other kind of work after that. Any kind that didn't involve gangs.

All he had to do was complete this run.

He cursed as he saw a patrol of Blue Suns in the lane ahead, and ducked
down a side passage that ran around the back of Fushela's brothel. The
alley was dirty, but no one was in it – the asari's bouncers probably
made sure of that. Fushela called herself Omega's Consort, and her
brothel was one of the most popular on the station, with chipped-up
turian girls, eager asari maidens, hanar 'specialists' and all kinds of
pleasure within the heavy metal walls.

Fushela didn't want violence or gangers scaring off her clientele, so it
was a pretty safe area.

He loped along at an easy pace, smiling and thinking about how he'd
spend his money, until the black metallic fist the size of his head came
out of nowhere and struck him hard enough to knock him silly. He
staggered, back hitting the wall, eyes blinking against the pain and impact.

An ugly looking Talon pistol shattered his teeth as it was crammed into
his open mouth, driving his head back against the wall. His eyes widened
in agony, as he looked up.

And up.

And up.

The figure towering over him was something out of a nightmare.

The face was simply ...metal. Black metal, some kind of helmet, a single
glowing blue cybernetic eye or eyepiece piercing the faceplate, and some
kind of visor thing on the other side. Hard red lines were painted on
along the sides, like some kind of mockery of turian face markings. The
figure was huge, bulked up by heavy, angular armor, and a faint smell of
machine oil along with the clear scent of a turian wafted over the
alley's own smells.

Carved into the heavy armor was the sign of the Archangel.

A hard, angry voice spoke, modulated into a growling bass. "This isn't
your lucky day, Runners."

Runners mind was on automatic, as panic seized him. He scrabbled for his
omni, before red pain smashed into his mind. His forearm was gripped in
an armored gauntlet, thick and tipped with metallic claws, the bones of
his wrist broken, his omni-tool a sparking, ruined and splintered mess.

He felt pain again as the gun was pulled out of his mouth, spilling his
broken teeth over the filthy metal floor of the alley. The gun came
around, smashing him in the face and knocking him to his knees, and as
he fell, he was kicked over onto his back. A sharp pain in his neck from
some kind of needle made him jump, even as he lost control of his
bladder and soiled himself.

And then he realized he couldn't move.

The heavy, armored feet of the thing above him were all he could see,
face down on the ground, but he could feel his jumpsuit being shredded
and the synth-skin being ripped from his back, painfully. The growling
voice spoke, but it was quieter, like the figure was talking into a
commlink. "Yeah, this is the one. Extracting now. Keep the link open,
but cut it if the data feed spikes."

Runners knew the data couldn't be extracted by anything but the special
draw-down box the Wind Daggers had. He said nothing, though – he was
dead, no matter what he did, and at least this thing that had killed him
would not get anything from him. Mr. Hands would find him, because he
was smart, and –

The cyberware in his back made a gentle ding, and the figure standing
over him chuckled. "Alright, clean extraction, transmitting now."

Runners couldn't understand. The data couldn't be used except with the
draw-down box. What was happening?

The big turian knelt down, turning Runners' face to look at him. "Maybe
you're lucky tonight after all. You get a chance to live past this.
You're paralyzed right now, but you can still speak. Answer my
questions, and maybe I won't splatter your brains all over the alley."

Runners' throat was so dry he could hardly do so, but he spoke.
"W-whatever you want."

The blank metal face plate bobbed. "Good, smarter than the other two. I
want you to carry a message back to Mr. Hands. Tell him he wasted the
warning I gave him. I've cut the Shadows a bit of slack because your
filth hasn't done a whole lot to hurt the people of Omega, but I found
out that it was your gang who turned off the GTS defenses during the
Burning. That got a lot of innocent people hurt."

The figure gave a raspy, vile laugh. "If I don't get him, Aria will,
especially when she finds out that the Shadows just handed me the key to
her defenses."

Runners mind gibbered as he tried to think of something to say, and came
up blank. He didn't want to die, but he couldn't see how he could live
through this. Even if Mr. Hands didn't have him shot for failing, Aria
would be ruthless in wiping the Shadows out. Anyone who'd ever flown
their colors would be dead.

The hard, ugly pride he never gave up flared, and he coughed. "I'm a
dead man either way. You can tell him yourself. But someone will bring
you down."

Archangel tilted his head to the left. "That's your problem, not mine.
You should have thought of that before you threw in with these
parasites. The law isn't optional."

He couldn't help himself as he began to laugh. "The law? What law? This
is Omega!"

Archangel bent lower. "And on Omega, I am the law." He straightened,
hand going to the side of his head, a commlink making some kind of
sounds. "Alright, good. Start recombining the files now."

Runners laughed again. "You're a fool. They're encrypted. I don't know
how you got a hold of the Wind Daggers boxes, but you'll never get the
password – Mr. Hands won't give that until he's paid."

Archangel tilted his head. "Oh. That changes things." He tapped his
commlink again. "We're hitting the Shadows in an hour. Be ready."

And then the Talon pistol came up and fired once, before Runners could
say anything else.

Archangel smiled coldly behind his armored mask, and reached for the
knife on his boot.

O-TWCD-O

Six hours later, the broadcast began.

It went out across all the many vid-screens on the station, across the
extranet taps, and across the main comm systems. A flickering image in
blue and black, the symbol of the Archangel.

And then a single message.

"You laugh."

"You laugh at the law – the people who torment this station. The rich
ones who buy and sell lives, and twist the law to their whims. The
gangs, who have nothing to lose, who don't care about themselves, or
other people. All the ones who think they're above the law, or outside
it, or beyond it."

"You all think the law is good for a laugh. Maybe to keep good people in
line. And you all laugh. You laugh at the law. You think it can't reach
you, that you can do whatever you like."

"But you don't laugh at me."

"I've warned you. I've threatened you. I've killed you. And now, I'm
done playing around."

"You think Aria will protect you from me, when you do nothing but cheat
her? Think again."

And at the end of the message, a signal went out. Aria's mechs all went
mad, storming out into the streets and obliterating every ganger they
saw. It took Aria's people three hours to get them under control.

In the chaos, the Twelve Bells ceased to exist, killed down to the last
member. Over six hundred Eclipse sisters died, and the Blue Suns fought
off the mechs only by a hair, losing half their number. Information was
dumped into Aria's system, fingering the Eclipse for covering up the
presence of two rogue ardat-yakshi who'd killed one of Aria's
lieutenants, and the Suns for being involved with the original hack of
the GTS defenses that made the Burning of Omega worse.

In the chaos, someone shot Garm, lead them on a chase through the city,
and then when the vorcha pack Garm relied on arrived, detonated the
section of hull they were in. Garm and his vorcha were dropped almost
three thousand feet into the huge exhaust pipes that burned off Omega's
waste. Files were sent to Aria – recorded comms between him and the
leader of the now destroyed Twelve Bells, plotting to strike against
Aria herself and take her out in revenge for her not stopping Archangel.

In the chaos, Aria's GTS defenses were hacked, blasting sixteen slaver
ships out of the sky. Information was dumped into her systems, showing
they'd been misstating profits and robbing her of half her cut.

Aria sat in Afterlife, teeth gritted, as her station was racked by
destruction. She read the dispatches coming in, the damage assessments,
and said nothing.

Bray stood by her side, monitoring the comm relays. "Another one.
Archangel just took out Tonius, the human who ran that eezo conversion
shop on the mid rim. Looks like he was swapping good eezo for depleted
and charging us full price for it."

Aria glanced up at him, then looked away, her features tense. "And your
people haven't found anything? No witnesses? Nothing?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. We went over Vefu and Tazo Districts with
our best varren and came up empty. The places where we suspected the
Angels to be hiding out at over the years were all abandoned. We've got
tons of rumors...none of them seem to pan out to any real leads."

Aria stood, looking out over the balcony at her nightclub. Inside, the
richest and most successful of Omega's criminals danced and drank, or
were coyly led to the side rooms by dancers. Down below in the VIP
section, deals were still being made, contracts being bought and sold.

But there was an edge of fear in the celebrating, a sense of unease she
could feel.

Aria hated not having control. She hated looking weak. She knew the
snap-fish in the deeps could live a long time if it bit anything coming
after it, but if it weakened, its own kind would turn on it and bring it
down.

The worst part of the situation was Archangel was mocking her. He acted
as if he was working with her, exposing those who tried to cheat her.
Her own profits were up. Her people told her everyone was terrified of
offending her, more than ever, because she would have the Archangel come
after them.

It was a hustle. She couldn't go after him with her full force, or call
a Hunt – because then everyone would realize the truth. She'd look weak.
They would turn on her.

"Everyone still convinced he's my secret enforcer?"

Bray nodded grimly. "Yeah. Still split fifty-fifty on whether you're his
lover or if he's someone you brought in from outside the station."

She almost found that amusing. "And the Wheel Priest we brought in?"

Bray's eyes shifted to the ground. "He says all he sees is a pair of
gray eyes. And the same image as before."

Aria's eyes narrowed. "Me, bleeding, begging for my life." She exhaled.
"There has to be some pattern to his strikes."

Bray shrugged. "The only thing we have found is the dead Broker agents.
We're almost certain the Broker's people don't even make it a full week
before he finds them. And the kills are brutal – way worse than anything
he does to gangers or even slavers. We had to ID the last one by skin
fragments – nothing else was left, really."

Aria winced as Bray's padd beeped again. "Looks like it's winding
down...the big vorcha breeder Kitgash just got tossed into his own pit
of vorcha. GTS systems were just released...traced the hack back to a
Blue Suns building, but the Suns inside were dead for hours." He
frowned. "The only people who had access to all this data were the
security lieutenants...and the Shadows."

Aria narrowed her eyes. "I see. Take Old One to pay the Shadows a visit,
then. And Bray?"

She smiled. "Once you get there, I don't see a need for Old One to have
his regulator turned on. Report back to me when its over with."

Bray sighed as he walked away, and decided he might as well get his
goggles for this mess – Old One made messy kills.

High above, on the roof of the stack of high-end apartment habs across
from Afterlife, a slender salarian took down his spy beam emitter and
began folding up the various pieces, while the kneeling batarian next to
him kept watch. "Time to get the Pillars out of here, I hope, Erash?"

Erash nodded. "Yeah, Vortash. Quick and quiet. The boss needs to know
they're going to find out what we did to the Shadows sooner than expected."

O-TWCD-O

In the hideout, buried almost fifty feet below the surface of the
lower-ring rock foundations, an asari started unhooking armor from the
turian sitting down on the armory bench.

"You took a lot of fire tonight, Garrus." She pulled off the heavy black
helmet, revealing the face underneath. "You had us worried. I can't
believe you just stormed into the headquarters of the Shadows like that.
And if you'd taken another ten minutes, the Old One would have caught you."

Garrus Vakarian flicked a mandible. "Then I would have killed that
stupid krogan, too, Melenis. I wasn't in any real danger – the Shadows
were clowns. Stupid hackers happy to ruin people's livelihoods and
steal." He looked at his claws, still caked with blood, and his voice
softened. "I've...been through worse."

She snorted, using a tool to begin the arduous process of pulling off
the heavy armor plates over the shoulders. "I know, I'm the one who
found you in the trash pit, remember? Goddess, that was a mess."

Her mind flickered back to that night, the night everything had changed,
then she sighed, and continued to remove the shoulder armor. Nothing was
said for a few minutes, and when she had both shoulders and the chest
piece removed, she winced as she saw more bloody wounds in his arm and
torso, and began applying medigel to his wounds.

"I just wish you'd be more careful." Her voice was full of worry, and
she had a small, upset frown on her delicate features.

His voice was cool, solemn. "When I'm killing them … I can forget about
everything else. The pain, the memories...everything." He watched her
work, as she finished patching the wounds, then removing the
gore-encrusted claw-gauntlets over his hands.

The SkyTalon armor he wore couldn't be put on or taken off by its pilot
past a certain point. For reasons Garrus cleanly understood – and never
mentioned – Melenis always took that duty, combining it with fixing up
the wounds he always took in the fights. The armor mitigated most of
them, only a few lucky shots or the heaviest of firepower would
penetrate the armor to any degree, and most of his enemies only had time
for one shot before he took them out – if that.

It gave him time to cool down, and think back.

Before he'd come along, the Angels were no real threat to anybody except
the weakest punks.

The Angels were an irritant to the gangs and criminals of Omega, a group
of mostly down and out nobodies who shared a sense of outrage and a
desire to protect their district. Their leader was an older human, an
ex-Marine named Angel. He said he had another name but had given it up.
A big, strong man, with hard eyes and hard morals, he'd lead them and
kept them safe, and it had been him who started the entire mess.

Angel had come to Omega to kill the turian who'd killed his family, a
pirate and slaver who'd retaliated when a raid gone wrong had ruined his
chance at quick loot. Angel had found him and avenged his family, and
after that was done, had nothing to live for and nothing to do. He had
money and no wish to go back home to an empty, bloody house and try to
rebuild the shards of his life.

Looking around Omega, he'd seen people with no where to go, and no one
to help, and in a flash of empathy, decided he would be the one to help
them. He'd ended up spending his credits on helping the old turian
cyberdoc who'd patched him up after his fight, named Ripper, sinking
those credits into expanding Ripper's clinic and lab.

For seven years, Angel and Ripper had done what they could. Healed the
injured and sick. Angel killed a few lower ranked gangers here and
there, scoring what he could in terms of guns, and trying to prevent the
innocent people of the District from being abused – but it was like
trying to stop a tsunami with a towel.

Still, the sheer gall of what he tried to do had won him admiration.
People helped him, with food, with hiding places. They gave him tips,
rumors, sightings of gang members. Anyone living on Omega had to be a
survivor, and the people of Vefu had slowly become a primitive
information network for Angel.

Over the years, a few more people had joined up, despite the crazy of
their cause. Some had come and gone, others had died, but a few had
always remained.

Melenis was the first, the sister of an Eclipse ganger who'd failed her
initiation. She was medically trained as a nurse and had done work on
drug rehab, another thing Ripper added to his clinic. She worked hard,
helping clean up the wreckage left behind that red sand, dark-smoke and
other drugs made of people's lives. Slender, beautiful and empathetic,
Melenis always brought out a smile in the people she helped, and those
in the Angels as well. She never killed, she only healed, but she never
tried to rein in the need for vengeance in others.

Others had joined, following Angel. Some, like Weaver and Sensat, were
mostly non-combatants – techs, hackers. Sensat, a mid-caste batarian
who'd left the Hegemony in disgust at its ways, hacked vending machines
and 'mislaid' shipping orders, siphoning credits and gear in his
hustles, always parting with a few to help Ripper. When his best friend
had come down with an organ disorder, and Ripper had replaced the organ
free of charge, he'd started using his skills full time to help Angel
and Ripper. He'd since become a more accomplished hacker, specializing
in security systems and mechs.

Weaver was another hacker, a human survivor from another gang, wiped out
by the Shadows, who was angry because his own wife had been shot and
paralyzed from the waist down by thugs looking to take him out. He was
better than Sensat at getting into secured comm systems, and a genius at
encryption and decryption. He'd joined up when Ripper had made it
possible for his wife to walk again and charged him nothing, and used
his skills to build the Angels a secure data network and comm system,
piggybacking on, of all things, the powerful transmission equipment used
by the angry batarian preachers in the station who railed against all
other beings as blights.

Others had joined when Angel had taken down the petty gang boss of the
Blades, the small gang that terrorized Vefu District for years. That had
been a bloody fight, ending in Angel nearly losing an eye, but it had
solidified people's support of the Angels, and freed a pair of very
useful supporters.

Erash was a Lythari salarian, a former STG agent disgusted by something
he'd discovered in his service. He'd been working with Doctor Solus as
security, but had fallen afoul of a powerful merchant and been beaten
and sold as a slave to the Blades. Angel had freed him, and he'd put the
group in contact with Solus, as well as adding his own skills in drone
creation, spying and sneaking around to the group.

Vortash was high-caste ex-SIU, a hard-charging fighter who found a
distaste for the direction of his people due to his hobby of studying
ancient history, entranced by the stories of an earlier, more peaceful
batarian culture. Despite his high-caste status, he was perhaps the most
tolerant batarian any of Angel's people had ever met, although he had a
razor sharp and cutting sense of sarcastic humor and a nasty streak a
mile wide for those who wronged him.

Montague and Butler were humans, who'd come to Omega to find Butler's
sister and Montague's wife, taken by turian slavers in a raid. They'd
found the woman – dead – and went on a rampage of revenge, almost being
killed before Angel and Vortash saved them. Both were tough, strong
ex-Marine – Montague was a master at explosives and traps, and Butler
was a skilled mechanic.

The Angels began patrolling Vefu, offering help to those who needed it –
fixing up broken equipment, helping watch over kids at the local school
run by a pair of asari maidens, helping scavenge hydroponics from the
trash pits to help feed people. Things had slowly gotten better. People
began to believe they could actually not just survive, but thrive. Vefu
had gone from a battered wreck that was where the down and out went to
die, to slowly becoming a better place to live.

More joined up – a krogan female, Krul, having left her people after
killing another female – a infertile one, who'd attacked her out of
jealousy and hate for being able to have children. She couldn't take
Tuchanka anymore, and would return in a century or two – after she found
her own peace at having to kill another krogan female due to events
beyond her control.

Krul was a fierce fighter, but in a surprise, also good at talking
things out. She claimed the krogan females were the only reason the
krogan hadn't already destroyed themselves, and was often at the school,
teaching the children survival skills. And when a few slimy types had
tried to steal some kids for no doubt disgusting ends, Krul had crushed
their skulls by herself, and then gone right on teaching.

Angel liked to flirt with her, mostly to get laughs out of the team, but
he was deeply impressed by her teachings of how violence had to have a
reason to make it pure and worthy, or one simply became a monster.

Sidonis, a turian mercenary, had joined up when his mate Mierin had.
Mierin was an asari, a former Republic soldiers who'd been hurt in a
strike against slavers gone bad, left for dead on a battlefield, and
Sidonis had nursed her back to health. Mierin was a gentle, wounded
soul, but Sidonis was aggressive and hot-headed – he'd nearly gotten
killed protecting her from a pack of batarian slavers when Angel and his
people shot the slavers dead, and considered helping Angel a debt of
honor. The two were young and and naive about a lot of things, but they
meant well – and seeing them in love was always something that lighted
the darkness always at the edges of Angel's soul.

They all knew what they were doing, in the long run, was hopeless. Omega
never changed. It never got better. It only waited for the weak and
vulnerable to make a mistake, then destroyed them. But Angel couldn't
turn his back on these helpless people, and the rest followed him,
slowly becoming as outraged as he had been.

They'd done what they could. It was never enough. They boosted and stole
from the gangs and the slavers, trying to assist the people of Vefu. The
people, in turn, protected them. More than one had died at the hands of
some enraged slaver or angry ganger, looking to hit back at the Angels.

None had sold them out – yet. On Omega, that was some kind of miracle.
Angel figured it was only a matter of time before someone's greed or
fear outweighed their sense of duty to his little band, and laid up arms
and armor for the day when they were sold out. The cybernetics clinic
was moved here and there, built up and defended, but they'd end up
pissing off the wrong gang one day, and it would be over.

The best they could do was keep the light going a little longer, until
Omega put it out.

That was until they'd been scavenging in the trash pit at the Lower Pits
one day, and a certain turian had fallen into their hands in the
aftermath of the Burning.

The Lower Pits were the place were trash of all kinds ended up. Anything
that couldn't be cleanly processed into omnigel found its way here. Most
of it was useless. Sometimes, they found some good stuff. Cases of out
of date meds, which they could break down for the active ingredients.
Trashed armor, they could try to repair. Whatever. Lots of people
scavenged here, but few had the equipment to go deep into the pits –
Butler had rigged up a lift platform to take them away from the edges,
towards the middle, where few could get to.

That day, it had only been Angel, Melenis and Weaver on sludge patrol.
They'd already scored a good haul – most of an omni-foundry, almost a
ton of scrap iron, and a set of intact casings for eezo molds. They were
about to turn and head for home when the Burning had erupted around
them, and Angel had decided to stay put. None of them were heavily
armed, and from what Erash was picking up over the net, the entire
station had gone up.

After the worst of it had passed, they'd heard something banging up
above. And then the turian had fallen out of one of the many routing
pipes that moved trash from up-station down to the pits, and landed in a
pile of sludge. Melenis had been the first to reach him, and gasped at
his horrible wounds.

His arm had been torn off, one of his legs was so shattered that the
plates had actually splintered, and somewhere during his fall, a piece
of metal had sliced into his face, gouging out his eye. Half of the
plates on his body were scorched, and many were broken.

Broken bones and cuts littered his form, and his armor was so wrecked as
to be unidentifiable. What remained of his face-paint was smeared and
unrecognizable, and he was clearly unconscious as he began to sink into
the filthy sludge.

Melenis, using her biotics, had gotten him out. They'd cleaned him up
and patched the worst of his wounds as best they could, but Ripper said
he was beyond the skills or equipment at the clinic for him to save.
After arguing, they'd taken him to Doctor Solus in Gozu, with Erash
tagging along to help convince the eccentric doctor to help out. Ripper
had brought along a case of some cyberware he'd never found a user for,
the best he could put together on short notice.

Solus had saved his life, installing the cyberware that Ripper had put
together, but it had been touch and go for weeks. The cybernetic arm was
top of the line – scavved from a Blue Suns turian mech – but the leg was
only basics, and the replacement eye was very crude. The scarring on his
facial plates wouldn't fade, and his body was weakened and battered. For
weeks he'd lingered on the line between life, and death.

The turian wavered in and out of lucidity, sometimes screaming, other
times moaning in agony. Infections tore at him and had to be fought down
with third-hand antibiotics. Plates had to be stripped, debrided,
cleaned and then fastened back with medigel and flaps of omnigel to
reattach to fight off plate rot.

Melenis and Ripper had both been determined to save the turian. Ripper
thought he could be a Vakarian, from the remains of the facial marks. He
had served, in his legion days, with the forces of Regilus Vakarian, and
owed the family a debt of honor. Melenis was simply upset someone had
been nearly murdered and tossed into the trash tubes to die. Privately,
she admitted to herself it didn't hurt the turian was handsome – even
scarred as he was.

Almost three months after he'd been found, his fevers broke and was
lucid. What he told Angel changed everything.

Garrus had seen what had caused the Burning – that the Broker had tried
to buy Shepard's body from P. , and that somehow the deal had gone bad.
He told them bits and pieces of how he and his friends had gotten to
Omega, his fight, and how they fell. How his bondmate and all his
friends had been killed by the Broker's right hand, Tetrimus.

And he told them wanted to strike back. At the Broker.

Angel let him use their extranet connection, confirming some things.
Garrus found that he, himself, had been marked as dead. One of his
distant cousins had bonded with his sister, and was now the heir to the
family. Liara and Shields were dead. Joker and Tali had survived but
were thrown out of the Alliance and vanished. General von Grath was
disgraced, Commodore Anderson had gone crazy.

Tetrimus had gotten away.

Telanya was dead.

Angel had spent hours talking to the embittered, broken C-SEC agent. At
first, Garrus wanted to transmit the truth – that the Broker had been
attempting to sell Shepard's body to the Collectors, with the backing of
P. He wanted to go after the Broker's people and kill them.

Angel told him that was pretty much a fool's dream, giving him hard
words. "Your friends and wife are dead, turian. Going after the Broker
isn't even suicide, it's impossible. No one knows where he is, and he
has eyes everywhere. Transmitting something like that in the open would
get everyone in this district killed."

With no leads, no gear, no money and owing his very life to the people
who'd rescued him, Garrus couldn't argue. Instead he'd worked hard at
recovery. At first, broken and wounded, he simply laid in the makeshift
medical bed in the Angel's hideout. Erash and Butler had fixed his
visor, and Garrus was doing some more repairs to it while he waited for
the cybernetic scar tissue to finish healing so he could walk.

Over the next month he'd struggled to adjust to his cybernetics. He'd
worked, as he could, helping fix weapons for the Angels, or sit at the
comms panel they had, listening for news, rumors, and targets. He worked
his body, trying to gain back his strength, and spent hours piecing
together bits of an older model Widow rifle so he could at least have a
weapon to his name.

And he'd argued, with Angel, trying to convince the man to let him go
after the Broker. Surely, someone had information, a lead. Angel
dissuaded him. He told him of the many outrages of Omega, and Garrus had
seen some of them first hand.

And Angel had said something else: that they were trying to fix it.

Garrus still remembered his words. "If you want to do something, then
pay us back for saving your life. Join us, help us save these people.
The downtrodden and forgotten of Omega. It won't bring back your wife.
It won't bring back your friends. But it might keep someone else from
losing their lives, or the lives of their loved ones – and give you time
to build up your strength again."

Garrus had joined them, albeit reluctantly. He wasn't unwilling to kill
the sort of trash that plagued Vefu District – far from it. But his
spirit was broken, that was clear to see. He had nothing to live for. He
was a dead man, and nothing roused his energy or fire.

He trailed after the duo of Sidonis and Vortash, and his sniping skill
stood out. He could hit targets at ranges none of the rest of them could
even dream of. After only a week, he'd made nineteen clean kills, and
began helping in the planning of the targets they were going after.

His C-SEC experience, his hardened outlook, and his keen mind had
brought more than enough to the table that Angel let him take the lead
in designing many of the hits they made. He wasn't very good at
scavenging, or the delicate back and forth that Melenis and Krul did in
convincing people to help.

But he was very good at killing.

It was a month later they found something important. A smuggler had been
operating out of the Niftu District when something went wrong with a
trade deal, and he'd fled. He'd been shot down and crashed into a
warehouse in Vefu, and by luck Butler and Weaver were in the area,
scavenging.

Most of the smuggler's pinnace was a wreck, and so was most of the cargo
– except for one thing. A customized set of SkyTalon battle armor. The
suit was slimmer than the usual make, with a built in infiltrator cloak
that lasted for almost a full minute, the usual omni-axe replaced with
powerful mono-edge claws, and low-emissions coverings to aid in stealth
assaults.

Such a suit of armor was worth millions of credits, but very few could
pilot the thing. Against normal infantry, a single SkyTalon would wreak
untold havoc. It was missing the usual SPEAR mini gun that went with it,
but even so, the suit could still outmatch almost any non-military
equipment a pirate or slaver was likely to get his hands on.

The wreck of the pinnaces' computer gave Weaver enough data to hack the
smuggler's warehouse, allowing Angel's people to simply walk in a day
later and help themselves to the armory within. Powerful sniper rifles,
cases of mini-missiles and grenades, and more. Krul and Erash managed to
sell a lot of it to the gangs outside of Vefu, reinvesting the cash into
buying a small warehouse near the cybernetic clinic to store their loot.
Angel figured they could use the warehouse as a shelter for the
homeless, or maybe storage.

Garrus had a different idea. With the smuggler dead and the codes to his
secured warehouse, they could use that as a hideout. It was certainly
isolated, and more importantly, it was out of Vefu District – if their
enemies traced them back to it, the Vefu District wouldn't pay for
harboring them. It took a week to move most of their guns and computers
there, along with most of the loot from the gang members they hit.

Ripper continued to operate his cybernetic clinic, and Krul continued
teaching, but the rest of the Angels now operated out of the warehouse,
and eventually dug a secure hideout under it for additional security.
With that handled, Garrus turned his attention to the suit of armor.

The SkyTalon suit was something none of the Angels knew how to fly –
except Garrus, who'd operated one for part of his service duty with the
Hierarchy. It took him a few weeks to get used to it again, but he was
able to do so a lot faster than it would have taken Sidonis or another
turian to learn to pilot it from scratch.

The SkyTalon's stealth cloak and near invisibility to electronic
scanners opened up possibilities. The SkyTalon was serious military
hardware, almost immune to most of the small arms the gangers of Omega
used. The suits were rated to take a direct hit from everything up to a
lance cannon, after all – a shitty Batarian State Arms rifle had no
chance to stop him.

Erash, Butler, Garrus and sometimes Montague tinkered with and improved
the suit, and once Garrus felt strong enough, he took it for a test
drive. He stumbled upon a pair of slavers beating the shit out of a
drell, and came down, invisible and lethal, cutting the two batarians
down with a single, scything slash of the suit's mono-edge claws. Driven
by the powerful myomer muscles of the suit, the results had been gruesome.

The battered, shocked drell had stammered out his amazed thanks to his
rescuer. Garrus, pressed for an answer as to who he was, remembered the
story Angel had told him about his name. One of the names translated
well into turian, and so he used that.

"Call me Archangel."

That had been how it started.

The past year and a half had sort of fallen into place, from Garrus's
point of view. The strike against the Talons, who'd begun to terrorize
the Vefu District, had been Garrus' idea. His assaults were bloody,
fast, and came out of nowhere.

When Garrus had torn apart an entire patrol of Talons as easily as he
took apart a single soldier, Angel had begun to see new possibilities.
The beauty of the SkyTalon was that few people on Omega thought to look
upwards. There was enough electronic emissions that most scanners only
functioned in narrow checkpoints, and these could be avoided by the
simple expedient of going outside the hull of the station and daring the
vacuum – something that was little problem for the sealed suit to endure.

Sniping and then cloaking was so easy to do that it was almost unfair.

When Weaver, in his data trawls, had uncovered a poorly secured
data-port for Aria's own security monitoring and communications system,
Angel had wasted no time in taking advantage of it, using it to spy on
the gangs and inform Garrus of where the Talons would be. Garrus had
begun to plan the raids and assassinations with the suit in mind,
becoming inventive and cruel in his plans, and the Talons became more
and more desperate as nothing they did even slowed him down.

The more they took the Talons apart, the more opportunities they found.
As Weaver, Erash, and Sensat continued to grow in skill, they found more
openings. The gangs had gotten lax in pure data security, and even the
Shadows were hardly the match for ex-STG like Erash. No one really
protected against the kind of listening devices and spy-beams Erash
could put together, and it didn't take long for them to figure out most
of the different gangs communications protocols.

Combined with the SkyTalon's stealth, Archangel seemed to know
everything and be everywhere.

The rest had been nothing more than the endless pit of Garrus' rage
venting itself upon the filth of Omega. He reveled in their fear and
terror, and lost himself in tearing them apart with the SkyTalon. He
flashed out of the blackness of the dark spaces in the station,
invisible, soaring above the targets and coming down with no warning, or
sniping them from far away before they could react. Sometimes, he set
ambushes with the other members of Angel's band, but he was the one
exposing himself.

Angel had slowly become worried about Garrus' mental stability, and
while he had zero sympathy for the gangers, slavers, and other criminals
that had made Omega a hellhole, wondered when Garrus would bite off more
than he could chew. But again, Garrus surprised him.

When they found information that implicated the Talons as planning on
turning on Aria, they sent it to her, along with the haul from some of
the Talon's off-the-books activities. It was a pattern he continued.
From what Garrus had learned, Aria wasn't responsible for the mess that
had claimed the lives of his friends.

She was in a low-level shadow war with the Broker. And as long as Aria
was the Broker's enemy, Garrus wouldn't go after her. He had the
inklings of a plan, though, one he explained to Angel.

The Broker wanted to take Aria down, but Omega was too strong for that
to work conventionally. Garrus figured the more gangs he took down, the
more chaos he caused, the more the criminals feared his very name, the
more chances the Broker would see to infiltrate his own people on the
station. And if Garrus could catch them and interrogate them, he could
have a shot at either finding more of the Broker's people he could hit,
or maybe drawing out someone who could lead him to the Broker.

Given the gangs were always plotting, Garrus figured they could keep
Aria off their back by just giving her the information of what stupidity
the gang, merchant or slaver had done that would offend her. And it had
worked. Aria made attempts to find them, but they all failed, and
eventually she semed to give up.

Archangel's siege on Omega continued. Sooner or later, Garrus was going
to get his revenge. He read everything he could on Tetrimus, studied the
stories, legends, and hard facts. He knew he'd only get one shot at
taking the rogue turian out.

The assault on the gangs had continued, unabated. Every success gave
them more funds, more access. Taking down the Twelve Bells had won them
the admiration of thousands of Omega's people, and more Districts began
seeing the mark of Archangel spray-painted on walls. The extranet was
alive with the rumors, the story of the dark vigilante somehow taking on
all the gangs and evil of Omega – and winning – becoming a hotly debated
topic both on and off Omega.

Garrus had been sadly amused to see his own father, in an interview with
the turian state media, give his opinion. "Whoever the turian is doing
this, he's acting beyond the law. And yet, Omega itself is beyond the
law, or at least, any law but Aria's. He's fighting to protect the weak.
I'm not sure I agree with the methods...but the ends? Those I can't
argue with."

He wished he could tell his family he was alive, but that was dangerous.
And a mess in its own way. It would disrupt Solana's life, and derail
the life of his family, who by now had gotten over his death. You
couldn't just walk back into people's lives, after all.

Garrus was dead. Only Archangel remained.

Angel's small band did what they could to help Garrus, both in his
attacks and in his downtime. His body hurt at times, the damage from his
many wounds in the fight with Tetrimus and P. not healing cleanly in
some cases. Sidonis constantly cheered him up with sarcastic rejoinders,
reminding him a lot of Joker. Krul would keep him informed of what his
family was doing. Angel made a point to funnel some of their credits
towards helping pay for the treatments Garrus' mother needed, anonymously.

Melenis, in particular, tried to get closer to Garrus, but he didn't let
her – or anyone else – in too far. There were times he wondered if
Telanya would be angry at him for not just moving on with his life
instead of living some kind of half-life of revenge and sorrow. And he
admitted to himself he was attracted to Melenis. Her kind spirit, her
outrage at the way the people of Omega were hurt, her dedication to
healing – these were all good things.

But he couldn't bring himself to let go of the pain.

And sooner or later, he knew, they might be sold out, or found out, or
come under assault due to sheer bad luck. He couldn't endure losing
someone else the way he'd lost Tel. He didn't even know, technically, if
he was sane any more.

A sane being wouldn't do some of the things he'd done. There were times
he'd come to himself in the middle of some red slaughter and wondered if
his father would look at him in disgust. If Shepard would shake her head
at him. If Pallin would call him a murderer.

But the pain drove him on. Pain, and the need for vengeance.

When Angel's information had come up with the lead on the Wind Daggers,
it revealed the group was probably a front for Broker agents. That had
been what Garrus had been waiting for. Garrus had hit them hard, the
group having discounted the rumors of Archangel, thinking their heavy
JOTUN mechs would protect them.

Weaver had hacked the mechs and turned them on their masters, and then
Archangel had torn the survivors to pieces. They'd captured the Daggers
ship, stuffed with eezo and weapons, and the haul was enough to even
stagger Angel.

He'd wanted to focus on keeping the fact the Daggers were out of
commission quiet, but Garrus had been more interested in what he found
in the ships computers – namely, that the Daggers were here because
they'd struck a huge deal with the Shadows, for all the information on
Aria's defenses. They'd been hoping to find something they could use to
assassinate her, probably.

But the draw-down boxes they had in their possession, as well as the
hoard of wealth on their small ship, was too much to overlook. Angel had
made the call to see if they couldn't recover the data the Shadows were
offering, and turn it to their own purposes. And it had gone as
perfectly as every other operation to date.

The results – the commandeering of the mechs, the message, taking
advantage of the chaos to wreak havoc on the gangs, the hack of the GTS
defenses to blow up the slavers so secure in their off-station ships –
it had been deeply satisfying to Garrus, and to the rest of the Angels.
But Garrus was more interested in the tiny bits of data the Wind Daggers
had gotten from the Broker.

The Broker was waiting for an opening to invade Omega. The Daggers were
actually commissioned by the Broker, one of several units, to slowly
built up reputations and infiltrate Omega. When the time was right,
these units would sabotage Aria's defenses and open the station to
another Broker-backed invasion. Garrus had laughed when he realized that
he'd been right – the Broker was taking advantage of the chaos.

The plan was working. Sooner or later, as Archangel tore the gangs
apart, the Broker would have no tools to work with on the station, and
would have to commit to sending his own operatives to the station to do
anything. Operatives who could be captured and interrogated.

Garrus was close, he could almost feel his long-burning need for revenge
blossoming. All he had to do was keep his shit together a little bit longer.

They had the Wind Daggers ship, and a huge hoard of eezo. They had
crippled the gangs, the slavers, and most of the more disgusting
merchants. Six districts clandestinely supported their efforts, and no
one had a clue of the existence of their real base, the warehouse in
Niftu, or their hidey holes in various places across the station.

They were secure, and all he had to do now was be patient. He sighed, as
Melenis finished removing the leg armor.

"Thanks, Mel." His voice was tired, flanging more than usual as he
stood, his back aching from the slightly cramped stance the suit forced
on him as he stood.

She smiled up at him, and then bit her lip. "It's nothing. Have you
eaten yet?"

He shook his head. "I'm … not that hungry. I think I'm going to get some
rest, instead." He turned away, heading down the narrow corridors of the
small base towards his own quarters, and Melenis sighed.

The door on far side of the room opened, and Mierin stepped out, folding
her arms. "You never give up, do you?"

Melenis shot her a look. "He's hurting. I help people who are hurting."

The younger asari woman sighed. "I know that, Mel. But I also remember
what happened when my sister's bondmate was killed. She was never the
same again. She just slowly withered away and didn't wake up one
morning. Garrus isn't … he isn't seeing you. All he's seeing is his dead
wife, and his dead friends. That's all that's driving him."

Melenis stood, picking up a piece of the armor to carry it over to the
ultrasonic sink in the wall. "That isn't true. He's a good person, I can
see that. He's upset and worried about the people in the District."

Mierin nodded. "I don't doubt that. But that doesn't mean he's going to
let anyone else into his heart." Her voice softened. "You know what
Sidonis is the most scared of?"

Melenis smiled wryly. "Not hearing the sound of his own voice?"

Mierin laughed at that, then shook her head. "No. He's scared he's not
strong enough to protect me. Turians...they can't handle the idea of
their mates being hurt or killed. It messes them up, badly. Garrus
didn't survive losing his wife, I don't think. A part of him died, and
it's not coming back."

She placed her hand on Melenis's shoulder. "And it's not fair to him to
expect him to risk another part of his soul trying to open up to you …
when this could all go wrong tomorrow. You think he could take it if you
died on him too?"

Melenis put the piece of armor down, nodding. "I know. Goddess, I know."

Mierin gave her a hug, and then smiled. "I can't blame you though. That
is one good looking turian."

In his own quarters, Garrus lay out flat on his small sling-hammock,
thinking, until the door opened and Sidonis stepped through. "All hail
the conquering hero, Vakarian!"

Garrus flicked a mandible. "Jealous again, Sidonis?"

Sidonis' own mandibles flickered. "Hardly. You want to run out in a
flying deathtrap and have half of Omega shooting at you, feel free.
Still...I got twenty four head-shots today, old man. Beat you by two."

Garrus felt himself smiling. "And that would be almost impressive...if I
had not also dropped sixty eight of them in hand to hand. Nine with the
pistol. And one with the crate of dark-smoke."

Sidonis laughed. "That kill was beautiful. I particularly liked the part
where the krogan's flesh was melting right off, but he was so fucking
high he was singing a song from Fleet and Flotilla. Who knew krogan were
fans?"

Garrus sighed, and Sidonis sat down. "Came to make sure you weren't
having another panic attack. You know how you get after the big fights."

Garrus waved his hand. "I'm fine."

Sidonis rumbled in his chest. "Tork-shit. If someone killed Mierin, I
would never, ever be fucking fine again." He hesitated. "I know Angel is
still not down with this suicidal plan to chase the Broker. But ...when
you go, bring me with you. You'll need back up."

Garrus sat up. "I can't." He held up a hand before Sidonis could say
anything. "You said it yourself – it's a suicidal plan. I don't think
I'll survive it, even if I find his location and get there somehow. I've
seen Tetrimus fight. Even in the suit...my chances of killing him are
almost nothing."

His eyes met Sidonis' gaze squarely. "I'm not going to put Mierin
through feeling what I am, or what I saw Liara go through when Shepard
died. She needs you, not more pain."

Sidonis sighed. "I know. But … spirits...the dishonorable bastard has to
pay! Bad enough he did what he did to your friends, but he betrayed the
Hierarchy and the Primarch!"

Garrus chuckled. "And you're out here on Omega because you're a fine and
upstanding example of the meritocracy?"

Sidonis leaned against the wall. "No. Too much aggression, not enough
wisdom. Too irresponsible to show the proper duty and sacrifice. Just
never resonated much with me...but that doesn't mean I'd turn on my own
fucking people!"

Garrus sighed, laying back in the sling. "I know, Sidonis. But take my
advice. Grab all the living you can, while you can. When it's
gone...there's nothing left to keep living for."

Sidonis folded his arms. "I don't know that I buy that. I would rather
die than lose Mierin, but I know she wouldn't want me giving up on life
if she died in an accident, or something. How long are you going to let
Mel throw herself at you before you sit her down and give her a firm no?"

Garrus winced. "I've never met anyone even less tactful than I am,
Sidonis. How do you do it?"

The other turian waved his hand airily. "Charisma, my talon brother.
Look it up on the extranet. But seriously – "

Garrus shook his head. "Maybe it's because she's had two relationships
go bad on her already? I'm not the most sensitive soul...and my mind
isn't right most days. But I'm not blind either. She's built me into
some kind of hero complex, and no matter how gentle I am in letting her
down, it's going to hurt her bad."

Sidonis pushed off the wall. "Not any worse than it will hurt her when
you go off and get killed by Tetrimus. Just think about what I said. I
doubt your wife would want you suffering like this, and you like her –
any fool can see that."

Garrus looked up at him. "It isn't that. It isn't even that she might
die and I'd be left alone again. It's that she's … she thinks I'm
something I'm not. She thinks I'm a good person, that I'm just in a bad
place, that she can heal me."

Something about his tone made Sidonis's plates rise. "...and you aren't
a good person?"

Garrus closed his eyes. "A good person doesn't feel joy in butchery, or
make his victims suffer. He doesn't toy with their remains and kill them
in a way to insult them. What I'm doing isn't about justice, or
protecting the weak. It's about hate, and a need to kill to quiet the
pain in my soul."

Sidonis sighed. "And when it's over?"

Garrus smiled. "I'll be dead."

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 5: Arc I : the Butcher's Shop*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

/*A/N*:
/

/As I explained on my site, right now we'll be alternating - one chapter
focused on Shepard, one on someone else. This is a Shepard chapter.
/

/A few people have commented that Shepard is 'backsliding' towards how
she was in OSABC I. Some of that should be expected. Shepard's
development on a personal level was, in some ways, a cheat - the bond
she had with Liara provided an artificial stability and feeling of
self-worth she didn't develop naturally. At the same time, keep in mind
Shepard has had less than twenty four hours at this point to learn she's
been dead two years, is now alive again, and the most important person
in her life is dead. /

/Or in other words, *ANGST FOR THE ANGST GOD!*/

/Reviews are always welcome.
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'At some point, they started calling the base the Butcher's Shop, which
was just the tackiest shit I'd ever heard. It was probably that bosh'tet
Vigil's idea.'
/

/- Kiala'Dost, Cerberus Engineer, to David Anderson
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The trip to what she was told would be her base of operations only took
a few hours, and in that time Shepard mostly sat in the main cabin
aboard the luxurious pinnace, lost in thought. She tried hard not to
think about Liara's death, as it would only make her upset and
depressed. There would be more time to grieve later, when she wasn't
being observed by these fucking Cerberus pukes – and she could hardly
fail to notice that Trellani and Chambers were both watching her carefully.

Of all the people on board – Joker was busy flying and Tali tending to
the engines – it was up to fucking Miranda to try to make conversation.
Shepard could tell the woman was a gifted speaker just by listening to
her elegant, educated voice, asking her questions about her memory and
specific things they wanted to test about her sensations of touch and
sight. It was a good distraction from the things she didn't want to
dwell on.

Like Liara's death. Garrus's death. Telanya's death. Hell, her own
death. Not thinking about it was hard. Not thinking about the fact that
she had been dead, and now was alive was also hard. Almost all of her
friends were killed, the few who remained alive were either working for
Cerberus, or disgraced.

It wasn't something she had any way to process, and she found herself
falling back on the old method of just pushing shit down and locking it
away in her heart. It hurt. Everything hurt. But the words she'd told
Liara so long ago had to apply to her as well. She couldn't just let
herself go to fucking pieces, no matter how much she wished she could.
She had to keep her shit together, kill up another pointy-faced
motherfucker, and then save the goddamned galaxy again.

Why in fuck it was up to her to do this she didn't know. Then again, she
didn't know why she'd been tapped as a Spectre, or why she'd survived
all the years she had. She didn't know why she'd been lucky enough to
find the love she had with Liara, or the little span of time where life
had seemed worth living.

All she could do was hold onto those memories. To tell herself that
revenge alone wouldn't heal her. She needed to see everyone understand
what she had lost, and she had to keep the few friends she still have
alive from losing what they had. She didn't come all this way and fight
past the shit she'd gone through in her life to relapse into some
self-pitying wreck. She would endure.

So instead of breaking down into sobs again, she kept her face ice cold.
She spent the trip quietly answering and asking questions about her new
body from Miranda, trying to keep her voice steady.

She learned that the Revenant Project's goal – to bring her back alive
and exactly as she had been in life – had been compromised by the damage
her body had taken. She wasn't a college graduate, and the kind of
techno-babble Trellani and Chambers had used to explain how she'd been
brought back meant nothing to her. Miranda used much simpler, easier
language.

In short, they had to trick her body into working again, then keep all
the organs going with mechanical parts. Some things couldn't just be
cloned up – especially missing parts. Skin was easy, but regular skin
didn't go over cybernetics very well, so while some of her skin was
real, most of it was fake. Cloned organs tended to fail over time, so
each one had monitors and cyberware to keep it going and report
failures. Her brain was missing a few pieces, and the damage the Beacon
had done to it wasn't helping.

They'd gotten around that by cloning pieces of the brain that were
damaged, and re-anchoring her memories by copying them to a gray-box,
then feeding them back. Trellani had also done something – Miranda
wasn't clear about the details, but it wasn't bonding. Some mystical
asari crap that Shepard decided she really didn't want to know the
details about.

The gray-boxes worried her, but Miranda tried to calm her fears. She had
two of them – one to let her record everything she saw and heard, and a
second one to augment her memories. Each one was isolated from any sort
of remote access, and if need be Shepard could even turn them off,
although Miranda recommended that she didn't. They weren't sure that her
brain would still be able to make normal long-term memories, but the
gray-box could handle that.

The things they'd needed to add to her body had not been to turn Shepard
into a killing machine, but because it was the minimum necessary to keep
her /alive /and functional. Things like gyroscopes in her wrists and
hips to aid in firing, and linking her eyes to targeting computers, were
needed – because part of her brain that had to control balance was not
working right, and they'd never figured out a good way to fix it.

She was up-armored in a lot of ways – sub-dermal armor, metal plates in
the chest, an entirely artificial skull – because shock affected people
with lots of cyberware differently than a healthy, normal person. The
body couldn't handle it as well, and clotting, platelets and the like
disrupted cybernetic function in many ways. Some of her internal organs
were barely working right as it was, given all the strange substances
they'd shot her up with and weird technology they'd used, and if she
took severe damage her whole body might just turn off.

The armoring she had was pretty complete – the false skin was the first
level, then fortified myomer muscles under sub-dermal plates of
super-thin but tough armor. Most light and medium pistols, light rifles,
and submachine guns would just bounce or do very minor damage. Heavier
rifles and pistols would still penetrate, but not far – most of those
would be defeated by the sub-dermal plating. Her chest and skull were
the most heavily protected, and even a direct hit from a sniper rifle
wouldn't penetrate either of those – even an eye-shot would find a plate
of armor between the brain and the cybernetic eyes, and her neck had
shock absorbers built into the spinal column.

Heavy machine guns, high explosives, plasma and the like would still
fuck her up – and Miranda warned her against thinking she was
invincible. She was a lot faster and stronger now – she could probably
keep up with a salarian in the speed department, and punch out a krogan
– but if she got hurt she wouldn't be walking it off. Some of the
cybernetics in her body could repair itself, but most of it couldn't –
and the armor could absorb a lot of punishment, but when it failed, it
tended to splinter, which would do a lot of internal damage.

They'd added a few tricks to her body, too. She had a tiny omnigel fab
unit, that would create a small handful of handy items, such as a
mag-lock pick, minor repair tools, circuit leads, or the like. She had a
canister of medigel shoved into her somewhere, and channels to
distribute it instantly, to stop bleeding before it got started. She had
a small device in her hip that would lessen the effect of some
anti-biotic attacks had on her. Her throat had a covering over the
windpipe to stop her from being strangled. Her hands and feet had
attachments to let her magnetically attach to walls, and her elbows and
knees sported short, extendable omni-blades.

The most startling change, though, was to her biotics. Miranda explained
they'd managed to create and insert additional nodes into her body while
she was dead, and those nodes had responded normally when they woke her
back up. She was now stronger than any human biotic who'd ever lived,
and while they had no tests done on how strong that would be, Miranda
said it would allow Shepard to pull off attacks and biotics that no one
but asari could usually use.

Of course, she still had no bio-amp – one was on the base, but testing
would be required before she could use it. Likewise, Miranda said she'd
have an upgraded suit of armor, but that was also at the base. Even so,
in her bare skin, she could do a lot of damage. Shepard had already
figured that out, just by punching dents into solid steel walls – but
having it all detailed out was a mix of chilling and faintly cool.

All in all, the amount of credits they'd tossed at her to bring her back
to life was staggering. When Shepard had expressed her doubts about the
wisdom of spending so much to bring back one person, Miranda pointed out
that they'd already made back half the money they'd spent on Shepard by
licensing out the technologies developed to human corporations, and that
in particular some of the advances in brain scanning and cloning they
had pioneered were already saving lives. In the long run, Miranda
estimated the project would more than pay for itself even if Shepard
died tomorrow, in terms of credits.

What troubled Shepard the most was why the Illusive Man had actually
brought her back, and why he was willing to expend so much effort and
money to win her over. She wasn't stupid enough to think she was 'just'
a soldier. She could grasp, on some level, that she had many things that
most soldiers didn't – fame, nobility, her Spectre status. But those
things had all died with her – and keeping her resurrection a secret
meant she couldn't reclaim them.

Miranda had suggested that perhaps he valued her for the fact that she'd
stopped Nazara's plans, but Shepard didn't buy that. It wasn't like
she'd killed the Reaper – hell, she hadn't even been able to kill Saren
or Benezia. Ashley Williams had taken down Saren, and Benezia had
basically killed herself.

Miranda had countered with the obvious – someone had wanted her dead,
and if the Illusive Man's thesis was correct – that the Broker was
working for the Collectors, who were Reaper agents – that meant the
Reapers feared her. Shepard found herself smiling at the idea, but
didn't buy it fully.

She suspected that TIM's plans for her had less to do with her ability
at stopping Reapers and more to do with cleaning up Cerberus' image. If
she was seen working with Cerberus, after all, people would either
assume Shepard had suddenly turned evil – fat chance – or that Cerberus
was not the same pile of alien-murdering jackasses they'd been a few
years back. She had no intention of whitewashing any Cerberus bullshit,
and if TIM thought she could be bought off with resources and a nice
speech, he was in for a surprise.

She swallowed as she found herself wondering what Liara would think of
this, and pushed the thought away. Ahern's voice came to her, bitching
about her acting like some emo shitfaced clown, and she let herself
smile at the memory.

But she couldn't smile for long. She was in this alone, really. She had
no one she could be absolutely sure she could trust. She didn't really
think Cerberus was out to get her – and TIM was so confident that she'd
agree that she couldn't see them risking her anger by doing the sort of
things the old Cerberus had been up to. That didn't mean they were all
puppies and light now, either, and she knew full well if TIM had a
choice between double-crossing her and doing what he felt needed to be
done for humanity, she'd be tossed on her ass in a second.

She wasn't even sure who she could confide in. She was glad that Tali
and Joker were here, but they had changed a great deal. The Tali she
knew had almost been worshipful of her father, always frightened of his
disapproval, nervous and unsure. This Tali was confident, bitter and
mature – and had stuck the Cerberus insignia on herself. Shepard hadn't
missed the significance of that. Whatever the quarian woman had gone
through, it was probably even more fucked up than Tali was saying for
her to be proud of joining alien-killing terrorist asshats.

Joker had been irreverent as usual, but even she could see he was very
at ease with these Cerberus people. And in any case, Joker wasn't the
sort of person who looked deeply into events. He would go along with
whatever Tali wanted, she suspected, in much the same way that Liara
went along with whatever Shepard had wanted. As long as he could fly and
they took care of Tali, Joker was unlikely to dig to find out the dark
side of Cerberus.

She didn't quite know what to think about the Cerberus people, except
that Chambers pissed her off, and from what little she knew about
Trellani, the asari seemed dangerous as all hell. If she was actually
sleeping with the Illusive Man, that meant a lot of things, none of them
very good. Liara's memories of Trellani were never detailed except for
rumors, and most of those very recent, but Shepard didn't need those
memories to see the lurking crazy in the asari's eyes.

The Illusive Man himself bothered her. She'd expected someone like that
to be a physical coward, hiding behind smoke and mirrors, or remote
transmissions. He'd actually let her get within killing distance of him
and hadn't flinched. That was impressive, in a way – she was still
pretty sure he had some kind of backup method of stopping her, but it
was a risk. The way he handled words and presented himself – utter
confidence, complete knowledge – was daunting, and she couldn't even
hope to out-think the bastard.

Chambers was a goddamned shrink, and a mix of infuriating and
reassuring. Shepard hated mind games and the red-head was apparently
good at them, which didn't make her any easier to like. Shepard also
didn't have a good feel as to why she was tagging along, except for the
idea that she might lose her mind. The idea that she needed
psychological help was hardly new – Jiong, bless his heart, had
constantly harped on that point – but she wanted it from someone she
could at least trust to be acting in her best interests,and Chambers
looked at her more like a test subject. On the other hand, Shepard
wasn't stupid enough to discount the fact that having someone who could
understand her mental issues might actually be needed if she had a
complete nervous breakdown at some point.

The only Cerberus people she liked so far were Taylor and Miranda.
Lawson certainly looked and sounded like a cast-iron bitch, but she was
obviously invested in Shepard's well-being, and the dismay in her voice
at Shepard having watched the video of her team dying seemed real. And
she was a bit bitchy and sarcastic, things that would make other people
dislike her, but that Shepard actually liked. Shepard wasn't going to
pretend that these people had not investigated her very carefully, and
the fact that Miranda was built like a sexier version of Beatrice
Shields was hard to chalk up to coincidence. Shepard didn't think the
Cerberus woman would try anything – God, that would be awkward as shit –
but she grimly admitted that if they had that idea, Miranda would be her
type.

She really hoped they had enough sense not to pull that shit. She wasn't
in the mood.

Taylor sounded solid and didn't try to bullshit her, refusing to blow
any smoke up her ass about the fact Cerberus seemed legit but could
always turn out to be bad seeds. If he had an agenda, it would be plain
to see. Von Grath didn't have much use for hangers on or slick social
types, and if the man really was an armor captain under her old general,
he would be as straightforward as he had so far presented himself.

Not that she had much choice but to go along with Cerberus and at least
try to see if they were not full of shit, given her lack of options. If
the Alliance had been worth spit, or if she thought she could have gone
back and not been tossed in a cell and then shot in the head, she would
have told TIM to go fuck himself. Working for Cerberus was somewhere on
her list of Shit Never to Do between becoming a slaver and having sex
with a krogan, after all.

But she didn't seem to have any options. And she couldn't actually say
that what he'd pointed out about the Alliance and the Council was a lie,
either. The Council wasn't blind or stupid – but they'd already proven
they would put politics first. Just because she'd managed to win them
over to some degree didn't mean they'd listen to some crazy cybered-up
zombie version of herself, and even if they did, the Alliance would
throw a bitch fit.

That didn't mean she was going to trust these assholes. But she wanted
to see what TIM's plans were first, and if he could follow through on
his big talk about resources.

O-TWCD-O

As it turned out, TIM was apparently a master of understatement.

They arrived in a desolate binary star system within some kind of dark
gaseous nebula. Several asteroid belts circled the star, along with a
single blue-white gas giant.

Shepard had been called up to the pinnaces' observation deck, where she
found Jack Harper standing next to Trellani and Miranda, staring out the
windows. He smiled thinly as she entered, a glass of whiskey in his
hand, and gestured out the window.

"Welcome to System TH34. Surveyed eleven years ago by a human scout
team. The information never made it back to Alliance Stellar
Cartography, since the scout ship was on my payroll. It sports three
asteroid belts, two of them with concentrations of titanium, palladium,
iron, and copper, and a single gas giant suitable for HE3 refining. The
nebula itself is fairly opaque beyond fifty light years away, and the
nearest mass relay is in the Indirus system."

Shepard glanced outside, then turned to face him. "And this system is in
the Traverse, or where?"

Trellani spoke, her tones elegant and clipped."It is actually located at
the very tip of the Black Rim. A low traffic area, one frequented mostly
by merchant types. Too close to the salarians for pirates to bother
with, or scouts looking for new systems, but far enough out that patrol
ships don't bother. From the Indirus relay you can hit the Traverse, the
Shrike Abyssal, and a dozen other trade lanes in less than two jumps."

Shepard folded her arms as the pinnace headed for the outer asteroid
belt. "Well, that's nice. I assume we are taking this side-trip because...?"

Jack Harper turned fully away from the window. "As I told you, Shepard,
I'm committed to providing you the kind of support you need to get the
tasks I have planned for you completed. At the same time, I'm a strong
believer in cell structure when it comes to maintained secrecy. Cerberus
has other operations, all organized into independent cells. Your cell,
the Revenant Cell, answers to you, and through you, me. As such, you
need a base of operations – not only for your ships and men, but for the
equipment we'll need to keep your body in working order, and to build up
any additional forces you may require."

He gestured out the window. "Even if you decide not to work with me and
expose all this to the Alliance or the Council, nothing here will lead
to them being able to locate any other Cerberus operations. The people
recruited to serve, with two exceptions, have no links to Cerberus, and
the information Ms. Chambers and Miranda have about the organization is
now over two years out of date."

Shepard folded her arms. "So if I double cross you, you don't get
burned. You don't trust me?"

Harper gave her a look. "It isn't a matter of trust, Shepard, so much as
prudence. It is always possible that you could be attacked, or tracked
back here. I can't risk all of Cerberus on your ability to stay
hidden...or on your choice to change your mind in the future." He paused
to sip his drink. "And I trust you to do what you think is best – which
may or may not coincide with what I think is best. That's the drawback I
face in bringing you back, one I'm prepared to accept."

Shepard didn't bother to argue that, as the pinnace approached a very
large asteroid. She could see some sort of docking bay built into the
side of it, and arched an eyebrow. "And I suppose this base is where
I'll be operating from, while you'll be elsewhere?"

Harper nodded. "Indeed. The resources I've been gathering since your
death have mostly been reinvested into this venture. I have no need for
large numbers of military assets myself – most of my investments are in
different directions. If Cerberus has a military arm, it will be under
your control."

The pinnace entered the docking bay, touching down lightly. From the
windows, Shepard could only see a row of sleek looking fighters and some
shuttles. "And this bullshit about a fleet? All I see is shuttles."

Harper gave her a smile. "This is the small craft docking bay, Shepard.
We'll show you around and let you decide if the resources are adequate."

O-TWCD-O

Shepard had to admit, almost an hour later – Harper could certainly
deliver on grandiose promises.

The base was comprised of six decks, along with a docking bay for small
craft and a huge hanger for larger ships. The asteroid was comprised of
stony iron, but hollowed out, and the inner hull was reinforced with
three dreadnought class kinetic barriers. Ten steerable GARDIAN laser
arrays covered the surface, along with over a dozen triple-mount, rapid
fire GTS launchers, four turreted heavy accelerator cannons, and a full
ECM suite. The surrounding fifteen asteroids were also fortified with
light kinetic barriers, GTS missiles and GARDIAN arrays.

Harper had promised her a fleet, but it wasn't the fleet she was
expecting. Two heavy cruisers formed the center of it, along with ten
smaller destroyers and a light carrier. The escort was fifteen light,
fast frigates. The ships were only lightly manned, most of the work done
by specially designed LOKI mechs and heavy use of VI systems, as well as
what Miranda referred to as 'a special personnel system you'll meet a
bit later'.

They were all heavily armed and armored, low-slung and vicious looking
ships. The dark black and gray color scheme, along with the angular,
elegant lines made them look like they were straining to move and attack.

Joker said the flagship was still having a few last minute features
added, and had its own docking bay – they'd see that later. She
shrugged. While certainly impressive, ships alone didn't mean shit, but
the cost of the fleet itself was more indication that TIM could move
serious cash and wasn't stingy about spending it. She worried about what
that meant, though – just because he was rich didn't mean he was going
to blow money on things she wouldn't need … and what in God's name would
she need an entire battle fleet plus a carrier for?

She walked along the stark white corridors, sourly noting more Cerberus
logos hurled about like graffiti, and just listened to the tour.

The top deck was called Operations, and was given over to
communications, planning, and intelligence. Below that was Science and
Medical, where researching what Shepard found would be done, as well as
a full hospital for casualties, and the facilities to repair and
maintain her body would happen. Then came Habitation, a mix of living
quarters, eating faculties, entertainment rooms, and briefing rooms.

Supply and Armory was the next deck, given over to a large hydroponics
area, recycling facilities, and a fueling refinery that sent out
automated ships to harvest HE3 from the system's gas giant. An armory
was here as well, along with faculties such as shooting ranges and
training rooms.

Storage and Manufacturing dominated its own deck, split between several
omni-foundries of various sizes, equipment to slowly manufacture
fighters and other small craft from materials in the asteroid belt, and
a large amount of storage space. Finally, the Environmental and Security
deck held the power plant, air production facilities, a large number of
mechs, and the armored command center that controlled the base defenses,
both internal and external.

Other features of the base were more geared towards espionage than
defense. She had a real-time QEC link to the Illusive Man and his own
intelligence networks, as well as links to thirty deployable, FTL-drive
equipped stealth spy drones. Each one was the size of a small police
cutter, and used the sort of heat-suppression technology the Normandy
did to stay nearly invisible to long range sensors. The drones could
monitor communications and provide sensor or visual data, as well as
launch their own micro-drones to scout planetary surfaces.

The Illusive Man and Trellani had stayed on the pinnace, but everyone
else had disembarked. He said he'd be in touch once she got settled in,
and suggested she tour the facilities to get familiar with everything.
She wasn't surprised to see him cut and run, but she could ask the
questions she still needed answers to another time.

Tali and Joker had apparently been here before, so they lead the way and
let Shepard decide what to see and where to go next. Miranda and
Chambers trailed behind her, mostly quiet, although Miranda would
interject when Shepard had questions, while Taylor said he'd been in
security if he was needed.

She started in Operations, which involved an elevator trip. She was
happy to note the damned thing moved quickly, and wondered vaguely if
the coffee maker on this base would be as topnotch as everything else.

The center of operations was a gigantic starmap, where information about
each star system could be brought up on haptic screens. The systems were
colored based on who controlled the system and known dangers – Broker
agents, pirates, civil wars, and the like were all displayed. Along with
this were a dozen ex-AIS agents. Most of the agents had family or
friends who'd been on the colonies that had vanished, and all of them
had been fired for trying to follow up on the disappearances.

Shepard frowned, and addressed the lead agent, a skinny woman with messy
brown hair named Trudy Menrows to explain why. "Doesn't make sense the
Alliance would just blow the colony disappearances off. I mean, I get
they want the wildcat colonies scared, but what will they do when an
Alliance colony vanishes? And why fire you over it?"

Trudy gave an exasperated sigh. "The fools are convinced it won't
happen. With the Terra Firma types in charge, most of the border patrols
have been puled back. The Alliance is churning out more ships than ever,
but none of them are being used to to protect the fringes of our
territory – instead, the defenses of Class II and III colonies, and Sol,
are being built up."

The agent gestured to the map. "We haven't established a single new
colony since the Benezia Incident that wasn't a wildcat colony. The AIS
was never told why, only that the order came down from the Lords of Sol.
Knowing what I do now, maybe they're getting ready for the Reapers. All
I know is that they took out two wildcat colonies in the Venthus Expanse
– and then one further away, skipping two almost defenseless class I
colonies." She paused. "Most of us tried to get the brass to at least
allocate some drones to keep the wildcat colonies under surveillance –
but the politics right now back home were completely poisonous to that
idea, and we all got shitcanned."

Shepard frowned. "Well, you're probably better off here, where at least
you'll get listened to. So, your little group of analysts here thinks
the Collectors are behind the abductions? Any proof?"

The agent shrugged. "Honestly ma'am? We aren't sure yet who is doing it.
There's not just a lack of evidence – it's like each site was vacuumed
clean. The only hints we have were the asari on a few of the colonies,
who remember nothing, and the bites or stings they suffered. The biology
on the bites is clean, and we can't even be sure what made them because
asari regenerate and they closed up in hours. I know one thing, though –
whoever it is, they have some crazy advanced technology."

Shepard glanced back at her. "Why do you say that?"

Trudy sighed. "It's a logical premise, based on what we've seen so far.
Mainly because we've moved as quickly as we could on some of the
disappearances – Cerberus, I mean, not the Alliance. In one case we
reached the site barely twelve hours after we lost contact with the
colony, and not only did we not find any evidence, there weren't even
any hints of weapons fire or engine discharges. You'd need some advanced
tech to kidnap eighty thousand people in a few hours and leave not a
single footprint behind."

Shepard nodded. "How did you guys end up working for Cerberus, anyway?"

Trudy's voice was quiet as she spoke. "Most of us were recruited just a
few weeks ago, pretty much out of the blue. Cerberus has pretty bad
associations with the AIS, and we know a lot of what they were up to."
The woman sighed. "But I was around long enough to remember that before
the AIS took a hand in it, Cerberus wasn't as bad as it became."

Shepard didn't know if she bought that or not, but continued the tour.
Operations had a lot of weird facilities – forensics labs, ballistics
ranges, interrogation rooms and the like – and more communications and
spy equipment than she had ever heard of. All in all, almost fifty
former AIS agents staffed the place, along with about a dozen
'independents' – private investigators or ex-cops, all of whom had lost
family or friends to the abductions.

Operations would be where she put together her investigations and
campaigns, Miranda explained, as they descended to the next level. It
was designed with an eye to find what other investigations might have
ignored, but also to leverage intelligence and surveillance capability
in a way that Shepard could decide how to use instead of being given
pieces and parts of.

The medical and science level was a bit creepier when she realized a
fourth of it was dedicated solely to keeping her alive and working. She
met the science team who'd resurrected her, and got a tour of the many
labs and operating theaters she'd end up in at some point. Some of it
looked more like a repair shop than a medical facility, which drove home
to her quite forcefully her unnatural nature.

She found it didn't bother as much as it probably should have. Maybe it
hadn't hit her yet, or maybe she was so overloaded with other shit that
the fact she'd need arc welding equipment to fix her body up at some
point was actually funny. It looked impressive and expensive and most of
the doctors were the nose-in-air kinds she'd dealt with all her life
until Chakwas and Sedanya had come along.

The second surprise she got was to find Doctor Sedanya here, working on
something in the large medical bay. The asari doctor looked much the
same as she had the last time Shepard had seen her, except instead of an
Alliance uniform she now wore the same kind of thin armored bodysuit
Miranda did.

"Doctor Sedanya?"

The asari looked up, and smiled gently. "I see they actually succeeded
in their mad science project. Welcome back to the shores of life, Major."

Shepard glanced around the bay before facing the doctor squarely. "I
have to admit, I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Sedanya sighed, sitting down in a nearby chair. "And I was not expecting
to be here five months ago, either. But my mate began to suffer early
stage effects of Kepral's Syndrome – a drell-only illness – and I didn't
have the money to pay for the only treatment options. The Alliance was
sadly unhelpful in that regard. When I was approached by certain
bio-medical researchers who said they could help me out in return for my
agreement to work for them, I was tempted to call the Commissars."

She ran a hand over her crests. "Instead, I listened to them. They were
as good as their word, and they saved the life of my bondmate. I told
them I wouldn't betray the Alliance or harm humans for any reason, and
they told me all I was needed for was medical duties – not research of
any kind, just healing."

She grimaced. "Then I got to a remote facility and Dr. Lawson here
contacted me remotely, showing me video of your living, breathing body."

Shepard nodded. "Yeah. What do you make of it?"

Sedanya gestured to her screens."I've been trying to follow their
research and understand all of what the tides they did to you – some of
it is remarkably inventive, and some of it is far beyond current science
and medical knowledge that it might as well be magic. A great deal of
the technology is simply inventive combinations of known cybernetic and
biogenetic alterations, but some of it is extremely ethically questionable."

Miranda cleared her throat. "That's arguable. And we didn't experiment
on anything except brain-dead clones of Shepard."

Sedanya eyed Lawson before giving an asari shrug. "That may be so, but I
wasn't speaking of the research needed to get there, but rather the
implementation. Shepard, no matter what these people have told you,
there's no way you can even live a few more years without their constant
intervention. The biosystems and cybernetics keeping you alive are
beyond experimental – and I don't think they can be recreated anywhere
in the next ten years without a crash program equal to the one that
brought you back to life."

Shepard smiled. "I figured the 'you can go your own way at any time'
line was bullshit, but it's nice to see I was right."

Miranda folded her arms. "Not at all. Doctor Sedanya overlooks that the
facility we are in now has all the necessary equipment and specialists
to keep you alive indefinitely, while being isolated from the Cerberus
network as a whole. And no, there are no super-secret self-destruct
systems built into this base to keep it out of Alliance hands, if that
is what you choose to do."

Sedanya crossed her legs. "Maybe. But even if Dr. Lawson is accurate
with that statement, this base remains your … oh, what is the reference?
Ah. Achilles heel. If it's destroyed – by enemy attack or Cerberus
cutting their losses – it is very unlikely you'll live for much longer."

Shepard shrugged. "Not to be dismissive, doc, but I sorta expected that.
TIM would be a complete fool if he didn't have some kind of leverage on
me, and the guy doesn't strike me as a fool."

Miranda sighed. "He didn't spent billions bringing you back to life just
to stab you in the back, Shepard."

Shepard smiled. "Yeah, I know. But he didn't spend billions to have me
turn on him without a way to prevent it either, Miranda."

The rest of the level was given over to science stations and other kinds
of labs. Miranda explained that they were looking into new kinds of
armor and weapons, as well as experimental support equipment like
battle-suits and VI-driven expert systems that could provide needed
skills in the field.

Habitation was mostly what it sounded like, although Shepard was amused
to see she had a nearly palatial set of rooms for her own use, including
some kind of private medical bed and her own eating spaces. A cabinet
full of clothes in black and gray, all expensive and upscale, was
matched by elegant furnishings. A small room with an omni-foundry and a
glass wall with mounts for various ship models was just gravy.

She glanced sourly at the wide double bed in the bedroom chamber and
shot Miranda an irritated look. "Expecting me to use that?"

It was Chambers who answered her. "We don't know what you will choose to
do in the long run, ma'am. The only one of our team who experienced
bond-loss, Matriarch Trellani, said everyone reacts differently. Some
immediately try to seek out another bondmate, others bury themselves in
strings of relationships, and others … never deal with anything of that
nature again. We'd rather be prepared for whatever choices you make than
try to corral you."

Shepard sighed. "Whatever. I don't like luxury, though."

Miranda's lips quirked. "Yes, well, I'm afraid both the Illusive Man and
Matriarch Trellani are fond of it."

Skipping the rest of Habitation, she went through the rest of the base.
The armory and manufacturing areas were just as overbuilt and impressive
as medical, with the capability of producing a literal army of mechs
given enough resources, and mining equipment to get those resources. The
armory was stocked with every kind of weapon Shepard could imagine –
including racks of designs she'd sketched out in her own notebook.

She found a rack of ODINs from said notebook in her personal armory
room, along with several sets of white-painted Spectre armor and a
single, slightly battered pistol. She picked it up wonderingly, glancing
at Miranda.

"We had an agent in the recovery action on Alchera. Your rifle was
destroyed in the crash, and your ODIN was taken by David Anderson – but
Saren's Sunfire pistol had gotten knocked under a fallen control panel
and missed. The journal was stolen by P.'s scavengers and tossed in with
your body in the stasis pod we recovered you in. We decided to utilize
its contents to build weapons you might wish to use."

Shepard had left the notebook, and the haptic frame of Liara, in her
personal quarters. She hefted the Sunfire-B pistol, before exhaling and
setting it back down.

"Let's keep going."

They finished the tour in a slightly smaller and empty docking bay,
after going through the storage and security areas, only to find Joker
and Tali waiting for them. Shepard glanced out over the empty bay and
complex fueling systems built into the ceiling, and then turned to Joker.

"What are you two here for?"

Joker gave her a grin. "We just got word that your early Christmas
present would be coming in a few minutes. I wanted to be here to show
her off."

Shepard considered his words, then glanced at him sidelong. "If you
bought me an asari stripper, Tali's going to need a new husband."

"Wha-? No! Jeez, always with the doubting. Look, this is going to be
awesome."

Tali merely patted his arm while tilting her head at Shepard. "He's a
little excited."

Shepard found herself smiling at the image the two of them made, and
then turned as Miranda tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned, blinking as a ship slowly entered the docking bay.

At first glance it was the size of an Alliance light cruiser, but the
lines were wrong for that. The heavily curved center section flared into
arched, thin wings each bearing a pair of framework engines with heavy
steerable thrust units behind them. Long prongs of armor framed the
low-slung cockpit, while a pair of aggressive looking tail fins balanced
the rear of the ship.

It was like a much bigger, much meaner and more aggressive looking
Normandy, done in black and dark gray instead of silver and white. The
ship slowly moved forward before docking clamps swung up from the floor
to hold it in place, and a fueling and supply gantry swung down from the
ceiling of the docking bay to mate with the supply collar even now
sliding open on the ships' port side.

Shepard folded her arms. "I'm guessing this is my flagship?"

Miranda nodded. "We … ahem, acquired the designs through various means,
and then performed a complete redesign. The entire air-frame is now
constructed of Silaris material, and heavily armored in more Silaris
armor. Cyclonic barrier shielding generators cover fore and aft, and the
engines are sixty percent more powerful than those of the original
Normandy."

She gestured to the hull. "The IES system has been heavily refined, and
combined with prototype technology pioneered by the salarians to break
up her visual lines. The surface paint is omnimorphic and can mimic many
different paint schemes, and there are a number of kits we can attach to
change her shape and outline in case you need to be discreet."

Joker piped in."The guns are twice as heavy as what the Normandy had,
full on cruiser blasters. She's got four GARDIAN arrays, rotating
missile racks in the wings, and somehow Cerberus flat out stole the FTL
launcher and Kyle-class torpedoes we had on the Kazan. I'm sure I don't
know how that happened."

Shepard gave him a look, then shook her head. "That's pretty impressive,
but half of the Normandy's power came from her crew. Pressly was a big
part of what made that work, him and his ops people."

Miranda nodded. "We're aware of that. Commander Pressly survived, but is
still … impaired. We attempted, with no success, to try to recruit him
for this mission, but at the time we could not reveal that you had
survived. Instead, we were forced to try to adapt to the situation as
best we could."

Joker sighed. "Yeah, by giving my ship goddamned cancer."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "Cancer?"

Miranda gestured to the now lowering walkway. "You'll understand more
once you're aboard, Shepard."

O-TWCD-O

The new Normandy was much like the original, but also different in a lot
of ways. The fact that they had an armory with minifacturing
capabilities and a laboratory was weird enough, but the medical bay had
its own little room set aside for her needs, where the science lab was
on the old Normandy.

Everything was larger, more luxurious, and more advanced. The elevator
was fast, and they had a real kitchen, expansive mess-decks, a library,
a bar and poker room, even real bunk beds for the limited crew. The core
was larger and more powerful, the weapons room had detailed inventory
and calibration controls, and the cargo bay boasted a hover-tank along
with a pair of fighters and an armored, armed shuttle.

Her own quarters, on their own little deck, were more of the same
useless luxury she had seen on the base, complete with, of all things, a
fucking aquarium. The double bed and leather sectional couch were also a
bit much.

But when she saw the CIC, she felt right at home again. While larger and
more advanced looking than her old CIC on the Normandy, and smaller than
the Kazan, it felt familiar. The fact that they'd added a chair was a
nice touch.

She turned to Miranda. "This is … well, it's really impressive, Miranda.
I see why Joker was so ga-ga over everything."

A sneering voice emitted from the nearby wall. "Wonderful, the chief
primate has finally decided to stop sleeping and grace us with her
undead presence."

Shepard slowly turned, blinking as a floating silvery orb detached
itself from a sort of projector on the wall and floated towards her. It
took a second for her to realize what it was.

"Vigil?"

The orb pulsated. "Yes, Shepard. I'm glad your memory works enough to
recall me, given the methods we used to revive you were so dreadfully
primitive. Your doctors did not appreciate my suggestions of including
native chants, rain dances, or hallucinogenic substances in their
procedures."

She shook her head. "Still an asshole, I see. Why are you here?"

Vigil bobbed in mid air before floating out over the galaxy map. "Your
employers – who are suitably ruthless but display a distressing lack of
manpower – liberated me from that pack of incompetent idiots you call
the Council, who continue to think governing out of a Reaper mouse-trap
is somehow intelligent. I assisted in your reconstruction, and in
penetrating the laughable computer systems in which many of the designs
and secrets of your various governments were hid, like the stealth and
weapons systems of this ship."

The sphere circled her slowly. "Originally, I was planning to merely
stay at the base, offering my advice to correct your no doubt unoptimal
choices and continue in assisting the Illusive Man, as well as working
towards my own goals. Unfortunately, the Illusive Man could not procure
sufficient personnel to man all the ships he wanted, and thus
alternatives were needed."

The sphere pulsated again. "As such, I have split off many sub-daemons
of my core matrix to act as overseeing AI's on these ships, and this
iteration of me is one such instance. I will perform all the ECM and
gunnery control functions on the ship, as well as cyberwarfare and some
damage control functions. Of course, there will be conventional crew
aboard, but far fewer than a ship this size would normally require."

Joker grimaced. "Like I said. Ship cancer."

Vigil's next pulse was somehow … smug. Its voice certainly was. "Alas,
some of the primitives you associate with continue to try to engage in a
battle of the wits with their superior, without realizing they are
unarmed. Pilot Moreau is one such unfortunate soul. As an aside, did you
know the root of your name literally translates to 'little dark'? I find
that an apt description of your mental capabilities."

Joker glared at the orb. "I hate you."

Vigil serenely floated over his head to hover at Shepard's shoulder.
"The impulse is reciprocated, meatbag."

Shepard shook her head. "Well, you came in handy on the Citadel. I'm
sure you will here as well. Do you trust Cerberus?"

The sphere pulsated a brighter silver for a moment, and then spoke in a
deeper, more serious tone. "I would think that putting myself in their
service would answer that question, but a review of their operational
history suggests that your quaint moral systems would have problems with
their previous acts. I have been monitoring most, if not all, of their
communications, much to the chagrin of the Illusive Man. So far, the
majority of their activity has been a rather deft manipulation of the
financial markets of your civilizations, a good deal of industrial
espionage, and some quiet bribery here and there to encourage various
defense industries to explore alternative technologies."

She folded her arms. "So...no experiments on aliens?"

Vigil floated around to her other shoulder. "Not so far, although I fail
to see why this is important to you. The Reapers, I assure you, will
have no such hesitancy, nor do I see such reserve in the activities of
other alien races, especially the ones known as salarians."

Shepard sighed. "We shouldn't have to dip into being sick fucking
assholes just to defend our lives, Vigil. What the fuck are we fighting
for if we're going to be as bad as the Reapers?"

Vigil actually laughed. "Human, if your worst nightmares of ethical
violations were committed for a thousand years by Cerberus, they would
not hold up to the least of the monstrosities the Reapers commit. At the
very least, the atrocities that Cerberus committed in the past had some
useful function, some goal in their perpetration, as do those of other
species. The Reapers, on the other hand, commit such things simply to
induce horror and fear in the weaker species of the galaxy – and, I
suspect, for amusement value."

Shepard sighed. "I won't argue with that. I just don't...and
won't...sign off on the kind of bullshit Cerberus used to pull in the
name of 'advancing humanity'."

Vigil floated beside her as she walked around the CIC, glancing over the
displays, saying nothing. After a moment, she glanced at it. "Are you on
every ship under my command, then?"

The sphere shimmered and then blinked out, only to pop up over the
galaxy map. "Yes. While the QEC system these people have managed to
create is effective, it is also energy inefficient and tied to serially
created pre-existing circuits. I can communicate instantly between all
instances, and in a manner that cannot be spied upon or hacked into. I
can also coordinate your ships and direct fire in a fashion that organic
crews could not mimic, and I have far more experience doing so – in the
Inusannon's fight against the Reapers I commanded thousands of ships at
once."

She walked through the CIC. "So, if I wanted to build more ships – ones
designed specifically to need no crew but you – would that be workable?"

Vigil bobbed in the air. "Indeed it would. This is one reason why I so
strongly suggested bringing you back from the dead – your mind grasps
things others seem to reject. The Illusive Man was not open to the idea
of giving me more combat power he did not have some form of control
over, but to answer your question, not only would it be workable, but I
already have designs that could be utilized."

Shepard frowned. "/You/ suggested bringing me back from the dead? Why?"

Vigil appeared in the cockpit, on a plinth to one side of the pilot's
seat. "A number of reasons. I already mentioned your mental flexibility.
Your combat abilities, now that you have been augmented like a proper
Inusannon soldier, are also far beyond the capabilities of most Cerberus
personnel. But a more important reason was due to my observations in the
past. I have observed a number of cycles fighting against the Reapers
before the Inusannon decided to take up the fight, and also observed the
fight of those you call the Protheans. In every cycle, there is usually
one person – typically a soldier – who ends up becoming the center of
the resistance. In the days of the Protheans, it was a special soldier
named Jaavik who reminded me much of you."

As Shepard, Vigil, Miranda and Tali entered the cockpit, Vigil did
something and the pilot's seat spun in a slow circle until it faced
backwards, and Joker sat down with a pleased sigh. "Ahh...leather."

Vigil continued. "In this cycle, I had already identified you as the
most likely center of resistance – which is why I believe you were
targeted and killed. When the key resistance leader is destroyed, most
cycles put up completely ineffective resistance, some of them even going
so far as to try to negotiate a peace with the Reapers. You can imagine
how that works out. The prey can hardly negotiate a ceasefire with the
predator."

Shepard's frown only deepened. "You make it sound like my participation
is somehow important. But – "

Vigil interrupted her. "Let me guess. You will repeat the words of
Jaavik, and say you are only a soldier, and did not do that much. Spare
me, organic. It is not a matter of what you 'do', it is a matter of how
you think. If you believe in things like the Inusannon did, then you are
fated to fight the Reapers. If you are more logical and less given to
flights of fancy, then you would understand that your perspective is not
unique. Saren, when he discovered the threat, should have been the one
to lead the fight – instead, he succumbed. It is not about you, as a
singular person – rather the position you represent."

Shepard arched an eyebrow and glanced at Tali. "Does any of that make
sense to you?"

Tali shrugged, adjusting her reik slightly. "I don't honestly know,
Sara. I know since you died, it doesn't seem like anyone is really
preparing for the Reapers except Cerberus. If you had not died, with
your fame and visibility, you could have kept preparations going –
without you the only people who know about this are all politicians."

Joker snorted. "It's more than that. You brought everything together,
Shepard. You may not have done all the work, but you were the one to go
in and save Tali, to rescue Liara, to come up with the idea to go after
Cerberus and shut them down. Since you died no one has really stepped
up...well, except Delacor, and that guy is a walking death sentence."

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alright." She turned to
Miranda. "Now what? I go forth and right wrongs?"

Miranda's lips curled into a smile. "Not exactly."

O-TWCD-O

Shepard was lead back into the base, and to the operations level, where
they entered yet another room, this one with a circular table surrounded
by comfortable chairs, and big haptic screens on the wall. In the center
of the room was a QEC projector, and it was projecting the image of the
Illusive Man, sitting comfortably on a chair, smoking.

"So, you have seen the facilities. I presume they are adequate?"

Shepard exhaled, and sat down in one of the overstuffed leather
executive chairs at the table. "Beyond adequate, for up to and including
minor planetary invasions. Pretty light on personnel, from what I see,
though."

The Illusive Man nodded. "Part of that is by design, and part of that is
by circumstances. Vetting people who could definitively classified as
not possible spies of the Broker was more difficult than expected.
Several attempts at breaching the security of the Revenant Project were
turned aside only at great cost, and only by dint of using Matriarch
Trellani's abilities were we able to ferret out one infiltrator."

He puffed on his cigarette. "At the same time, I did not want to give
you a complete staff full of people you had no way of knowing whether or
not to trust. We have a selection of dossiers on a variety of
ex-Alliance personnel who have, for one reason or another, separated
from the service since your death and are available for recruitment.
Most of these are personnel for the new ship you will be commanding,
although you already have a partial staff."

Shepard folded her arms. "I do?"

He nodded. "Ms. Zorah will be acting as your chief engineer, Doctor
Sedanya as your medical officer, and you will find that Miranda makes a
capable executive officer or a chief intelligence officer. Obviously Mr.
Moreau will be the pilot. Vigil oblviates the need for a Navigator, and
Dr. Chambers will serve as a communications officer as well as providing
psychological support. Mr. Taylor will also accompany you, as your
battle duty officer and gunnery specialist."

He tapped his ashes. "A few technical people are already on board, as
well as a maintenance technician, a Mr. Gardner, who doubles as a mess
cook. Additional personnel will be approved by you in the coming days
from the list of personnel we have prepared."

"As for the base itself, the armory and manufactory areas are under the
supervision of one of Ms. Zorah's friends, Kiala'Dost, and her husband,
a former Alliance Lieutenant of security. The medical areas are already
fully manned by the specialists who brought you back to life. One of my
best people, Mr. Randall Ezno, will handle base security, along with
patrolling security mechs. As with the ship, additional personnel will
be at your discretion to acquire."

She nodded, leaning back in the chair. "That only leaves what my mission
is."

Jack Harper put out his cigarette, the QEC image flickering as he did
so. "The mission entails three segments, although it may change as we
uncover additional information. The first task is confirming that the
Collectors are indeed behind the vanishing colonies, and to gather
information and evidence that cannot be ignored by the Alliance or the
Council that this is the case. The second mission, assuming the
Collectors are the culprits, is to determine why they are taking the
colonists, and to where."

He pulled out a fresh cigarette and lit it. "The third mission is the
determination of the best method to stop them from doing so, preferably
by destroying their base of operations. That would allow us to pick
through the wreckage and find additional proof of Collector connection
to the Reapers."

He inhaled smoke, and blew it out in a thin line. "A secondary but
equally important task is linking the Broker to the Collectors, and to
your untimely demise – preferably by obtaining it from the wreckage of
his corpse."

He tapped a control on his chair, and an image of the Omega system came
up. "There are four primary barriers to success to the primary mission.
The first is the most daunting – from all reports, the Collectors
operate beyond the Omega-4 relay, which is unlike any other relay in the
known system. No ship or probe other than Collector vessels has ever
been able to traverse the relay and return."

Shepard frowned. "Well, that's a non-starter."

Harper smiled. "The interesting thing about the relay is that, according
to Vigil, this was also the case during Inusannon times, except it was
another race that ventured forth from the relay. The Inusannon were able
to 'hack' the Relay in some fashion, but Vigil does not have any records
of how they achieved this, or what they found. The fact that they did so
implies it could be done again."

He tapped a control, and the image changed, to that of a large,
asymmetrical shape, part curved metal, part stones and cliffs. A smaller
shape, similar in construction but thinner and more elongated, was
displayed below the bigger one. "These are composite images of reported
Collector vessels. In the event that we cannot manage to recreate the
Inusannon's 'hack' of the relay, our initial option is finding,
disabling, and capturing one of these vessels, with an eye towards
identifying the method they use to bypass the defenses of the relay and
transit to the Collector base that we surmise must exist."

He folded his hands together. "Given that the Collectors, whether or not
they are linked to the Reapers, have very advanced technology, capturing
such a ship would be a very dangerous proposition. It is one reason I
have given you such a large number of warships to work with. Managing to
capture such a ship is the second barrier to success."

He tapped the controls on his chair again, and the image shifted to one
of an abandoned colony. "The third problem we face is that we don't know
how the Collectors, if it is the Collectors, are managing to subdue and
capture tens of thousands of armed, typically tough-minded colonists at
one time and abscond with them in a manner of hours. Any weapon or
defense system that could do this would be able to render most invading
or boarding forces incapable of action. Without a better understanding
of how they subdue their targets, we can't expect boarding the ships to
work, much less assaulting their base."

A final key-press shifted the image to that of the Citadel. "Finally, we
have to be very careful in how we manage your own resurrected status. We
can't just let you run around and start blasting things, nor can we
expect for your return to life to be kept quiet for long without
careful, and extreme, counter-measures. The more information we can
present to the Council once your existence becomes known, and the more
certain we can be of any linkage between the Collectors and the Broker,
and the more likely it becomes that they will accept your continued
existence peacefully – or even offer help. On the other hand, if you are
exposed too early, I have strong doubts that the Citadel's reaction will
be positive – much less that of the Alliance. We also cannot discount
the possibility that the Broker will try to have you killed – again."

He killed the haptic images, and leaned back in his chair. Shepard
thought about what he had said then shrugged. "I'm guessing you have
answers to all these problems?"

He nodded. "To some of them, yes. The first task – proving the
Collectors are behind the disappearances – is the most urgent. Right
now, I have my people constantly monitoring every single wildcat colony
humanity has, using remote spy drones with QEC links as well as on-site
agents. When one loses contact, we'll know faster than anyone else that
something is going down, and we'll send your force in to respond. While
we may or may not get there in time to stop the abduction or even see it
in progress, we can almost be sure to get there to record drive
emissions or weapon discharges, and hopefully gather some form of
forensic evidence on the ground."

He took a sip of his drink. "The other mission you need to look at is
exposing and bringing down the Broker. There, I do not think weight of
ships, or massive military forces will be of much use – it will be a war
of intelligence gathering, infiltration and examination of evidence.
While not exactly your strong point, I've managed to find a number of
people who all have a reason to dislike or hate the Broker and who might
be open to assisting you."

He exhaled. "I'm sure you would prefer to work with your old team, but
with the exception of Ashley Williams, the only one alive and viable is
Tali here. Urdnot Wrex is tied up with attempting to unify the Clans on
Tuchanka, and while we do have access to Jason Dunn, he is currently
serving a different purpose. Likewise, for the moment, some of your old
subordinates – your DACT, and Senior Chief Vega – are not exactly open
to recruitment, although that may change at a later date."

He leaned back in his chair. "Instead, we've put together dossiers on a
number of personnel that would fit your combat and leadership style,
while offering skills you don't yourself possess. The people in question
offer various benefits and, in some cases, drawbacks, but all of them
are the very best at what they do. Some of them I've already arranged
payment for – in particular, two."

A pair of images flipped up on the screen. "The first is Kasumi Goto, a
spy, intelligence broker, saboteur, thief and former agent of the
Broker. Ms. Goto is a legend in certain circles, and was a Broker ally
for many years, but recently has fallen out of favor with the group –
and is actively under attack. Her knowledge of Broker procedures and
weaknesses will come in handy, and her ability to find secretive
information and infiltrate is a skill-set you may find useful in
investigating the Broker or finding Tetrimus. Additionally, she claims
to have information of something to do with the Batarian Empire and the
Reapers, information her long-time partner was killed for."

The other image Shepard recognized, even as Harper spoke. "You already
met Zaeed Massani, I believe, on New Louisiana. He is currently a
free-for-hire mercenary, and still in command of his two-hundred strong
mercenary legion called Firestorm. Given that your only real combat
personnel are mostly mechs, a human contingent seems useful, although
where you deploy them from may be problematic if you don't wish to
expose your base. Massani himself has also had problems with the Broker
in recent months, leading up to a series of attacks – physical and
financial – on his mercenary company by Broker-backed agents. Mr.
Massani has a death-feud with the current leader of the Blue Suns
Mercenary Corporation, one Vido Santiago. On top of a very large
paycheck, one requirement for his service is that he receive combat
assistance in killing Mr. Santiago. Mr. Massani's own hatred of the
Broker stems from the fact that the Broker appears to be assisting Mr.
Santiago in avoiding Massani's wrath, as well as having participated in
various actions that were a detriment to Firestorm."

Shepard shrugged. "I don't know how I could use a bunch of pyromaniacs,
but they might come in handy, and Massani can certainly fight. The other
one, Goto – can she be trusted?"

Harper smiled. "Good to see you aren't taking things at face value. I've
had my people watch Goto very carefully, and I am certain the Broker
threat to her life is very real. She has a certain reputation for not
taking betrayal well, and I doubt any rapprochement is possible – that
does not mean she may not try to sell you out if she feels she can get
away with it."

He put up four more images. "The other people I have my eye on are more
… problematic. The first one is an ex-STG salarian medical researcher
known as Doctor Mordin Solus. Dr. Solus is known, among other things,
for having done some research on bits of Collector technology that fell
into STG hands after a raid, and is the only known scientist in the
galaxy who has ever seen Collectors in person that we are aware of. His
background in both military science and medicine makes him the ideal fit
to conduct additional research on the Collectors. He's currently running
a medical clinic on Omega. While Solus has no known personal dislike of
the Broker, his sister, the matriarch of the Solus family, hates the
Broker intently for reasons unknown. Of course, she also has an
antipathy for Cerberus, so recruitment may be...problematic."

The next image was little more than a blurry streak of black. "Also on
Omega is a figure known only as the Archangel. A vigilante of sorts, the
Archangel has been tearing apart various gang operations on Omega for
the past year or so. But our agents suggest that his more recent
activities have actually focused on taking down Broker operatives on
Omega, so many that the Broker himself has posted a price on Archangel's
head of two hundred million credits. Aria herself appears to be tolerant
of his activities, as his acts against the gangs and criminals of the
station typically expose the fact that they have been cheating Aria out
of her tribute in some fashion."

Harper's voice dropped in tone. "Archangel, from all reports, is a truly
lethal combatant – possibly even powerful enough to kill Tetrimus.
Several Broker assassins, including quite famous ones, have attempted to
take him out over the past few months, and all of them have been
literally torn to pieces. Archangel has so infuriated the gangs and
criminals of Omega that they are now working together to try to find him
and kill him – we may be able to convince him that extraction lets him
live to fight another day."

The image of a starkly beautiful young woman flashed up next. "This is a
young biotic of sorts, known as Jack. Sadly, Jack was once a Cerberus
experiment."

Shepard winced. "Once?"

Harper sighed. "Jack was part of a program designed to explore the
nature of what biotics could do. In her case, she was shaped into a sort
of living anti-biotic. Her own biotic abilities cause certain resonances
which disrupt conventional biotics, allowing her to shatter biotic
barriers, nullify warpfire, and ignore kinetics. The initial goals of
the program were benign...until Richard Williams tampered with them."

Shepard watched Harper carefully, surprised to see a hint of true anger
in the man's expression. "When I discovered what had been done – details
would only upset you, Shepard – I sent my people to shut the sordid mess
down and liberate the subjects. Jack, therefore, has mixed opinions
about Cerberus. She has been victimized, and like many victims, would
like nothing more than to strike back at those who hurt her – but at the
same time, Cerberus rescued her."

Harper flicked ashes from his cigarette. "Unfortunately, Jack fell into
the wrong crowd some time ago, and was involved in an attempt to free
slaves from a batarian internment camp. In the assault, she was
captured, and for reasons still not clear to me, sold into slavery. She
managed to escape shortly thereafter, but was recaptured by mercenaries
– and imprisoned in cryostasis aboard Purgatory."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "Warden Kuril's station."

He nodded. "Just so. Jack's unique biotic abilities might be of some use
to you if the Collectors use biotics, but she would definitely be an
asset in combating Tetrimus, given his own titanic biotic power. I have
arranged for payment to 'buy' Jack from Kuril, although he seems
reluctant to agree to part with her, stating she is unstable and
dangerous – I am hoping, given your past relationship, that you can
finalize the deal and set her free, and convince her to work for us. We
do know she had some sort of run with Broker agents in the incident that
lead to her capture, so she may be amenable to fighting him, if you can
win her over."

He tapped the controls and another image appeared, that of the Ilium.
"The final party in the initial round up of useful personnel is even
more mysterious than Archangel. They are called the Sisters of
Vengeance, and they have been waging private war against the Broker on
Ilium for some time now. They are believed to be asari sisters who lost
someone close to them due to actions of the Broker, and have devastated
his networks on Ilium and elsewhere."

He puffed on the cigarette in his hand before scrubbing it out. "The
Sisters have, from time to time, sent us useful intelligence on Broker
activities, but we have no clear idea of their true identities or goals.
However, as with Archangel, the Broker is making moves to try and
localize them for disposal. Their ability to find information and get
into places unseen – not to mention their staggering skill at
information brokering – would provide you with additional resources and
abilities, and from all indications they are also very good combatants.
Their focus on killing the Broker would mesh well with your own issues,
I would think."

He leaned back. "Of course, you may wish to pursue other courses of
action. I would recommend staying far away from the Citadel or Earth,
but if you wished to try to make contact with former friends or allies,
we could assist in that."

She thought. "From what you're telling me, most of them aren't
available. I do have a few questions, though. What happened to my
Commissars, Alfred Jiong and Susan D'Alte?"

Harper sighed. "Both were apparently blamed for your death by the
Commissariat. They've been reassigned to the Penal Legions as
instructors. Keep in mind, Shepard, that their conditioning means they
can't possibly join you."

She sighed. "I know. I'm just glad they're okay. What about Anderson?
Where is this mental hospital?"

Harper gave a thin smile. "In Vancouver. It is very unlikely that you
can get to him undetected – he has both AIS and Commissariat guards.
However, Commander Kahlee Sanders is still aboard Grissom Academy
Station – you may be able to contact her, assuming she can be trusted."

Shepard nodded. "Chambers already told me about where Colms and Cole
ended up...where is Doctor Chakwas?"

Harper smiled wider. "Married to former General von Grath. They retired
to Bekenstein almost a year ago. Von Grath was instrumental in covering
up Cerberus' involvement in the rescue of your body, and we've done our
best to protect him and his noble family from backlash."

Shepard sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "So, now I wait for
some poor colony to get vanished, or do I start meeting up with these
people?"

Harper shook his head. "First, you will need to perform some final
testing – fitting and programming your omni-tool, your bio-amp, and your
personal armor. You will also want to check and adjust your weapons, as
well as get familiar with your physical abilities."

He gestured to Miranda. "As I said, we have dossiers and files on a
large number of personnel that will be needed to man the Normandy and
the base. Miranda will assist in helping you choose which of these
personnel to recruit and bring into the organization. Finally, I suspect
you'd like a day or two of time to yourself. The past day must have been
quite an upheaval for you."

She nodded curtly. "I have one concern. How exactly do you plan to keep
me being alive again a secret?"

Harper smiled. "We've spent the past year generating a number of 'fake'
Shepards – imitators and look-alikes – to drum up visibility and
generate the concept that you really are dead. If you are inadvertently
identified, most will take it as yet another hoax. We have a number of
possible methods for reintroducing you to society, but none of those are
planned to happen until – at the very least – we can definitively link
the Collectors to the abduction of colonists. "

He sipped his drink again, draining it. "Ultimately, how you choose to
reveal yourself – and what level of connection you admit to having with
Cerberus – is up to you. I doubt very strongly that such will be an easy
task, and it will likely require a great deal of blackmail and political
manipulation to do so in a manner acceptable to you."

She folded her arms. "You don't plan to use me to try to whitewash your
own image?"

Harper looked amused. "I have already risked death once at your hands,
Shepard. You'll understand if I do not intend to engage in strategies
likely to enrage you even further. And Cerberus does not need a
whitewash, nor can one be proffered without doing immense harm to the
Alliance itself. If in the fullness of time the Broker is stopped and
the galaxy unites to defeat the Reapers, as long as humanity's future is
safeguarded – what happens to me is immaterial."

She arched an eyebrow. "You don't seem like the self-sacrificing type."

He gave her a level look. "And I am not, in most cases. If it becomes a
choice between the safety of my people and my own life...well, as I said
to you earlier, there are days where letting everything go would be a
relief. But that is far afield of where we stand now."

He stood. "For now, focus on bringing your flagship on line, and
preparing to begin your initial investigations. My own networks will
keep your intelligence people appraised of galactic events and changes
in the situation as they happen. Good luck, Shepard."

The signal ended, and Shepard sighed. "Before anything else – Miranda, I
need a drink, and a smoke."

The dark-haired woman rolled her eyes. "That was anticipated. You'll
find them in your personal quarters. If I might make a suggestion?"

Shepard nodded, and Miranda gave her a small careful smile. "It will
take us more than a few hours to finish setting up everything we need to
get started – you should probably consider getting some rest, and eating
something. We can get started tomorrow morning on the final tests for
your omni-tool, software interface and bio-amp – rushing will only skew
the results due to fatigue."

Shepard exhaled and nodded. "Alright. I'll do that." She walked away,
and after a moment Chambers walked up to Miranda, her expression thoughtful.

"Do you think she'll want to talk?"

Miranda gave the shorter redhead a dark look. "I don't honestly know,
Dr. Chambers. I would ask that you at least give her one night to
decompress and have some privacy before attempting to analyze her,
seduce her, or whatever other idea you have in mind."

Chambers shrugged. "I was just going to see if she wanted to have
someone to drink with. I'd suggest you do it, actually – she likes you
the most, out of all of us."

Miranda appeared a little startled by that, but shook her head. "I need
to remain at a certain reserve, if I'm to be of any use."

Chambers folded her arms. "No, right now what Shepard needs most of all
is someone to listen and talk to her. No one has ever gone through what
she has – returning from the dead. Everything has changed, and I get the
feeling Zorah and Moreau make her a little uncomfortable. She needs a
friend, Lawson – and, if you don't bite my head off for saying so, so do
/you/."

Miranda stiffened. "I'm fully capable of dealing with my own personal
issues, thank you."

Chambers shrugged, turning to go. "If you say so. I'll be in medical if
you need me – if you chicken out and decide to let Shepard get drunk and
weepy alone, don't complain to me afterwards if she tears up her quarters."

The psychologist flounced away, and Miranda glared at her retreating
back before pausing in indecision for a long moment before hurrying
after Shepard.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 6: Arc I : Sisters of Vengeance*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

/*A/N*:
/

/I apologize for the length of this chapter - but breaking it in half
would have been awkward, and padding up two chapters with more details
might have enraged those who desire me to be parsimonious with words. :p
/

/Those of you who were expecting EDI at this juncture, I fear, will
remain disappointed. There were a number of reasons for the change - I
won't spoil them here - but suffice it to say she eventually shows up
after a fashion.
/

/This chapter ... well. Some may not like it. I'd like to know why. Some
may love it. I would also like to know why. There is a certain amount of
infodumping in here (as with the Garrus chapter) but I couldn't think of
a good way to get everything needed to be known across otherwise. /

/Reviews are always welcome.
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'They killed Vanthus - cut his head off, in the middle of his own
secured enclave, no one saw anything. Goddamn it, I just left Omega to
get away from scary bullshit like this and it's on Ilium too?'
/

/- Michael Vinfrost, Broker technical expert, to another Broker agent
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sevensia T'Benna was usually satisfied with life, carefree and amused at
the fears and antics of others. Her unease tonight was unusual – but not
unexpected, given the circumstances she found herself in. She was used
to the sort of social manipulations and dangers that came from dealing
with the cutting edges of high society, not physical danger.

Then again, she mused sourly, she'd never swam with the out-going tides
her entire life

She was the fourth daughter of the smallest, weakest House of the
Thirty, and a disappointment to her mother. She'd never been cut out for
business – at least, not the polite, clean business that appropriate to
her station, that of sitting around while the clanless did the actual
work. She'd left home in her early maiden years, using her body, her
charm, and her desire for wealth and fun to the fullest. She'd partied,
got strung out, and ended up falling into what her mother would have
called the wrong crowd.

Tide-bound bitch.

The years since her maiden days were long, but she'd eventually grown
out of wild parties and drug binges, although she still had a thing for
hanar. She'd used her many friends and lovers as contacts, getting into
deals here and there. She was the one who could get a case of red sand
or a pack of numb-gel at the last minute, or hook up someone with an
air-car with cold plates for a quick run out of the city.

Eventually, she'd branched out from that. Guns, drugs, and joygirls, and
then bringing together people with cash to people with guns, and finally
running her own little clearing house. The years since she'd just been a
jumped up party girl who could get you a side of nose candy or
dark-smoke were long past, and she'd prospered.

Sevensia looked out from the top of her penthouse on Ilium, frowning as
she glanced over the single message on the status screen to her right.
She'd learned the hard way how to make it in the real world, and the
past century had been difficult and often painful, but had paid off in
the end. She was a specialist at what she called connections – she put
together groups of interested investors with those who could get messy
jobs done.

It had made her powerful, in her own little circles. She was a gateway
for those with certain skills to be hired by those with a lot of money.
She mingled with the jet-set in the nightly parties and exclusive galas
of Ilium. The clanless here had more money than many of the Thirty, but
they still deferred to her, as they should.

She'd become so good at putting people where they belonged, and
winnowing into the social circles of others, that when the humans were
discovered, she was one of the first to get her people into their space.
It didn't take much. Bekenstein was like a sloppy, pale copy of Ilium,
and the rules she lived her life by made it easy to fit in there, too.

She had contacts on all levels of the Alliance now – and blackmail
material on most of them. Humans just couldn't keep their hands off
asari, it seemed, and the more they dabbled the more entranced they got.
The human military was smarter, banning its officers from relationships
with asari – but they didn't bother to enforce that for the contractors
and vendors who operated so much of their supply and repair structure.

She'd become something of an expert on the humans since then, and had
more people woven into their silly little Alliance than even their inept
AIS could have expected. It made her useful when the Thirty needed to
slow the flow of clanless to the Alliance, and opened up new doors for
her to liaison with other powerful types.

Like the Shadow Broker.

It had been almost ten years since the Broker's people had approached
her, and her alliance with the Network had paid off handsomely. Until a
year ago, she had thought herself on top of the world. She was adored on
Ilium, chased by the media, one of the Names who were often called upon
by the Ilium Corporate Court to advise them on matters political and
financial.

Then the Sisters of Vengeance had started their grim work.

Sevensia had not paid much attention to the rumors, which sounded like
the worst and stupidest kind of urban legends. A pair of asari, who had
sworn the Final Oath of Sublimation to kill the Broker himself? Madness.

But the rumors were real, she'd found that out just recently. One of her
most trusted allies, a drell named Vorkxis, an assassin and failed
Remembrance Dancer, had just been killed in his own estates on one of
Ilium's moons. It was the ninth such killing this year, and the Broker
had sent out another kill team to try and track down the perpetrators,
with no luck.

Vorkxis was hardly a conventional assassin – he worked with exotic
poisons, ones that were comprised of multiple parts, taken over long
periods of time. Each part, by itself, was harmless. Most were natural
compounds of exotic food dishes or seasonings, But when combined with
other parts, and ingested over time, they could mimic a number of
natural body failures – strokes, heart attacks, glandular failures.

She remembered Vorkxis had come under a lot of heat a year ago, when Old
Silver had died under mysterious circumstances, but she'd never heard
any details.

Sevensia had enough access to the LINK to know Vorkxis hadn't done a lot
of hits, recently. No one big, nothing of import. The only thing Vorkxis
had even done in the past three or four years was the cleanup of some of
the assets involved in the assassination attempt on the human president,
Windsor – other than that, he'd been mostly trying to keep his nose clean.

Until someone had broken into his lavish home, bypassed his security,
and killed him with several of his own poisons. The pair of black silk
roses left behind had baffled the police, but Sevensia recognized them
as the mark of the Sisters.

If the urban legends and what not could be believed, the Sisters of
Vengeance had a vendetta against the Broker,who'd killed their sister,
or their mates, or children, or some such echas-quality nonsense.
Personally, Sevensia figured they were the agents of some other player –
P., maybe, or the Shifter, or even Aria.

In just under a year, they'd killed nine top level and a dozen lower
level associates of the Network. Each kill was quiet, clean,
professional, and marked by the sign of the two roses. Each kill showed
whoever had done them in had raided and hacked their databases, looking
for information – on what, no one knew. The kills weren't the usual sort
of bloody work you'd expect from assassins – a minimum of force was
always used. High powered biotics, careful planning, and an alarming
ability to ferret out the one or two weaknesses each target had set them
off from all but the most lethal of assassins.

And all of the best assassins were no where near Ilium for each kill.
Whoever the Sisters were, they were not only good but incredibly discreet.

The Broker took the attacks very seriously. More than once Tetrimus or
Tazzik had been dispatched to try and hunt them down, and every time
they'd failed to catch the perpetrators. Independent mercenaries had
been hired, in case the Sisters were actually part of the Network, but
each one had been taken down, knocked unconscious, and dumped off
unharmed at the nearest Broker agent.

The Sisters were meticulous about their work. They rarely harmed anyone
but their target, and in the handful of cases where innocents had died,
it was usually only one or two – although in recent months, that had
slipped a bit. Whoever they were, they were damned good assassins.
Anyone who could hunt Broker agents for a year and not get caught had to be.

What was worse was that more than a few other Broker agents – like Old
Silver, Menthis, and Tyroxis Pale – had died in strange manners for a
few months before the attacks were believed to have started, meaning
they might have been killing agents for Goddess only knew how long.

Sevensia had started to get nervous not long after Vorkxis's death, when
her contacts reported some weird, scarred up clanless asking questions
about her. Most people didn't ask about her – you were either told about
her from a mutual friend, or you were introduced at one of the parties
she attended. She was famous, true, but she kept her fame limited to her
investments and participation in the various glittery social events –
not her connection to organized crime.

Then her systems had suffered a major data hack – and not the expected
kind. Someone had tapped the past six or seven months of her security
recordings, financial statements, and medical records. It was baffling,
although she spent days hastily moving her cash around and hiring a Blue
Suns team to work with her own security people.

Now she wondered if the hack had merely been to distract her from
something else. She should have just fled the planet, gone to ground
somewhere with a friend, and hired a body double. Too late for that now.

Last night, her security chief had gone missing. He'd been found this
morning, unconscious. When they woke him up, the last thing he
remembered was flirting with some asari girl at the local club, before
he just passed out. But while he was passed out, someone using his
credentials had accessed her security nets and systems.

She knew she was targeted. No other explanation could be found. She
glanced at her screen again, tapping her fingers, and finally the signal
connected.

The cowled figure on the screen inclined its head slightly. "Lady
Sevensia. You called?"

She hissed. "Yes, Tetrimus. I did. I think the Sisters of Vengeance are
going to hit me next."

The turian's single cybernetic eye whirled as he leaned back in his
seat. "I see. Your proof?"

She swallowed. "It's not much, but I've been hearing people asking
questions about me. I suffered a data hack a few days ago, and someone
drugged my security captain last night, and used his codes to access my
security systems. I don't have a ton of guards – I hired some Blue Suns
heavy boys who have the placed locked down, but I can't do my job if I'm
hiding in a fortress somewhere. People have to see me in person."

Tetrimus nodded. "And what do you expect me to do about it?"

She exhaled. Time to skip on the tide's crest, as she always did. "I'll
serve as bait, if you can get good people here tonight. If they hit me,
you'll have the perfect chance to take them out. But I want assurances
you'll make sure I survive if that happens. And I want more access to
the Link."

Tetrimus placed his talons together. "Risking your life for a larger cut
of the vakar steak, eh?" He tapped a control off to his right, and then
nodded slowly. "I have a liquidation team in the area – cleaning up a
mess we had with a supplier. The leader is very good. They'll be there
in twenty minutes."

She nodded. "I'll tell my people."

Tetrimus leaned forward. "One more thing, Lady Sevensia. We have almost
no footage of the Sisters, but we can tell you one thing – they are very
powerful and expert killers. There's every chance they'll take you out.
We're killing your LINK access as of now – and remotely wiping your
databases. We'll restore them if you live through this."

She gritted her teeth but nodded. It made sense. "I understand. Now, I'm
going to have a drink and hope your people can stop them."

He clicked off, and she glanced around the rooftop. Three turians in
Blue Suns armor watched the landscape below, all with powerful sniper
rifles. Another Suns legionnaire, a salarian, ran a sensor sweep with a
pack of sensor drones.

The captain, a heavily built human male with dark skin, a shaven head,
heavy scars over his face and a band of dark cybernetics in place of
eyes, was tapping on his omni, getting reports from his men. She walked
over to him, biting her lip. "Are you sure this is safe, Captain? Being
on the roof seems...exposed."

The Suns captain looked up at her and gave a thin, cold smile. "So far,
the Sisters haven't sniped anyone. Hacked environmental controls,
poisons, rogue mechs, explosive power conduits, or a beheading with a
warp sword. They want their kills to be up close and personal, or at
least in a situation where they can leave behind those roses – so being
in the open is the safest place for you."

She nodded, still not totally reassured. "The Broker is sending a
liquidation team. If they show themselves, the team will take these
Sisters out. Can your men coordinate this so we don't end up killing the
Broker's people?"

The captain looked irritated but nodded. "We didn't really need help
with this, Lady Sevensia. They'd have to be stupid to come here now – we
have fifteen snipers, five security specialists, and two dozen of my
best men in heavy armor down below. Still, its your money. I'll let my
people know."

She nodded, even as the salarian looked up in alarm. "Captain Jorson –
city traffic control is reporting they've just lost override control
over all air-cars in a five mile radius. Police hackers are trying to
regain control, but they estimate thirty minutes until that's done."

The Captain tilted his head, then glanced at the thick streams of
traffic that swirled around them. "Shit." He tapped his commlink.
"Vasquez, get team alpha to the suite. Giscar, take beta down to the
building entrance." He clicked off.

"Lady, we need to get off this roof. They may have hacked air-cars they
could crash into the rooftop. Clever. Didn't think of that one."

Sevensia nodded, grimacing. She was hustled inside the penthouse suite,
and walked through her own rooms, towards the elevator, the snipers and
sensor tech following, covering the retreat.

They got halfway there when the power went out, plunging the rooms into
blackness.

Captain Jorson cursed, while his men all triggered lights on their suits
or cracked chem-lights. He fumbled for his commlink and barked into it.
"Report!"

The voice of a krogan grumbled. "This is Dask. Two air-cars just crashed
into the power distribution node. Power is out for six blocks."

Sevensia frowned. "The building has a backup generator that should have
kicked on."

He glanced at her. "Where is it? The generator, that is?"

She bit her lip, trying to remember. "The basement level, I think."

He nodded. "Bith, put a drone into the basement. Put in a call for
backup, I need a Legion hot-drop stat."

The salarian began tapping on the portal haptic keyboard he carried with
him, eyes flickering over the data, before spitting out a string of
salarian curses. "My drone just tripped an EMP pin-hole trap. Sending in
two more."

Jorson flicked the safety on his weapon. "Don't bother. That means
they're already inside, backup generator is probably smashed." He tapped
his commlink. "Vasquez, where is alpha team?"

There was no reply. The captain's mouth tightened to a grim line.
"Giscar, status."

The voice of a nervous sounding salarian replied. "Lobby's clear. Front
desk clerk says no one's come in since we got here. Trying to patch a
portable generator into the building power supply now."

Jorson grimaced. "Good idea, but only leave one man on that. Whoever
this is, they're already inside. I can't raise Vasquez and I need men
more than power. Take the stairs, get your men up here now."

The salarian looked up from his own omni-tool. "Someone's jamming our
signals, I can't get through to Legion command."

The captain exhaled slowly. "...well, this is going south in a hurry."
He glanced around, then gestured to her bedroom, which had no windows.
"Lady, please head into that room. We'll be covering you. There's every
possibility attackers are already in the building."

She nodded, eyes wide. "Any chance we can escape? Land something on the
roof?"

He shook his head. "I wouldn't chance it. They're probably trying to
panic you into running. Any fool with a missile launcher could take you
out in an air-car. We'll have to hold out until the Broker's people get
here and reinforce us."

He swept his weapon across her bedroom before motioning her inside.

Her bedchambers were hardly spartan – a large bed dominated the space,
along with closets and cabinets for her array of clothing. The room
beyond was almost as large, given over to a full body hot tub and her
massage table. The three turians with sniper rifles slung their guns,
pulling out powerful handguns, and the salarian put away his keyboard to
draw a pair of submachine guns from holsters on his belt.

Without anything else she could do, Sevensia sank down into one of her
comfortable chairs. "Surely the Broker's team will be here soon. What
could have taken out your men so fast?"

As she spoke, the lights came back on. The captain tapped his commlink,
listening, then nodded. "Alright, one of my men got a portable generator
up – security systems are back online, in a basic mode." He glanced at
the salarian. "Start a search."

The captain's voice was grim and quiet as he turned to face her. "To
answer your question, Lady, … if my people were in the elevators when
the power went out … they could have been hacked to drop them, to
disengage the safety catches that would normally stop them from falling.
Falling ten stories will kill almost anything."

She nodded, biting her lip. Her mind raced – there had to be someone she
could call in this mess, to bring help. With communications cut, there
wasn't much chance of reaching anyone in time, though. Neither she nor
the guards noticed the security camera in the corner of the room
suddenly clicked back on, panning very slowly until it pointed right at
her, and then cut off.

She sat quietly for almost four minutes, listening to the captain give
orders. She'd begun to relax when the backup troopers reached her floor,
securing the elevator and windows. She wondered when the Broker's people
would get here. She was still wondering on that when an explosion
blasted through the floor, incinerating the floor beneath her and
dropping her and the chair to the floor below.

Unfortunately, that floor had a hole melted in it. And the one below
that, and below that, all the way down to the second floor, where she
landed in a sickening crunch. Her last pain-filled memory was that of a
blur of black and blue, before her spine ripped free of her back and
snapped after falling nine stories.

The captain, far above, cursed heatedly, shouting into his commlink. But
by the time his men reached the room Sevensia was in, she was dead – and
her omni-tool was missing. Each floor above had been cleanly seared
through with warpfire, and a series of simple ropes with a grappling
hook was placed at the edges of each hole. Someone had melted them
rapidly in series, then placed an explosive right under where Sevensia
was sitting.

A neatly melted hole in one wall in the room Sevensia had landed in lead
to what looked like a hastily constructed ladder, made of omnigel and
scrap metal, which descended into the basement. From there, Captain
Jorson's people found another hole that had been dug with warpfire,
meeting up with the city's sewers.

The only tracker he had, a batarian shook his head. "Never find whoever
did this in the sewers. They're a mess. If you send men after them like
this they'll never come back."

Captain Jorson sighed in disgust, and went back to the room that
Sevensia had landed in. Her broken body was so blood-soaked it was hard
to see, but the body and the wreckage of the chair didn't quite cover up
the two black silk roses that were placed on the floor, along with a note.

The note was on gray paper, with a waxy surface, and handwritten in
flowing asari script. He handed it to one of his asari troopers, who
frowned as she read it.

"We know. Three more lives are due, Broker."

The Blue Suns captain looked baffled at this, and none of his people had
an explanation for what the note referred to, except that it was
something to do with the Shadow Broker.

Outside the towering luxury building, the small team of black-armored
Broker soldiers observed carefully, before the salarian team leader
tapped his omni and reported in. "Ginnister Tetrimus, we've arrived at
Taxial Tower too late. It looks as if Lady Sevensia has already met her
fate, based on the number of Blue Suns running about and calls for the
police and the city coroner. Orders?"

Tetrimus' voice was hard and frustrated. "Withdraw to the spaceport. We
only have two more assets on this world and we already have kill-teams
watching both of them. You will be assigned elsewhere."

The Broker soldier nodded, motioning his people back to their aircar.
None of them saw the black aircar in the distance, next to a sewer
access hatch, take to the air.

*O-TWCD-O*

The two asari in the car were, as usual, silent for most of the trip.
They rarely spoke when on a mission, and in any case neither felt like
talking when they stank of smoke and sewage.

The aircar was a custom model, built to exacting specifications. The
instrument panel was sealed behind armaglass, with a built-in touch-pad
of omnigel interfacing with the controls. The rest of the interior was
also made of omnigel, and the car had drains built into the bottom.

As the car reached its destination, a rundown looking set of warehouses
on the south side of Ilium City, the smaller of the two asari tapped one
of the controls. The warehouse door on the right slid open, and the
aircar coasted inside, landing on a heavy metallic grating. Heavy stacks
of crates and junked air-cars were scattered around the warehouse, but
in the distance a section of the floor was folding open, and a boxy room
began emerging.

The two asari calmly stepped out, the taller one touching the controls
on the car several times, while the smaller one walked over to a coiled
hose on a hanging rack. The interior of the car – the seats, the surface
of the instrument panel, the mats, and the remaining equipment cases –
all liquefied back into omnigel, and the smaller asari sprayed it all
down, the sludge draining out through the wide drains in the bottom of
the car, and down into the grated drain the aircar landed on.

While this was going on, the larger asari tapped her omni-tool, sending
a signal to shut the warehouse door. She wore an all black suit of thin
ballistic cloth, stiffened by strips of impact armor woven into the
cloth and surmounted with heavier panels of ceramic armor in a dark red
across the shoulders and back. Her face was concealed by a black
armorplast handle of a warp-sword flashed in the dim lights as she
turned away from the doors, and waited for her companion to finish.

The smaller asari – who was dressed identically to her partner, sans the
warp sword – finished the spray-down, coiling the hose and hanging it
back up. The two then walked, still silently, towards a large structure
built inside the warehouse, the boxy construction of metal with a door
on either end that had arisen out of the floor. They walked through
this, their suits being sprayed with various cleansing agents,
nano-foams and other substances, until any possible evidence of their
location had been soaked away.

Blasts of hot air quick-dried them as they exited, before they headed to
a set of lockers on the wall. They slowly took off their armored suits
and helmets, revealing their features.

The taller asari was almost painfully thin, the left side of her face
puckered with a long scar that ended in the glowing orange cybernetic
attachment that replaced her eye. Her left forearm was silvery metal,
chased with blue-glowing inset lines, and her remaining blue eye was
hard and cold as she stripped naked, hanging her armored suit inside the
locker. From a lower shelf in the locker she pulled out a ratty looking
jumpsuit of black and green, slipping into it before zipping it up and
placing a battered belt around her thin waist. She then pulled a hooded
shawl out from the locker, throwing it over her shoulders, a wrap of
cloth crossing her features and concealing everything but her eyes and a
thin dusting of freckles on her cheeks.

The other, shorter asari was more heavily muscled, but still thin. One
of her legs was partial cybernetics, black and almost industrial
looking, and scars from some ancient wound crisscrossed her back and
abdomen as she put on thin, tight pants and a loose mid-sleeve shirt,
before dragging a hoodie over her head and pulling the hood up. Her gray
eyes had a haunted, tired glaze to them, before she put on a rebreather
mask and thin, narrow black sunshades to cover most of her own features.

Leaving behind their armor, the two retrieved their weapons – a heavy,
elegant pistol and the warp sword for the taller asari, and a battered
but carefully tended Spear of Athame rifle for the shorter asari. They
calmly walked away from the locker, towards a second, parked air-car,
this one battered, nondescript and a dull gray with tinted windows. As
they approached the car, the taller asari tapped the cheap omni-tool on
her wrist.

The section of wall the lockers were attached to rumbled and rotated,
spinning until only blank concrete was seen. The sterilization booth
sank below the surface of the facility, a heavy mat of black plastic
covering it. A heavy crane slowly lowered a large stack of carefully
welded together cargo crates over the first air car and the grating,
until at a glance the warehouse was just that – filled with various
crates of goods, some junk parts, and lots of empty racks.

With a final glance around, the two got into the car, the shorter one
driving, the taller one putting their weapons in the backseat under a
dirty, tattered blanket. The battered car slowly eased out into the
streets, gaining height slowly and merging into the evening traffic, and
a good two minutes passed in silence until the smaller one finally
spoke. Even in the security of their own car, there was a circumspection
in their words.

"...that went better than I expected."

The taller one nodded coolly, staring out the window. "Given her role in
events – she was the one who put people in a place to alter our ship – I
saw no point in drawing it out. Just one more crossed off the list of
those who have to pay. And we were able to get yet another data-ping
when she talked to our real target. I think we have enough data to start
a cross-file and localize the place these transmissions are coming from."

The smaller asari exhaled, and then gave a small, grim smile behind her
mask as her omni-tool pinged. "The news crews are arriving, and the cops
will be running data trawls. Do we head home, or to the office to work
on the transmission?"

"Home, please. I know it is past time we had something to eat, even if I
am not very hungry, and we could use some sleep." The taller asari
folded her arms across her chest. "When is the bitch supposed to call us
next?"

The smaller asari shrugged. "Sometime tomorrow, if she can be bothered
to keep to the schedule. Maybe earlier, if she hears about what went
down tonight." She turned the aircar into a lower traffic lane, headed
towards the sprawling field of apartments that constituted the suburbs
of Ilium City. "Then again, if the news is any indication, she's got
problems of her own."

The taller asari's voice was icily amused. "Yes, she does. Pity. Too bad
we can't figure out a way to contact this vigilante...he'd be useful."

They fell silent, as the city passed them by, the gleaming lights and
rich environs slowly becoming more and more drab. Finally they landed in
the cracked and poorly maintained landing area of their apartment
complex, the air-car's engine whining as they came to a halt.

They got out, eyes flicking around for anyone following them or
watching, and then headed towards the apartment they shared. The
Vine-Court Apartments were hardly even lower class, but no one really
cared much about the poor people who lived in areas like this. Given it
was only a four unit complex, and that the lot had several battered cars
in it, no one paid the complex much mind.

Of course, they owned the entire complex, but no one knew that but them.

The apartment they entered was fairly standard – a touch small, filled
with a collection of knickknacks, and a bit dusty. The two didn't even
break stride as they walked through the rooms towards the closet in the
bedroom. A cloth hanging of the Ilium skyline was pushed aside,
revealing an electronic keypad.

The taller asari touched the keys with her cybernetic hand, and the
closet – which held an array of faded jumpsuits and tacky dresses –
split open in the back, revealing a heavy armored door. They passed
through this, shutting it behind them, before passing through the short
corridor to their real living space.

It was cramped – built between the four units of the complex, which they
had bought out and modified – but comfortable. Haptic screens lined all
four walls near the ceiling, tuned to news programs or scrolling images
from dozens of carefully deployed drones and cameras. A small
kitchenette filled one corner, a pair of desks with data terminals
another, a heavy locker filled with guns and other equipment the third
corner.

A single door in the far corner lead to a small sleeping space, a pair
of plain cots and footlockers of basic clothing, and a bathroom beyond
that. The floor, ceiling and walls were all made of noise-canceling
tiles and lead-impregnated foam, along with thin panels of vacuum-filled
plating to prevent spy-beams or IR sensors from seeing them.

The taller asari walked to the overstuffed chair in the middle of the
room and slumped down, pulling away her shawl and mask, while the other
asari pulled back her cowl and hung her face mask on a hook near the
doorway. "You want the rations or should I try to cook the last of the
pear-apples and rice, Lady Liara?"

Liara T'Soni gave a wan, tired smile. "Rations are fine, Telanya. Like I
said … I do not have much of an appetite tonight."

Telanya Nasan limped across the room, nodding as she pulled open the
small refrigerator and took out a pair of human military rations. "You
are more down than usual, Lady Liara."

Liara sighed, rubbing her cybernetic eye attachment, which constantly
ached. "I worry about my aithntar, as usual. Goddess only knows what
will happen to her if Aria is killed by this Archangel lunatic. Aria
might kill her out of spite if she thinks she will lose her own life.
And there is nothing I can do."

Telanya nodded, expertly opening the rations and dumping each into
battered, chipped bowls that she then placed in the small heating unit
in the wall. "Maybe. Or maybe she'll just cut and run, and this
Archangel could rescue her. We have to stay positive." Her voice
hardened. "Not that it matters. I mean, about us .. and this, not your
aithntar. I would be doing this even if she had not tried to force us
into it."

Liara gave a slow nod. "I know. When one has lost everything except
revenge..."

Telanya shrugged. "It isn't just that, Lady Liara. Don't get me wrong –
the Broker is going to pay for killing Garrus. I don't care what it
costs me as long as I can kill that vile thing." Her voice softened.
"But I would like to think, given my past as a law officer, I would go
after him anyway, even if … Garrus had survived. Even if he wouldn't
approve of the methods."

Liara pinched the bridge of her nose. "Perhaps. There are times I wish I
was free to simply go after the Broker – " She broke off as one of the
haptic screens flashed and new data scrolled across the screen.

She read it, even as Telanya pulled out the food and began adding a few
seasonings to it. "Something come up?"

Liara's lips thinned. "More possible intel from Aria. Nothing solid, but
we are starting to piece together where the Broker's people are hiding.
For some reason, most of them are out near the Rimward Expanse."

Telanya frowned, setting a bowl on the small table next to Liara, before
picking up a spork and working on her own food. "There's nothing out there."

Liara sighed, picking up her own eating instrument and taking a bite of
reconstituted 'steak'. "I agree the direction seems to make no logical
sense, but we have seen the Broker does nothing without both a reason
and profit. We cannot afford to ignore it."

Telanya shook her head. "But we know Tetrimus operates out of Ilium a
lot these days. Buying up materials and working with various
construction and design firms. We can't go haring out to the middle of
nowhere without a plan or target – we'd stand out too much out there."

Liara dredged up the ghost of a smile from somewhere. "I recall a
similar worry about standing out on Ilium. We will see what happens when
we take the last of our targets out here – but if we are lucky, the
Broker may be out there."

Telanya picked at her food, her eyes darting around from time to time as
if making sure they were safe. Liara recognized the motion and often did
it herself. They would never be safe again, though, and every day they
went through the motions of life – if killing and sneaking around could
be called 'life' – just made them a little more on edge.

There wasn't even that much sadness or hate any more. It had all been
burned out of them. There was just a sense of a need to finish what they
started. Then maybe they could rest.

The last two years had been ugly for them both, and not all the scars
were physical.

*O-TWCD-O*

The last thing Liara could remember of the battle that had nearly killed
them all was the bright, searing beam of Tetrimus's attack cutting
through the decking she and Telanya stood on. The fight until that point
had been the most horrifying and humiliating thing she could remember –
Tetrimus wasn't even bothering to take them seriously, fending off their
best attacks with sneering jibes.

She had just thrown all her power and fury and anger into a bolt of
warpfire, which had splashed like so much water against the turian's
barrier, when her hand just seemed to come off. The shock of it was so
great she didn't realize she was falling until she heard Telanya's
screams of agony.

Somehow, the long hours drilling with Ahern had snapped her out of her
own shock. She remembered grabbing the other asari and throwing what
shreds of strength she could into a barrier to cover them both, and
trying to slow their decent with a pull of the nearby rocky cliff face
they were flying down. She remembered a huge, heavy impact and a feeling
of pain and something else, and then nothing.

The last thought that had flashed through her mind was that of Miranda
hauling the stasis pod of Shepard away. Maybe her love could survive
this. There was still a chance.

Then blackness.

The next memory she had was of laying in a private hospital room
somewhere, hooked up to life support equipment and hurting all over. A
salarian doctor worked on her from one side – one eye replaced by some
kind of baroque cybernetic attachment with sliding lenses, and two extra
cyber arms hooked into his shoulders, each holding medical tools.

She realized she could only see out of one eyes, and couldn't move her
body. Her eye was drawn to the right, as on the other side of her stood
a tall, strong looking asari with the cold eyes and a poisonous smile.

"Welcome back to the shores of life, Doctor T'Soni. Don't bother trying
to talk, your throat is still being fixed up."

The woman's face was beautiful, but cruel – the lips curved into a
hateful smirk, the tight muscles of her abdomen and heavy breasts barely
covered by thin black straps under a white vest. Her light purple skin
gleamed with oils in the dim light of the medical bay. Behind her Liara
could make out the form of Telanya, laying on another medical bed.

Liara had seen this asari once before, seen her aithntar fence threats
and words with her, but could not speak to say the name.

"Answers will come in time, little dart-fish. From you, to me. I am
Aria, and from now on, I own you."

Liara had not understood that statement until later.

More surgeries had followed, and she realized at some point that she was
missing her left forearm, not just her hand. She'd been carefully
healed, and after about a week, when she'd finally been able to speak
and sit up, she and Telanya had been wheeled into a different hospital
room. Sitting in a life-support lift chair was the battered figure of
her aithntar, Aethyta.

Liara had felt a flicker of relief at the sight of her. Her mind and
soul were still torn and bleeding at the loss of Sara, but she clung
hard to the vague promises of the Illusive Man, that Sara might still
live. And surely if Aethyta had lived, the rest of her brave friends had
survived as well?

The truth crushed her and broke Telanya utterly.

Aria had grinned in sadistic delight as she told them of the fate of
their band – Garrus, dead at the hands of Tetrimus, probably tossed into
the trash pits to be recycled. Shields they already knew was dead, but
according to Aria and a snippet of video from the Alliance, Tali was
crippled for life. Her aithntar was also crippled, and a prisoner of Aria.

And the Alliance had buried Shepard's body.

Aria didn't know how ugly that information was to Liara, but it put an
end to any hopes of Sara's survival. Liara had not only lost her love,
but – as she had feared – gotten her friends killed or maimed.

Aria's gloating voice had lashed her very soul as she nearly purred in
delight. "Now, normally, given that you were going against the Broker,
I'd be inclined to let you go...but patching you two up cost me a good
deal of credits. And despite Aethyta's assurances, I'm not convinced
your little group didn't have something to do with the attack on my
station, and the losses to my pride and status I suffered."

If Liara had not been under the influence of a pulse suppressor, she
would have smashed Aria's face with a blast of warpfire for that remark.
As if her suffering was anything to Liara's own. As it was, she seethed
in her lift-chair, her arms bound, and listened.

Aria had folded her arms. "At the same time...I dislike throwing away
perfectly good tools simply because they were wielded poorly. So I have
an offer for you, little T'Soni princess. Right now, everyone thinks you
two are dead. They found part of your arm and her leg, and while they
didn't find Aethyta's body, they did find her warp sword under a ton of
rubble – and no blade mistress would surrender that until dead. So I can
honestly do whatever I want with the three of you – hand you off to my
soldiers to play with, or maybe shoot you in the head and toss your body
to the Justicar Order – they would appreciate that, I think, maybe even
pay me for it."

Liara found herself sneering. "So why do you not do so? It seems like
the typical action a thug like you would take."

Aria's amused gaze traveled to her aithntar. "She doesn't take much of
her manner from Benezia, I see."

Aethyta had merely given Aria a cold glare. "Pray hard I never get out
of this chair, you evil bitch."

Aria had nodded, and then backhanded the helpless matriarch, hard enough
to snap Aethyta's head back and leave blood dripping from her mouth.
"I'll keep that in mind, old bag."

Turning back to an angry Liara and a horrified, broken Telanya, who was
still reeling over news of Garrus' death, Aria had found her smirk
again. "The reason I don't, child, is simple. The Broker is my enemy.
He's framed me, of all people, as being behind trying to sell your sexy
little girlfriend Shepard's body to the Collectors, and hinted that I'm
tied up with P. This after he tried to take over my station."

Aria had walked back and forth in front of them, eyes narrowed. "He made
a fool of me. And no one gets away with that. But I can't be sure his
spies aren't in among my own people. Someone hacked my defenses. Someone
mislead my people to think this was a straight up deal. None of the best
assassins can get close to him – and besides most of the best work for him."

Liara said nothing, and Aria continued. "I can't trust mercenaries or
independents – they could be bought off, and they won't have the
dedication to see this through. Fear of death will stop them – or
bribes, or pressure. Even if they didn't, you can't take out the Broker
with pure force."

She eyed Telanya speculatively. "I need someone who has a certain
motivation to want to strike back at the Broker on their own –
unconnected to me. A lightning rod of sorts – someone to pressure him
and draw him off my ass and into the open. A distraction and a knife in
the dark he won't see coming. That's where you two come in."

Aria had knelt in front of Liara, cruelly gripping her jaw and staring
into her eyes. "You will be my knife in the dark."

Liara jerked her head out of the other asari's grasp, glaring."I'm a
scientist. Telanya is a C-SEC officer. Neither of us have the skills to
kill the Broker. We couldn't even kill /Tetrimus/."

Aria laughed. "But you'd /like/ to kill him, wouldn't you? If you had
the chance, you'd like to kill them both. Don't answer. I already know.
I know what losing a bondmate feels like – to have them murdered. To
feel helpless and broken, hollow, empty."

For the barest hint of a second, Liara something else in those hard eyes
– pain? Sorrow?

It was gone before she could be sure, and the voice hardened. "But Omega
doesn't trust. It can no longer feel pity, or empathy, or pain. And I
intend to get my money's worth out of you two."

Aethyta snorted. "Why drag my girl into this bullshit, Aria? Have your
freaky cyberdoc fix me up and I'll do all the butchery you want."

Aria smiled, still looking at Liara. "Because you're my insurance,
Aethyta. As long as little Liara here obeys me, you stay alive and
healthy. And if she's successful...I even fix your spine and let you go
free. But if she says no, or defies me, you die. Slowly and painfully."

Aria's voice dropped. "But Liara, unlike you, can't just run back to the
Council of Matriarchs and tell them what is going on. They'd kill her as
soon as speak to her. So you get to sit your ass on that chair and
entertain me with your helpless rage."

Surprisingly it was Telanya who spoke. "And what about me? Lady Liara is
powerful, but I'm just a cop. Did you drag me up here to blow my head
off to prove you're serious or something?" There hadn't been fear in her
voice, only resignation.

And Liara would never forget the vicious ugly smile Aria had at that.
"You? Oh, no." She'd walked over to Telanya. "Pretty little thing,
aren't you? My people found your records – your boyfriend killed an
ardat-yakshi for you – one hunting you. And you survived. You're tougher
than most clanless pieces of trash."

Aria smiled. "No, you have useful skills as well. The turian was your
bondmate, and you hate the Broker too. Liara will need your skills – and
no one will really care one way or another if you are dead or alive."

Telanya looked away. "And if I don't want to work for a criminal?"

Aria's smile widened. "Then it would take me all of fifteen minutes to
send someone to Tharas and have your sweet mother and her whole shitty
apartment building burnt to the ground."

Liara gritted her teeth. "You are as bad as the Broker. I understand now
why the Council of Matriarchs wants you dead so badly."

Aria tilted her head. "Don't get me wrong, little girl. I'm sure that I
could probably just let you go and you'd try to kill the Broker on your
own. I could let all three of you go and maybe you'd even have a shot at
doing it. But the truth is you, T'Soni, could cause me problems in the
future without someone holding your leash, and your aithntar definitely
could. The Thirty would love to find something to hold over my head, and
they'd cut you whatever deal you wanted to get you to say I was behind
Shepard's death just to alienate the other aliens towards me even more."

Aria folded her arms. "Instead, I'm going to use you. The Broker is
expecting … conventional assassins. People like that relli Tetrimus, or
Tazzik. Hooligans who rely on power and force to get what they want and
bring down their enemies."

The beautiful asari's eyes gleamed with amusement. "There are other
methods to use, though – the same ones I used. Misdirection. Information
gathering. Careful planning. I didn't just decide to use you two because
I wanted to torment Aethyta. Like you said, you're a scientist. You plan
and study, you analyze and think. The cop there was good at finding
financial patterns and things other cops missed, because she was careful
and methodical."

Liara forced herself to listen.

Aria's voice dropped in tone. "I don't need a pair of killers. I have a
whole station of those. And they've failed, again and again, because
that's playing the game the Broker wants me to play. I need someone to
put together the pieces remotely. To slowly and carefully dismantle his
network, to put a hundred little fragments of the story together."

Liara's eyes narrowed. "You are speaking as if going after the broker is
similar to researching something, or making a hypothesis."

The mocking smile returned. "Exactly. It is a method he won't be looking
for. He's gotten to used to having all the information, covering all the
angles. He won't be looking for you. And you two aren't powerless. You
survived going after Saren and Benezia, fighting Cerberus, and you
somehow lived fighting not only P. but Tazzik and Tetrimus. And you have
lost so much...and have more to lose by saying no than saying yes."

Aria's voice was softly seductive. "You can be of more use to me alive
than dead. You can get back at the Broker...and in a way that he'll
never see coming. Omega can't feel pity...but it understands revenge
very well."

Liara glanced at Telanya, who was staring at the floor. Liara closed her
eyes, wishing she knew what to do.

She could imagine Shepard's voice in her head. /I knew I hated this
bitch for a reason, marazul. But you have to tell her yes, or she'll
kill all three of you. The longer you're alive, the more time you have
to plot to get back at her, too./

Liara swallowed, then raised her gaze to meet that of Aria. "I won't
work with you until I know my aithntar won't just be killed the moment
we're gone. If you further abuse her, or hurt her, then I will expend my
last breath on turning every hand I can find against you, rather than
the Broker."

Aria laughed. "You're paralyzed, with one arm and one eye, surrounded by
my people, and you threaten /me/?"

Liara's voice hardened. "I have nothing left to live for, Aria. You said
you understood where I was. Then you should know what I am feeling."

The queen of Omega looked at her a long moment, and then surprisingly
nodded. "Fine. Your dad can't keep a civil tongue in her head no matter
how many times I slap the shit out of her anyway, so it's a moot point."

Aethyta found a grin. "That's because you hit like a volus. All those
years on your back must have made you soft, huh?"

Aria glanced at Aethyta, then smiled. "I believe I have a solution to
your insolence. Every time you mouth off, Aethyta, I'll reduce the
amount of help I provide your daughter in her tasks." She had turned
back to Liara and Telanya. "Well?"

Telanya had then spoken the words that committed them both. "The Broker
… killed Garrus. Killed Shepard. You say you know what losing a bond
mate is like. I can't speak for Lady Liara. But if you help me get back
at Tetrimus, I'll do whatever you say. Just leave my mother alone."

Aria met the smaller asari's gaze evenly. "And you, T'Soni?"

Liara had let herself think very hard on that question before answering.
"I have no choice. If I defy you, my aithntar will pay the price." She
had forced a lighter note into her voice. "And I find myself with a
great deal of time on my hands. I want assurances, like I said. I want
to see my aithntar every week. I want to know you haven't killed her, or
worse, and I want to know exactly how this is going to work."

Aria's smile had been like sweet poison. "It works like every other
murder, princess. You knife them from behind while they're busy looking
for a gunman in the distance."

Aria's plan had been very convoluted, in the end. She had a wide network
of people off of Omega who provided her with information, but had no
time or method of putting any of these people to use. The best she could
do was sift through the rumors and information for things she could use,
but making sense of the larger picture was something she didn't have the
time for.

Many of these sources were on Ilium, where Aria hinted she'd once lived
before taking over Omega, and where Aria suspected the Broker ran many
of his operations from.

Aria was convinced if she could simply put together enough clues, she
could get a lead on where the Broker was. He had to have lines of
supply, methods of communicating with his people. Tetrimus and Tazzik –
who had somehow survived, much to Aria's chagrin – had to be based
somewhere. It might take a thousand small things to find the clues, but
once they did Aria would strike hard.

Her own people had tried, and failed. Then again, they were not
experienced at that kind of thing, and Omega was so volatile Aria
couldn't afford to commit major resources to a side job like this that
might take years. The more of her people she spent looking for such
leads, the more likely they would be noticed by the Broker, and any
slips in his security closed up before she could act.

But Liara and Telanya would not be connected to Aria. They would have no
one scrutinizing them, or counter-infiltrating them. Once they were
dispatched, there would be no link for the Broker to find to realize
they worked for Aria.

And with the combination of Liara's analytic skills and Telanya's
experience in financial tracking and detective work, they might succeed
where Aria's people had failed.

Liara and Telanya would be given several months to heal, and top of the
line medical and cybernetic care. They would be equipped with the best
gear Aria could afford, given a fast cutter and a good deal of money,
and new identities. They would be dropped on Ilium, and given the name
of someone Aria knew for a fact was a Broker contact.

They would have to figure out how to spy on this person, ferret out
their secrets, find their weaknesses, and bring them down. Once they
succeeded, they would use the information gleaned in the hunt and from
his own resources to select the next target. In theory, the more
successful they were, the less pressure the Broker would be able to
bring to bear on Aria as he was forced to defend his Network.

Either Liara and Tel would find the Broker and come up with a way to
kill him, or Aria would have the breathing room she needed to try and go
after him conventionally. And if they could find information that
compromised his story to the Council, then the Broker would really be in
trouble.

And thus, Liara and Telanya had agreed.

*O-TWCD-O*

Liara's first months after the Burning were hard. There were days she
cried, and days she could barely bring herself to keep moving forward.
It wasn't just the pain of losing Sara, it was the idea that her life
was over. She had to crush down her grief, her pain, and focus on
getting stronger. The surgeries were painful as well, even with
anesthetic. The majority of her other wounds had healed, but whatever
Tetrimus had struck them with had splashed both Liara and Telanya with
burning hot metal in places, and the damage to their limbs refused to
regenerate. That flesh had to be forcefully removed, and then allowed to
regrow.

Liara had to have a cybernetic eye replacement, and her left forearm
replaced – even asari regeneration wouldn't fix the searing scar tissue
left behind. The somewhat crazed technician who did the work, the
four-armed salarian named Gears, was some kind of expatriate from the
STG and the Salarian Union, thrown out for conducting experimental
surgeries too extreme even for the salarians to stomach.

But he was a brilliant surgeon and cyberneticist, that Liara could not
deny. He flawlessly crafted her augmentations, making them both
functional and eerily beautiful. The artificial hand had myomer muscles,
titanium bones and a grip that could crush a krogan's forearm. It
included magnetic plates on the palm, a datajack in one fingertip linked
to a pair of internal OSDs, and small, poisoned blades that popped out
of the knuckles. He'd even tinkered with the gun Shepard had made her,
giving it a link to the cybernetic hand that would shift between the
shotgun and pistol mode with but a thought.

Her eye could see in a number of differing wavelengths and included
other helpful features, such as real-time link to her omni-tool to allow
her to visually see data she brought up in her field of view.

Telanya's injuries were far more severe – she had damage to her spine
and both arms as well as her entire leg missing. The doctor replaced the
leg with a mix of cloned tissues and cybernetics, but went with
vat-grown augmented muscle tissues in her arms, making Telanya much
stronger. He laced her bones with strengthening agents and put
cybernetics in her spine to handle the additional strength, all of it
laced with blueware so Telanya's biotics wouldn't be crippled.

The two were given a selection of various weapons – many of which Liara
vaguely recognized, both from her training with Ahern and scattered
pieces of Sara's memories. Aria had no intention on training them how to
fight, but she had no problems with letting them take a small armory
worth of gear.

Telanya also picked up a large amount of various tools – hacking
devices, powerful mini-comps, spy beams and drones, and the like. Liara
picked small, compact scientific tools and informational processing
systems, along with basic medical gear and a medical VI bot much like
the one Sara had gotten them for their own use.

When Aria questioned that, Liara had calmly told her that since they
would possibly be injured, exposing themselves to local clinics or
hospitals would only leave a trail to be followed. Aria had been amused
and impressed with the reasoning and let Liara buy a top of the line
medical VI system.

It took them three months to get organized, healed, and ready to go.
Every week, Liara would have an hour to talk to Aethyta. Her aithntar
did not waste her time with small talk, instead setting her down and
having her link. She pushed as much of her knowledge and memories of the
use of a warp sword and how to fight into her daughter's head as she
could, then followed it up with tips, advice and what she knew of Ilium
and the dangers to be found there.

Aethyta had given her three key pieces of advice.

"First, don't go in guns blazing, ever. The clanless run Ilium, for the
most part, and they hate disruptions to their business. Set yourself up
as an information broker. Make deals, find allies and leverage them.
Never show any antipathy towards the Broker, but always remain
independent – and constantly hint you're working for the Thirty, or the
STG, or some other big shots without being blatant about it."

"Second, don't try to handle everything yourself. Find mercenaries – not
the good ones. Go for the desperate ones, the ones no one will notice if
they go missing. It doesn't matter if they suck or not, the independents
– especially turians – will be grateful to the person who gives them a
break. Build up a group of them, and keep them in reserve – use them to
cover your escape when things get hot. Never use any of the big merc
groups, you can bet the Broker has his hands in all of them."

"Finally, never forget that you are a killer now. Don't dwell on it.
You'll be sick the first few times you have to take lives in cold blood
– when it becomes a chore rather than a thing you dread, you'll find its
a lot easier. I won't lie to you and say you should fight it – being a
killer is the only way you'll survive Ilium for long."

Liara had procured a simple, mass-produced warp sword from the markets
of Omega with Aria's permission, practicing with it for hours every day
while they waited to head out in the final weeks. The delay was due to
Aria wanting to produce the perfect opportunity to send them to Ilium.

Aria's people were in a shadow war on Ilium and being pushed out, but
instead of holding ground were gathering all the information they could
and sending it back. Telanya and Liara's days were spent going over this
morass of rumors, grainy images, snippets of recorded conversations,
spy-beam transcripts and outright suppositions, trying to draw inferences.

Sometimes, when she was busy enough, or tired enough, she could let
herself forget about Sara. She could throw herself into the data and
lose a sense of who she was. The rest of the time, she tried to use her
time constructively. So did Telanya, although the smaller asari had an
air of disinterested apathy most times.

When Aria's last lieutenant on Ilium was killed, the queen of Omega had
them brought to a private docking bay, where all the equipment and
supplies they'd procured were being loaded into the cutter they'd use.
Aria herself was there, along with the ever-present batarian lieutenant
called Bray.

"Finally, you two can get out of my crest and make yourselves useful."
Aria's voice was cool. "My cybernetics specialist will be installing a
spinal replacement interface in your aithntar tonight, T'Soni – although
we won't hook it up until your job is done."

Liara had argued and very nearly begged for that, to do the ground work
to heal her father before nerve decay made doing so impossible, and she
had learned enough of how Aria's mind worked to know she was expected to
show gratitude. "Thank you. I will insure your investment is not wasted."

Aria's smile was brittle. "We'll see. The first thing you have to do is
survive on Ilium. I had an old acquaintance there once, who dabbled in
information brokering. She had a sister, crazy little thing, who did
most of the shooting. The two did some work for me about a year ago and
both of them died in salarian space, but no one on Ilium knows that yet,
or that they ever worked for me. You'll be taking her place."

Liara frowned. "Won't this person's associates know the difference?"

Aria shook her head. "Doubtful. Most of her associates were members of
the crowd that ran with Sehvia Nassilus. When Sehvia was stupid enough
to piss off another player in the sort of business she dealt in, most of
them fled or were killed. My people have killed off the rest – quietly."

Aria folded her arms. "Right now, the Broker is convinced he's driven
the last of my people from Ilium. He'll be having his own agents make
sure of that, so you'll have to lay low at first. I recommend using the
time to establish yourself and build bolt-holes for when things go
wrong. I've given you enough cash that you can not have to hustle for a
while, but that won't last forever on Ilium – and don't expect any more.
The only link you'll have to me from now on is the one encrypted comms
transmission where you report progress weekly."

Liara nodded. "I presume that is also when I will be able to communicate
with my aithntar?"

Aria narrowed her eyes. "Yes. The commlink equipment is on the ship, so
if you decide to sell it for cash, make sure you remove it first. It's
STG equipment I acquired from unwise STG agents, and it uses a rotating
system of one-time pads. There's five years worth included in the system
– if you last longer than that, I'll send someone with some more."

Liara nodded, and exhaled. "I have a question, one I have long wanted to
ask. Why are you doing this? Surely you have video evidence that you had
nothing to do with the death of Shepard and that the Broker was the one
behind the trade of her body. Why this baroque method?"

Aria gave the pair a cool smile. "I have problems of my own – some
lunatic has started gutting people on the station, calling himself
Archangel. The Broker's people are taking down my contacts on a dozen
worlds, and he's doing his best to alienate and drive apart the warlords
I've brought together. I have some kind of mole or spy in my inner circle."

She turned away. "This is just the best use of an otherwise worthless
resource. I have more plans and ideas than just you two in the tides.
But since no one except me and Gears knows you survived, your little
feint may be worth its weight in eezo if the others don't come to fruition."

There had been little more to say at that point, and Liara and Telanya
had departed that night.

*O-TWCD-O*

Their arrival on Ilium had been somewhat frightening, as their cutter
was nearly caught up in some kind of pirate activity near the relay, but
they managed to slip by without taking any damage or attracting the
attention of the system patrols. They had landed in the capital, Ilium
City, and offloaded everything they could form the ship – including the
comm link – to a remote warehouse before selling the ship for hard cash.

With that done, they set out to learn about their new home.

The world had long been an asari colony, but had grown immensely strong
in the past century, its wealth rivaling that of Thessia itself. The
clans had long disdained the world, and the Thirty were slowly losing
their grip on actually controlling the multitude of ambitious and
rapacious clanless who ran the planet's Corporate Court. It was perhaps
the antithesis of Thessia, a world of contrasts.

Thessia was calm and reflective, Ilium was fast-paced and all too often
murderous. It had more laws than any other planet in the galaxy, and yet
for all that almost nothing was actually illegal – only taxed and
regulated. In a way it was little better than Omega, except its vices
were carefully dressed up in corporate language – slavery became
'indentured service contracts', prostitution 'entertainment mobility
services', drug dens were 'substance exploration clinics'.

The wealth and beauty were visible, but behind the facade were slums and
compacted habs of a billion wage-slaves and helpless souls. Debt slavery
was not just practiced but de rigeour, and entire families were often
only working under loads of debt they paid off tiny fractions of at a
time. For any other race, a century or two of such servitude would be
unbearable. But for asari, it was inconvenient.

Non-asari on the world rarely fared as well. Liara began to see the
planet as little more than a cleaned up, slightly more civilized version
of Omega.

Liara and Telanya quickly set up their offices in the shell of
businesses left abandoned by the two Vantirus sisters, taking on their
identities. This was aided by the fact that while some remembered them,
almost no one could claim to have known them personally. The Vantirus
Sisters were known best for never showing their faces – which was no
doubt why Aria had suggested taking their identities.

Liara let Telanya do most of the initial shopping for them, as she was
still used to making due with very little from her years in archaeology.
While Telanya picked out supplies, outfits, and scouted apartments,
Liara went to work on cleaning out the offices they would use and moving
in equipment. She also was cautious to check for listening devices, spy
cameras and the like, finding a handful that had probably been gathering
dust for years.

It took two months for them to set themselves up as specialized
information brokers, mostly dealing in financial tracking services and
the occasional data trawling. Liara hired a pair of 'indentured'
quarians as tech specialists, tearing up their contracts and promising
to get them back to the Quarian Flotilla if they could help set up data
networks, security and the like.

The quarians eagerly agreed, and were of immense help in the first few
months, as Liara had little idea of how to do much of anything on the
extranet. She learned how to hack, how to built basic monitoring and spy
devices, and how to perform encryption and decryption. Rather than
relying on the same few quarians, she would ship them out to the
Flotilla every month or so, pulling in new ones and learning different
things from each pair.

Telanya had done skip tracing and bank tracking before, and had little
trouble doing so on Ilium as she had on the Citadel. The first few
clients they had were mostly independent bounty hunters, looking for
people who'd angered the wrong gang boss, matriarch or company. In all
their dealings, Liara and Telanya appeared side by side, wearing black
business suits and veils, offering low prices in return for 'future
favors' or information.

In this way, they quickly learned that most information brokers were not
actually independents, but patrons of a powerful corporation or gang.
Many brokers worked as part of data gathering rings for one of the big
corporate combines, which meant their services would never conflict with
said combines.

Rather than follow that track, Liara and Tel decided to remain utterly
independent. They were constantly busy, working fifteen and sixteen hour
days, Liara buried in learning from the quarians she hired and trying to
make sense of the data they had on hand already, or making calls and
connections to boost their business, Telanya constantly running
financial traces. Their evenings were buried in trying to learn more
about their first target, a gun smuggler and assassin known as Old
Silver, a turian outcast with a long criminal record who served as a
kind of freelance troubleshooter and resource for Broker agents on Ilium.

The bits of information they got were augmented by what they learned
from the various clients they helped. Many of the independent bounty
hunters and loan agents began patronizing their brokerage regularly, due
to their fairly low prices, speed, and the fact that they didn't answer
to any of the combines.

When a few agents of the minor financial combine Datastream suggested it
might be dangerous for them to remain independent, Liara had smiled at
the salarian they sent, and then suggested it might be dangerous for
Datastream to assume they didn't actually have a patron. When he'd
pushed for who said patron might be, however, Liara found herself
without an answer to give.

Telanya had come up with one, though. "You expect us to expose our
patron to you simply because you ask? Has it not occurred to you we are
keeping it quiet for a reason?"

A pair of mercenaries had attacked them a week later, trying to firebomb
their office. Liara had caught them both in a lift field and thrown them
out the window and down sixteen stories to the ground below. When the
police came, Liara claimed she acted in self-defense, even having
prepared video of the assault. To her surprise (and disgust), the police
didn't even care she'd just killed two people, they were upset because
she hadn't cleaned up the mess they made on landing.

Telanya had merely sighed when they were fined a thousand credits for
littering. Datastream didn't bother them after that, because Liara's
first real hack was to frame them for violations of the Ilium tax codes,
and the corporation was raided in the weeks after. As it turned out,
they really had been breaking more than a few of Ilium's laws, and the
entire combine was taken apart in short order.

Gossip, of course, stated that they had pissed off the Vantirus sisters,
which lead to their demise – giving them a dangerous cachet in the
rumor-nets of those who used information brokers. They began to get
other jobs of that nature, and Liara was astonished at how much money
they made in a short amount of time.

Months slowly passed, and Liara found herself too busy, too stressed to
let herself get depressed or sad much. It was instead as if all light
and color were sucked out of her life. She 'lived', if that could be
used as the word, only to work. They didn't have anything to do with
their time but press onward with finding out about Old Silver, building
their business, and increasingly, defending themselves.

Their reputation grew as dangerous independents with a mysterious
patron. And still, she didn't have the access or information she needed
to really pin down how to take out Old Silver. Liara took a risk and
decided to use their growing fame as a lure.

When the Broker's people started sniffing around, Liara had already
prepared. She'd rented remote data centers on Sur'kesh, the Citadel, and
Watson, and had them daisy-linked through encrypted links. When her
quarian techs suspected someone was monitoring their comms, she made a
series of encrypted calls to the link on the Citadel first, using
commercial encryption that, while strong, she was sure the Broker could
break.

The reports she made were mostly about asari owned business concerns,
and the routing she used made sure the calls went from the Citadel, to
Watson, then to Sur'kesh. She made it difficult but not impossible to
trace, and even went to the trouble of anomalously starting some
extranet rumors suggesting the STG had used the services of the Vantirus
sisters in the past, when they had vanished from Ilium.

The goal, of course, was to attempt a very risky strategy – get access
to the Broker Network directly. It took almost three weeks of this
before a stranger entered her offices and her misdirection paid off.

The stranger was a drell, dressed in a stylish long coat with armor
underneath, and introduced himself as Delzon. Liara recognized him as
being one of the many loosely affiliated scouts the Broker used to
recruit new talent to the outer levels of the Network. He said he
represented a consortium of other independent brokers, but Liara
interrupted him with a laugh.

"I am neither blind nor incompetent, Mr. Delzon. You are an agent of the
Shadow Broker. May I inquire why you are really here?"

Delzon had given her a thin smile. "You are very well informed, Ms.
Vantirus."

Liara shrugged. "I am an information broker, no? It does not benefit me
to be blind to the tides around me. Again...why are you here?"

Delzon's smile had faded. "The Broker is curious as to why a pair of
information brokers who vanished a few years ago suddenly reappear,
ignore their old patron to go independent, and appear to be transmitting
information to the Salarian Union and the STG."

Liara smiled. "I fail to see how that is the Broker's business unless he
is offering some sort of accommodation in return. I do not inquire as to
the interests of his agents."

The drell folded his arms. "The Broker is always interested in
furthering his network. And frankly, the STG doesn't do much work on
Ilium – most of it falls into their usual patterns of monitoring through
the agreed upon channels. You, on the other hand, very nearly eluded our
attention at all."

Liara had leaned back in her chair. "Suffice it to say that I am fully
independent and merely selling … interesting bits … to a party on
Sur'kesh. My old affiliations are no longer associated with me, but I am
certainly not affiliated with the STG...directly."

Delzon's fencing had gone on for sometime before he made his offer – to
join the Broker Network as a very low level source. Telanya's skill at
financial tracing was highly valued, it seemed – and Liara's own
abilities at putting together data for a few of their clients had impressed.

The way they'd slapped Datastream out of their way had also highly
impressed the Broker's scouts, although they thought all of the charges
had been fabricated by Liara, not just the one tax evasion charge. He
even agreed that it wouldn't have to disrupt their own back-channel deal
with whoever they were working with in the STG, clearly believing that
to be her patron.

Liara had nearly laughed as she agreed, and thus obtained low-level but
useful access to the Network's LINK. With that, their mission to learn
about and take out Old Silver went from difficult to almost trivial.
They covered their many inquires about him by dint of quietly seeking
out clients that tended to use his services, and then sometimes
referring the business his way.

As such, they even got to talk to their target a few times via
comm-link. Old Silver disgusted Liara with his too-smooth talk, and
employed more euphemisms than the Systems Alliance did. He was handsome,
for a turian, tall and stately, with silvery tones to his plating and
black and gray facial markings. Given that those stood, roughly, for
'ferocious valor' in the turian concept of facepaint, Telanya wondered
if he was just a lying sack of flesh – or outright delusional.

They took another two months to plan the way they would take him out.
Old Silver, they learned, was something of a lady-killer, with a
weakness for asari. Given he was on Ilium, that made sense, but his
tastes ran towards daughters of Lesser Houses, not clanless, although he
often dallied with the dancers at his favorite club, Sensationals.

Old Silver was not a large scale threat, or a deadly combatant. He was,
at best, a clearinghouse for other agents of the Broker to use, and a
supplier of weapons often used in assassinations. But that made him an
ideal target, since he had bits of information and links to other agents
that they could exploit.

His home was a heavily secured set of suites near the top of one of
Ilium's most exclusive mega habs, meaning taking him out at home was
unlikely. Old Silver was not particularly dangerous in combat, but he
employed a pair of very tough turian biotics as bodyguards. His offices
for his front-business, that of a shipping company, were under fairly
tight physical security.

His gun smuggling operations were sloppy, since Ilium didn't really see
that as a crime. The ships he used to smuggle out weapons to various
separatists in the Hierarchy and pirate groups in the Traverse were all
owned by him, crewed with hardened mercenaries and combat capable. But
Old Silver rarely if ever accompanied these ships except when setting up
a new deal, making that an unlikely avenue for taking him out.

Weeks of trawling through his financial information, monitoring his
movements via spy drone, and hiring up a dozen different asari dancers
to 'entertain' him had revealed only one minor vulnerability in his
patterns – he often ate at a fairly high-class restaurant in lower Ilium
known as the Searpani. It catered mostly to turians, but was run by
quarian cooks and specialized in exotic dishes and 'translating' the
tastes and textures of certain levo foods into dextro equivalents.

The owners were exiles from the Flotilla, and their restaurant was doing
fairly well, but they were still behind on payments due to the owner of
the building, and would probably need a loan in the next few months or
risk going under. They employed three cooks, all quarians who were on
their Pilgrimage, who lived in low-rent housing not far from the restaurant.

The Searpani had very weak security, and it was in a high wealth, low
crime neighborhood. Given he'd eaten there for years with no issues, it
was the only place where he was even remotely vulnerable.

Liara had already ruled out a straight assassination, as they needed
chaos from the time Old Silver died to the time the Broker killed his
LINK access to raid his files. She'd already set up a remote location to
perform the hack from, but there wasn't a point in doing so while Old
Silver was still alive, as he would report the breach.

Now that they were part of the Network, they understood that in cases
where an agent was assassinated, the LINK and the agent's databases were
remotely wiped as fast as possible. But in cases of natural death, they
were kept open – re-establishing a LINK connection once broken was
expensive, given the complex security firmware.

So Old Silver had to die in a way where they would have a window to act,
and being shot or blown up wouldn't fit that. A traffic accident might
work, but hacking the traffic control networks would leave traces.
Telanya suggested hiring someone to run into him, but Old Silver rarely
if ever walked anywhere in the open, even to the Searpani.

Liara wondered about poisoning the food, but an autopsy would almost
certainly reveal most poisons, and neither of them had any idea of what
poisons worked on a turian anyway. They could certainly research it, but
then introducing the poison would be tricky. And hacking the simple
security system of the Searpani's cameras revealed that when he ate, Old
Silver was paranoid enough to run a food scanner over his meal.

But the idea reminded Telanya of something. She remembered a case she'd
worked on the Citadel, involving a clever salarian poisoner who was able
to inject food supplies with a chemical that, in combination with a
second chemical, induced violent behavior and hallucinations into
turians. The beauty of the combination was two-fold, as the second
chemical was a commonly applied seasoning in some quarian dishes.
Nothing would show up on any food scan, and the effects wouldn't be
immediate, often hitting only after half an hour or so.

Liara worried that others might be affected by the effect, and Telanya
grimly pointed out that they didn't have a choice in that. Liara didn't
want innocent people getting killed, but understood that if they did, it
would look less like the target was Old Silver, and more like some kind
of obscure food poisoning.

They spent a week identifying the food supply companies that worked with
the Searpani, eventually finding one that supplied all the basics for
Old Silver's favorite meal, reteferi. Hacks of the Searpani's database
showed the recipe called for the needed seasoning that would set off the
compound – and that few other customers ate the reteferi.

Ironically, they ended up buying the compound they needed from what
turned out to be another Broker agent, although they used a hired
quarian to do the purchase, shipping the youngster back to the Flotilla
the next day.

Telanya had personally infiltrated the warehouse of the food supply
company that night, after Liara had shut off their security via hacking.
Using staggered infiltration cloaks and a camo-shift optical jumpsuit,
Telanya had dosed all the fish that went into reteferi with the base
chemical, before sneaking out undetected.

The next day, they hired a pair of salarian mercenaries, who Liara had
identified as being tied up in some of the more disgusting slavery rings
operating off of Ilium. They provided two air-cars and gave the
salarians instructions to shadow the car of Old Silver once he left the
Searpani, and if the opportunity arose where the turian got out of the
car and appeared to be acting erratic, to run him over Liara said if
they could play it off as an accident, they'd each get a hundred
thousand credits, and while not giving details, let slip the fiction
that she was one of Old Silvers' jilted lovers.

Then they sat back to watch.

Old Silver was always punctual. His expensive late-model air-car was a
luxury conversion of a police vehicle, and he wore a suit and armor
chest piece produced by the most exclusive salarian armored clothing
manufacturers.

He went into the restaurant, and Liara watched him eat his meal through
the security cameras she'd hacked. He left an extravagant tip, flirted
with the quarian female who served his meal, and returned to his
vehicle, the aircar headed uptown, towards his home.

Halfway there, the aircar skewed to the side, the driver shot in the
head. It crashed, and Old Silver crawled out, firing a heavy pistol at
his own bodyguards, screaming incoherently. Security drones and cameras
zoomed in, as a pair of asari Ilium City Security approached on foot,
screaming for him to drop his weapon.

The turian shot one of the cops, the other asari returning fire but
failing to bring him down. Liara smiled coldly as Old Silver ran towards
the cop, firing wildly, and was struck head on by an air-car, flying
through the air to land in a bloodied heap in the street.

Liara and Telanya began hacking immediately, breaching Old Silver's
security systems in minutes and downloading everything they could from
his personal computers and databases. It took over nine minutes for news
of Old Silver's death to hit the news, and by then Liara had downloaded
ninety percent of the contents of the database. They hastily cleared the
traces of their hack and disconnected, and by the time Broker hackers
accessed his account, they found nothing out of place.

An inquiry found that Old Silver and two other turians who'd eaten that
day at the Searpani were affected by a source contamination in the meals
they ate. The other two turians were treated and hospitalized, the
restaurant fined heavily and driven out of business, and the driver of
the air-car given a minor fine and let go. Liara paid the two salarians
off, and then hired another mercenary to kill them both – she hated
slavers and had picked those two so she wouldn't feel bad about killing
them to cover her own tracks.

Old Silver died at the scene, his spine broken. The LINK alert that went
out that night suggested he'd died of food poisoning complications, and
that his files appeared to be secure, but were being purged just in
case. Old Silver's usefulness had been fading in recent months, and
speculation that he may have pissed off one of his former lovers who'd
somehow figured out an exotic method of killing him went back and forth
on the LINK, but no one really believed that.

Aria was congratulatory and amused when she got the news. "Very
creatively done. I may have wasted you two on this task, maybe I should
have you come to Omega and kill off those who irritate me."

Liara folded her arms. "Why did you pick Old Silver to die first?"

Aria smiled. "A number of reasons. The most important was that he
cheated me on a weapons deal. But, as you'll find out once you go
through his files, a second reason was that his little smuggling
business supplied the weapon used in the assassination attempt on
President Windsor. Indirectly, he was involved in the mess of events
that lead to Shepard taking the mission that got her killed. I thought
you would approve."

Liara closed her eyes. "I see. Once we go through all the information,
we'll send you what we have. Do we pick our own next target, or will you
be doing that?"

Aria's expression turned into a smirk. "I see no reason to micromanage.
I have more important things to do with my time, after all. But if you
can, focus on those who took out my people and who are a threat to my
position on Omega, first."

The months since then had been more of the same. Somewhere along the
way, rumors of a pair of sisters who hated the Broker had started making
the rounds of the rumor-nets, and the legend of the Sisters of Vengeance
were born.

Liara had been horrified at first, wondering how they'd slipped up, only
to find out that one of their victims had lived long enough to describe
a pair of black-armored asari as causing his demise before he died.
Liara had seriously considered laying low for a while, but Telanya had
suggested they run with it, starting the calling card of leaving a pair
of black roses at each site. That touch had turned suspicion and fear
into terror.

They became more and more cautious with their security, setting up the
entire warehouse dock to ensure they would never be connected to any of
the assassinations they saw to themselves. And they took more active
kills as well – Liara preferred to behead her targets with the
warp-sword, after Telanya shot them with paralyzing darts. They wanted
the target to fear, and suffer, before death.

When they blew up the salarian who'd masterminded sabotaging the
Normandy six months back, Liara had smiled for a week.

For every target they took out personally, they usually took down one or
two with sneaker methods like those they used on Old Silver. The Broker
began having problems keeping his network active on Ilium, and many
associates of the Network fled the planet.

The killings continued, each one a little easier than the previous. And
Liara discovered that killing was easy, once you stopped seeing the
targets as people, as having families or children, and instead focused
on your own losses – and how these smug criminals had profited from it.

As they sank further and further into their role, Liara's unwillingness
to harm others faded. Telanya became less interested in trying to
minimize casualties, turning almost sadistic in the ways she plotted for
the Broker's people to die. They no longer bothered worrying so much
about who got caught in the crossfire, as most of Ilium's people
disgusted them – the information they had at their fingertips made Liara
wish to detonate the planet, some days.

A lot of their targets died in terror and pain, and a few suffered badly
before they were put out of their misery. The days blended together, and
thoughts of life beyond the hectic, stressful existence they now lead
faded into dim memories.

Memories and anger were all that kept her going some days.

*O-TWCD-O*

As Liara sat in their tiny living space, thinking back on what they had
done so far, a thought struck her. She looked up at Telanya. "When we
finish this – when we take out the Broker – what happens then? Aria will
probably not want to lose our services."

Telanya's gray eyes met her own stare and the clanless gave her a weak,
tired smile. "I don't know, Lady Liara. Starting over seems impossible."
She stared at her hands, the smile fading from her face. "Garrus would
hate me, I think, if he saw what I had become." Her voice hardened. "But
I don't think Aria is stupid enough to try and go back on her word. And
if she is, I will be delighted to kill her."

Liara nodded. "I almost would hope she would try, except my aithntar
might pay the price. As for how Sara would react..." Her voice turned
bitter. "The only relief I have in this is knowing Sara will not have to
see how I have defiled myself. Murdering the innocent to get at the
guilty, working for Aria of all people...she would have wanted me to
live, but not like this. Not to do the things we have done."

Liara shook her head. "The worst part about it is that it does not
bother me. I do not have nightmares of the lives we have taken, the
things we have done. I do not wrack myself with guilt, as Sara once did,
of how others saw her. I am merely tired." She sighed. "Of everything."

Telanya placed her hand on Liara's shoulder. "Thinking about it won't
make that any better, Lady Liara. You should get some sleep. We still
have a lot of work ahead of us."

Liara nodded faintly, eating another bite of her food before speaking.
"I will. You should too." She paused. "Do...do you ever hear Garrus? In
your dreams?"

Telanya gave her a long, sad look, then nodded. "I do."

Liara smiled weakly. "I hear Sara, sometimes. Telling me to keep
fighting. To stay angry."

Telanya laughed suddenly, a sound Liara had not heard in months. "I hear
Garrus making sarcastic comments about most of our kills." She sighed.
"I guess that means we're going crazy, if we're hearing our dead
bond-mates talk to us."

Liara shook her head. "I prefer to think they live on inside us, as
siari claims. That … that no matter what, Sara will never leave me. And
that she understands why I act as I now do."

Several minutes passed as they ate quietly, and then Liara pushed away
her bowl and stood, exhaling. "I cannot let myself get lost in grief or
sorrow. We still have people to kill. When you get done eating, go ahead
and pull up the data-ping on the comms she had with Tetrimus – the
download should have started as soon as we took out the power to her
apartments. Once that's done, we can go over what we found on her
omni-tool."

Telanya slowly nodded, tapping her own omni-tool. "You sure you don't
want to rest first, Lady Liara?"

Liara's eyes narrowed as the light from the haptic screen in front of
her lit up her face. "I can rest when we are done, Tel. I have a turian
to kill first."

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 7: Arc I : Upgrades and Retrofits*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

/*A/N*:
/

/Obviously my writing speed has slowed. This is due to some rather
severe lower back pain. I'm going to be going the doctor Tuesday,
possibly just for MRI but possibly for minor surgery - I'll know more
Monday.
/

/This is a Shepard Chapter. There's at least a few more chapters in Arc
I before the things really start moving. I've been bad about responding
to reviews and PM's (due to the pain - there are times I can only write
for fifteen minutes before needing to lay back down) and I apologize for
that. /

/Reviews are always welcome.
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'Whoever it is can use singularities and the blade - possibly a
renegade priestess of Athame? Need more information'
/

/- Agent Decann, STG Forward Observer on Korlus at one the first
sightings of the Butcher
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shepard found her personal quarters very comfortable, but more than a
little bit disturbing in some ways.

The amount of personal attention to detail was creepy at times. She had
a desk, with the flat-top console setup just the way she'd had it on the
Kazan, the same bookmarked extranet sites, and even haptic image frames
of the same pictures she had on her desk. She had an entire closet full
of clothing, most of it loose, long-sleeved, and in black and gray –
much like the clothing she'd bought herself on Intei'sai – all of it
styled in a fashion that allowed her to carry a concealed weapon.

She determined that the omni-foundry unit in her rooms here must have
been looted somehow from the Kazan, because a few custom designs not in
her notebook were already loaded into it. She had a nice coffee-maker,
the same model as the one Anderson had, in the small dining area, along
with the few kinds of food she liked to eat.

Someone had loaded her music up from the player she'd bought on
Intei'sai to the music system in her rooms, as well as her favorite
shows and movies.

It all drove home to her how much of a project she was to Cerberus. On
the one hand, she could understand why they did it – anything to make
her comfortable might help her not freak out. On the other hand, it
still spoke volumes about how much they clearly knew about her.

She didn't think she was impossible to manipulate – only that most
people made lots of stupid assumptions about how she thought, felt, and
acted. Clearly, the Illusive Man wasn't going to make that mistake. If
they had painstakingly researched her likes and dislikes, they probably
also knew why she'd acted how she had – and the best ways to spin things.

It was a disturbing thought she tried to banish by learning what had
gone on while she was dead.

She sat in a comfortable chair in front of her desk, reviewing news
feeds from the past two years, smoking cigarettes and sipping on
Vindrasian scotch. As she suspected from the bits of news the Illusive
Man and Trellani had already told her, the galaxy had been gulping down
idiotball tea by the gallon since she died.

The main points – that the expansion of the Council had pretty much
rearranged the power-blocs a bit but that the asari and salarians were
still the top dogs – failed to surprise her much. Nor did the idea that
the turian Hierarchy was in an economic crunch due to the volus pretty
much pulling all the way out of the Hierarchy. The salarians had been
rocked with scandal after one of their big-shot scientists had been
caught experimenting on asari and ended up being executed, and that had
made asari and salarian interactions a lot more frosty.

The geth war had become a clusterfuck of monumental proportions, while
the quarians had finally settled down on a couple of worlds, but now
were undergoing lots of issues with those who still wanted to take back
Rannoch clashing with those who wanted to just settle down. Most people
felt they were being played hard by the salarians in economic terms, but
they didn't have a lot of options.

What she didn't see were preparations for the Reapers. She'd known
they'd keep it quiet, and Chambers and Harper had both mentioned the
Broker had been downplaying the threat – but she'd expected something –
conspiracy theorists, disaffected politicos, something. Instead she
found barely a handful of terms, most related to outrageous claims put
forth by a turian who'd died a day after making them.

She wondered if the Broker had a hand in that, too.

The Alliance, at least, was being somewhat smart. They'd pulled back
from trying to found new official colonies, spending more money on
colony defenses, weapons, and building out more ships of all classes.
But they'd also spent more and more money on building up industrial
capacity outside of the Sol system – and, she saw with amusement,
turning Neo Berlin into a damned fortress, going so far as to base the
new Sixth Fleet out of the system.

Unfortunately, the current political parties in power were not exactly
the best choices. Terra Firma had grown immensely since Saracino shot
himself and the party had been taken over by Amul Shastri, one of the
big-shot CEO's of Westerlund News. Shastri had re-tooled the Terra Firma
image, casting them in a more benign light – not so much anti-alien as
anti-Citadel. He'd cleverly introduced some of the more radical, bitter
asari of Watson to the party – those who'd been hounded or oppressed by
the Thirty – and constantly called for the Alliance to look after
'Alliance interests first'.

Shastri didn't run things himself – he had a Prime Minister named Adaren
Addison, a disgustingly handsome type who pushed all the right buttons
for the voting electorate. Addison pretty much hated all the aliens
except possibly the quarians, and yet was so eloquent and charismatic
that he'd managed to somehow avoid negative commentary about himself.

Huerta was still president, although his chances of re-election looked
rocky indeed. The party that backed him, Alliance Blue, was splintering
over debates on whether the Navy should be expanded to found new
colonies, or if the Alliance should fortify it's own holdings. Many were
bitter the Alliance didn't act to take a slice of batarian territory in
the fall of the Hegemony.

"Huh. Have to read up on that."

The New Democratic Party had been rocked by scandals, and Shepard was
sad to see that President Windsor had basically fallen to pieces. It
looked like some of his relatives may have been tied up with bits of the
disgusting crap she'd learned about from Kyle, and in the investigation
all sorts of things came out. Windsor had multiple affairs – with both
men and women, it seemed – and Eliza may or may not have been his only
illegitimate child. The family had been disgraced by his actions, while
the news implied he may have used his position to steer lucrative
military contracts to allies of his House.

He'd resigned not long after Eliza had died, a broken man by all
descriptions, and ended up in a sort of exile from the family on Dirth,
of all places.

The rest of the news about the Alliance was less good. The economy was
struggling in some areas, and there was a lot of unrest in the Class I
colonies over lack of defenses. Sirta had collapsed in the wake of yet
more allegations of connections to terrorists, this time the mysterious
Hades Group.

Hades had come out of nowhere about four months after her death, picking
up the most extreme aspects of Cerberus and mixing it with Terra Firma
alien-racism and a fine patina of pro-corporate panderings. The group
had blown up alien trade ships, assassinated several human government
officials who were pro-alien, and defaced the Unity Monument, where the
asari had built a statue on Earth claiming the humans as their cousins.
On the wildcat colonies, and even some Class I colonies, they were
wildly popular, as they had won the loyalties of many Corsair captains
and were a scourge to the pirates in a few areas.

In the mix, though, the ugly reality was that even Hades couldn't stop
piracy. Reports about missing colonies had been written off as attacks
from the hordes of pirates created by the collapse of most of the
Batarian Hegemony, mainly due to several well documented and savage
attacks by pirates on colonies.

Shepard read about the fall of the Hegemony with a mix of glee and
disgust. The Emperor had executed all of the Hegemon class, and
basically carved back his own domain to less than twenty worlds. His
ambassador-priests had claimed the rest of the Hegemony was on it's own,
and immediately powerful high-caste admirals and lords ended up in civil
war.

In the aftermath, about two-thirds of the old Hegemony – the parts
closest to the Hierarchy – had ended up annexed by the turians, with the
batarians as a client race. The other third had ended up joining up with
Aria, much to the chagrin of the Council, when the Alliance declined to
take over the region. As a result, piracy was up, and Aria's empire had
grown stronger in some ways – although it was still wracked with chaos
from the events on Omega itself.

The rest of the galaxy – a mess. But technology was moving on in
surprising ways.

The Salarian Union had been experimenting with new computer
technologies, and along with human companies, come up with new lines of
mechs, some of which Shepard had seen in her own base. The LOKI was a
replacement for the AESIR, with heavier armor, better sensors, and
capable of downloading skill packages to improve its utility.

The military version of the LOKI, the RAMPART, boasted even heavier
armor and shield generators, omni-armor, and various weapon packages
from close-in assault to sniping. The Alliance had deployed hundreds of
thousands of such mechs, supposedly overseen by a series of VI's and
human operators known as the Enhanced Defense Initiative. When Shepard
read that it had been something developed at Pinnacle Station by Admiral
Ahern, she wondered if that was the adaptive VI system she'd faced in
her mirror match.

The old JOTUN mech had been split. The new heavy mech, the MJOLNIR, was
heavier, better armed, armored and faster. But the Alliance and
Salarians had also combined technology to create what they called a
'siege mech' – the FENRIR. Details were still sketchy, but these mechs
were the best attempt the Alliance had at matching the large geth
Colossi platforms.

The Salarians had also expanded their fleet, mostly in unique ways,
investing in a new sort of hybrid magnetic-kinetic shielding designed to
deflect 'heavier munitions'. Notes from her analysts had marked this
story for review, suggesting the shielding would be better suited to
deflect the sort of firepower Nazara had used. Cerberus agents were
attempting to obtain this technology.

Shepard didn't bother reading up on the turians, asari or elcor much –
it was mostly boring stuff – instead focusing on the volus, who'd
apparently lost their minds at some point. The latest stunt of the VDF
had been to establish six colonies of vorcha inside volus space,
expending a great deal of time and effort to breed up what could only be
called assault troops.

Vorcha could handle g-forces even better than humans, and the volus had
traded missile technology and vast sums of money to the Alliance for
carrier plans and fighter technologies. Vorcha-volus fighters used packs
of mini-missiles and lots of speed to overwhelm targets, and were
deployed from hybrid carrier-cargo ships that escorted non-military
volus trade ships.

A lot of people hadn't expected the thing to work out, but it had,
surprisingly enough. While there was a lot of criticism on how the
vorcha were raised and conditioned, there was an underlying current,
among some commentators, of seemed like admiration.

Shepard snorted. That figured – the volus only got respect when they
started acting as fucked up as everyone else in space.

Some new technology had come out. Many personnel weapons were now
equipped with disposable heat-sinks, in conjunction with improved
friction-less rails and better heat-sinks in the weapons themselves.
This allowed a weapon to fire far longer before the disposable heat-sink
overloaded and ejected, and it could either be replaced with another
heat-sink or rely on the weapon's own cooling. The increase in heat
dispersion allowed for larger, more powerful weapons and heavier plasma
or ion blasts, but had also kick-started new standards in armor and
shielding technology.

Most armor now included self-sealing omnigel layers and at least a few
segments of omni-field generated armor, to break up and buffer incoming
impacts. The quarians had introduced simple and efficient eezo-driven
powered supports for armor, allowing much heavier suits to be worn, and
the elcor had pioneered overlapping shielding generators that could fit
into such suits of armor, meaning that the high-end armor suits were
even better at stopping low-end weapons.

She'd have to re-tool her ODIN – that much was clear. Her old weapons
wouldn't make a dent in some of these new heavy armors.

The main new technology was the so-called Thanix MHG – Shepard instantly
recognized it as the same kind of weapon Nazara used. It fired small
streams or bursts of super-heated omnislurry, magnetically charged to
overload ship systems, and even the small-scale systems the turians had
prototyped so far were far beyond even a dreadnought main gun in sheer
damage.

Shepard was so engrossed in thinking of the possibilities of such
technology when applied to personal weapons – which no one, amazingly,
had thought of – that she missed the first chime of her door. The second
one got her attention, and she rose from the chair with a frown.

"Come in."

The door slid open, revealing Miranda Lawson. "I wanted to see if you
were doing alright, Shepard – and if you need to talk."

Shepard stared at her a long moment before gesturing to the leather
sectional couch next to the desk. "Have a seat. Talking...I don't know.
Never been a big point of mine. Nine times out of ten, talking about
things doesn't change anything."

Miranda sat, nodding slowly. "Perhaps. It does help some people,
however. And since we are going to be working together for the
foreseeable future, it would help if I could learn how you were doing,
handling events – without wondering if you were depressed or just fine.
In your past you were rarely demonstrative of your mental state except
when pressed. If you don't mind the company."

She trailed off, a bit uncertainly, and Shepard nodded. "I'm not gonna
tell you to get the hell out, Lawson. I may not … like … the fact that
I'm alive again – but Chambers was right, sort of. I'd be a pretty
ungrateful bitch if I took out the things I'm having to face now onto you."

Miranda nodded, and she glanced around the room. "That's fair. I'll
start with the basics – I am guessing you have everything you need for
your personal comfort? Is there anything else you can think of you'd
need right now?"

Shepard sat back at her desk, leaning back, and picked up her cigarette.
"No, I'm good. More than good, actually. Then again, I'm not much for
luxury. I need grub, coffee, cigs, and a drink every-now and then, and I
can keep going."

Miranda made a face. "I doubt that will suffice in the long term, if you
don't mind me saying so. We are not exactly certain how some aspects of
your new form will perform or react under the stress of combat, and it
is likely you will experience a wide array of side effects – including
pain. The things like a omnigel foam mattress and the hydro-spa probably
seem like useless luxury, but you may need them later on down the line."

Shepard puffed on the cigarette. "Well, from what Trellani was saying,
it's pretty likely I won't live very long anyway. Cancer, or organ
failure, or cascading...whatever she called it."

Miranda scowled. "Cascading immune system misidentification. A common
symptom of heavy cybernetic conversion. We can treat or alleviate most
of those things, Shepard. While I have no way of determining how long
you will live like this, you aren't going to suddenly die in the next
five or six years."

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. "Then what kind of side-effects
are you talking about?"

Miranda leaned back. "Nerve discomfort. Fevers or chills. Mental
fatigue. Bone pain. Possible disorientation, nausea. Internal bleeding.
Headaches. Your muscles, for the most part, are now artificial, so they
won't get tired, but the portions of you that are not cybernetic will
accrue fatigue at a much faster rate. You have less tolerance for the
sort of bodily toxins produced by just living, and we have to monitor
such things very carefully."

Shepard winced, and Miranda sighed. "To be blunt, none of your systems
have been … well, tested. In the field. Some of the things we introduced
are beyond experimental – we literally have no idea what will happen
when you use them the first time. And we didn't want to take the chance
of trying to do testing when you were unconscious, as lack of feedback
from you on what you felt might have lead us to assume things. At the
very least, some of the more extreme things you can do in a physical
sense will cause you a great deal of pain."

Shepard blew out smoke, shrugging. "Old DI in the Penal Legions said
there was a price for everything. I didn't expect to cheat death and get
away without any sort of penalty. If the drawbacks aren't bad enough to
stop me from fighting, then I can deal. Pain hasn't stopped me before."

Miranda nodded. "Still. While I'm not doubting your ability to endure,
we want you to be as comfortable as possible when you have the
opportunity to do so. Hence the 'luxury', as you put it."

Shepard snorted. "Yeah. I'm not much for luxury...but I don't /mind/ it,
either. I'm not some weirdo who demands to live in a leaky shack,
eschewing technology. From the clothing and the music, and the layout of
the place, you guys did a good job figuring out my likes and dislikes,
didn't you?"

Miranda nodded again, more slowly this time. "We made the best attempt
we could. To suggest that anyone can understand what you've gone through
is arrogance, Shepard. But in the process of restoring your memories, we
were able to see some pieces of your older memories – what you suffered
in your youth. That was enough to horrify even a hardened .. person...
like Matriarch Trellani. The least we could do is try to fit your
personal desires as best as possible."

Shepard shrugged. "One thing I've slowly come to terms with is that
Rachel was right. There's no such thing as closure." She exhaled. "A lot
of what I've done over the years was stupid. A lot of it was me not
bothering to try to get over things – some of that was because I didn't
know how, and some of it was because I was being a hateful, resentful
little bitch."

She smiled, puffing on the cigarette in her hand. "But most of what I've
gone through in the past … year or so – "she broke off. "Ah, the last
year of my life would be a better way to say it, I guess … has allowed
me to realize that the shit I went through isn't a justification for
anything. I'm not going to say that living through it didn't suck. But
having people tiptoe around my past or feel sorry for me won't do a
goddamned thing to make me feel better, so I don't see the point."

Miranda nodded. "I see. I didn't mean to pry."

Shepard waved a hand. "It's not prying, Lawson. It's just that I've
heard those words a lot, and they never seem to /mean/ much. Everyone
says I'm not crazy but they looked at me like I was. Everyone says they
understand it must have been hard growing up, then turn around and say
they don't understand what it could have been like. At the end of the
day? If I spent all my time going on about how much my early life
sucked, I'd be right back where I was before I met Liara."

A flicker of pain crossed her features, and Shepard took a breath. "And
I won't do that." She looked down at her feet for several seconds, and
Miranda sighed.

"I … well. I won't make the mistake you've alluded to and claim I
understand, Shepard – but I can easily grasp why talking about it isn't
something you want to keep going over. We all have bad memories we'd
rather just put behind us."

Shepard nodded, then bit her lip. "Speaking of bad memories...the
Alliance doctors told me my brains had been given such a good stir by
the Beacon I'd need Liara in my life to stop the damage from driving me
crazy. How do you guys plan to get around that when my nightmares start
up again? Trellani said it was 'dealt with', but I got no details."

Miranda folded her arms. "I'm afraid I don't know the details. Matriarch
Trellani engaged in some form of asari mental alteration … or perhaps
therapy. The asari had a method to deal with those who had been injured
by Dark Beacons, but the skill and knowledge was limited to those within
the Temple of Athame. From what she told us, you will not have any
issues with the Beacon and its images in the near future. Perhaps in ten
or fifteen years you may – she was not forthcoming with details."

Shepard rubbed her eyes, then took a drink. "Shit. I get a lot of that."
She put the drink down, and leaned back. "So why are you really here,
Lawson? I figured the shrink would be down to pick my brains and all
that. You don't strike me as the kind of person who chit-chats for the
sake of chit-chat."

Lawson smiled. "She admitted to some concern about you getting drunk and
tearing up your quarters, which I don't think is something you would do.
But I just wanted to talk. I know this transition is not something you
can simply come to grips with quickly."

Shepard shrugged. "You mean being dead?"

Miranda nodded. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes. I spent the
past two years working to bring you back to life. Not to go on about my
own achievements, or that of the team – but it was a remarkable
undertaking. But on further reflection, there was too little time
expended on determining how this act would affect you – mentally,
emotionally. Psychologically."

Miranda's face twisted. "I suppose the addition of Chambers, in that
regard, was a good idea – but I still would like to hear what you feel."

She picked up her drink again, sipping the scotch, and smiled. "The
funny thing is that it doesn't bother me as much as it should. Maybe it
hasn't hit me yet. Maybe the past year of my life before I died was so
much different than everything before it that I'm adjusting better."

She paused. "You ask me what I feel? I feel alone, Lawson. That sounds …
cheap, and what Admiral Ahern would call 'emo shitfaced crying', but
that's what I feel. The fact that I died doesn't make me feel anything
at all compared to the missing spot in my head where Liara should be."

Shepard exhaled sharply. "But focusing on that … just makes me want to
drink more. You were asking about how I dealt with knowing I was dead."

She shrugged. "When I woke up, it was like every other time I'd caught
too much fire in a mission and gone down. I didn't have any visions of
heaven or hell, or any awareness that any time had passed." She frowned.
"I guess when I think about it now? I know it happened. I know two years
have passed. But it's going to be a while until what that means fits
into my head in a way where I can express it."

Miranda nodded. "You are at least not, as Chambers put it, 'freaking out'."

Shepard gave a thin smile. "I never found that freaking out improved a
situation. Life gives you what you have to work with. I can fucking cry
about it, or I can be a big girl and move the fuck on. Given the amount
of my life I wasted on bitching about my circumstances..."

She trailed off. "...besides. I've been thinking about what I am now."
Shepard tapped her console, bringing up a word definition site on the
extranet. "I looked up what 'revenant' meant. Lots of negative meanings.
Something brought back from the dead to gain revenge on those who
wronged them."

Her gaze met Lawson's, cold and flat. "I can get behind that kind of
thinking. Although the name's a little obscure."

Miranda frowned and glanced at the screen. "I believe the Illusive Man
derived the name after watching /High Plains Drifter./ I disagreed with
the name myself – I would have preferred Lazarus."

Shepard laughed quietly. "I can't really see TIM watching old westerns,
but I can't see him big into the Bible either." She glanced at her
cigarette and saw it had gone out, so lit another. "He's not quite what
I expected."

Miranda smiled. "He once said his greatest delight is people thinking
they know or understand him getting so much about him wrong."

Shepard glanced at her drink, before shrugging and taking another sip.
"Maybe. I think he likes the whole 'man in the shadows' bullshit a bit
too much for my taste. But as long as he doesn't think he can play me, I
can go along with this … " She waved a hand around her "... for now."

She glanced at Lawson. "Anyway. Not really interested in him. Since you
say you're here to talk...tell me about you." She puffed on her
cigarette again, gazing at the woman across from her through the smoke.

Miranda looked a bit surprised. "Me?"

Shepard nodded. "Harper says you're going to be my XO. The last XO I had
was just about perfect in everything he did professionally, but his
personal life seemed like a mess. Since you know everything about me and
I know almost nothing about you, it seems a fair way to start."

Miranda nodded slowly. "Alright. You are familiar with NOVENSILES, from
what I have been told?"

Shepard's expression darkened. "Yeah. I am."

Miranda exhaled. "Then you may or may not like what I have to tell you
about myself. I was … created, for lack of a better word. Crafted, by my
'father', Henry Lawson, to serve as a prototype baseline for the
NOVENSILES project. They needed a template from which to base the
genetic modifications off of, one that came as close to human perfection
as possible."

Miranda gave a self-deprecating smile at Shepard's expression and
continued. "So I was genetically modified even in utero. Adjustments
were made by a team of specialists. I'll live longer than a normal
human. I need less sleep, less food. I'm stronger and faster. My memory
was augmented by certain drell protein chains and mimicking drell DNA
patterns, and so I have photographic memory and a very high learning
capability. My biotics were also engineered, making me stronger than
most human biotics."

She grimaced. "In order to give me biotics, they had to deliberately
expose a woman to eezo...they implanted my modified embryo into her,
dosed her with enough eezo to ensure I would be biotic, let me
develop...then removed me pre-birth to continue their modifications."

Shepard shook her head in disgust. Miranda continued speaking as she
shrugged. "My physical attributes were also … handcrafted. Henry Lawson
wanted me to resemble his own dead wife, I believe. After I was born,
every minute of my day was planned and controlled. I was raised more by
tutors and scientists than in any sort of family environment, and shown
off to certain high Alliance officials and members of the High Lords of
Sol as an example."

Her voice became bitter. "However, he wasn't pleased with the final
result. The genetic modifications they'd performed did not mesh well
with the initial planned 'upgrades'. And the process they used in
creating me meant I was effectively sterile."

Shepard winced, and Miranda continued, her tone still mostly even. "As
such, I was deemed a worthless expenditure of money. A 'sister' was
created, Oriana, with various improvements I lacked, while I was mostly
used as an experimental test subject. She was more /acceptable/ than I
was – more submissive, less independent."

She pushed back her hair. "Eventually when I was nine years old, Jack
Harper expressed an interest in my abilities, and I was … sold to him by
my 'father'. Since then, Mr. Harper has trained me, encouraged me to
find my own path and pursue my own goals and dreams, and had me lead and
coordinate his most critical projects."

Shepard nodded slowly. "How old are you, Miranda?"

The woman looked slightly defensive before speaking. "I'm twenty three."

Shepard shook her head, puffing on her cigarette. "Jesus. So...this
NOVENSILES crap. It made you, literally. We'll get back to you in a
minute – I want to know what's your take on this bullshit?"

Miranda's eyes narrowed. "It is essentially monstrous. I understand, in
a purely logical manner, why certain parties feel a need to 'improve'
humanity. The salarians are smarter and faster. Turians are stronger and
tougher. Asari have longer lives, much stronger biotics, and more robust
immune systems. Batarians lack organs that allow for instant kills,
krogan regenerate, drell have perfect memories..."

She sighed. "The idea that humanity is 'weaker' than these aliens has
bothered some ever since the First Contact War. Appropriating such …
advantages would make humanity more prepared to defend itself if things
went badly. In the days in which NOVENSILES was first proposed, that may
have been a real concern."

Miranda pushed her hair back. "But what it has become – the thought
monitoring, the complete destruction of anything approaching human
baselines in the pursuit of power, the disgusting grayboxes – is merely
a power grab, in my opinion. And a stupid one – the other races will see
this sort of egregious gene-modding as a threat and act against us as
they did with the rachni. And if details were to leak to the public,
even the Commissariat couldn't suppress the rioting. The Lords of Sol
would lose their privilege and be destroyed. I find it hard to believe
no one sees this is what would happen."

Shepard smiled thinly."I've found people in offices far from the front
line rarely if ever bother to think about long-term consequences."

Miranda gave a small smile. "Perhaps. As how I view NOVENSILES in
regards to my own existence...it is complicated. It made me what I am –
and yet it denied me any chance to be a mother, or to take pride in any
of my achievements."

She stood, stretching her legs as she paced slowly. "In the process of
bringing you back to life, I researched your life, Shepard. You always
pushed yourself to learn everything you could, that you found useful.
You cross-trained into fields that almost all other biotics and
Vanguards ignored, even when that resulted in you having to study on
your own time."

Miranda gestured towards Shepard. "You achieved the highest possible
score in your N7 qualifications, studied an obscure form of the biotic
charge with the asari and mastered it, and went on to be awarded some of
the highest honors a human can receive."

Shepard snorted. "Yeah, and look where that got me."

Miranda shrugged, turning around to face Shepard. "Yes, but that isn't
the point. You started with nothing. You had nothing. Everything you
achieved was with your own hard work – you had no natural advantages."

Miranda smiled sardonically. "For me, things were … never the same. How
hard is it to learn everything you put your mind to when you have
photographic memories and were manufactured to have higher intelligence?
When you had no choices in whether or not to study hard or push
yourself, but were forced into it? When you have no options in life but
to study and master whatever is thrown at you – or worry that, once
again, you'll be seen as flawed, insufficient, and thrown away?"

Shepard folded her arms. "That's how you see yourself? Flawed?"

Miranda sighed. "The Illusive Man has been a part of my life for a long
time, and he's shown me a great deal of care and concern. And while I
have no love for my 'father', I will not deny he put a great deal of
money, time and energy in to ensuring I had every advantage in my early
life."

She exhaled. "But at the same time, in the end I have always been judged
on what I have the capability to do, not what I actually have done. It
is very hard to take pride in my achievements compared to yours, because
I do not feel I earned most of them – and because ultimately, I wasn't
good enough. Not for my father, and in some ways, not enough for Mr.
Harper."

Her voice was bitter, and Shepard raised both eyebrows. "Not quite sure
what to say to that. On the one hand, Lawson – who gives a shit? The
only person you should be trying to prove anything to is yourself. The
only difference between your dad and mine is in details – we both got
sold off. Worrying about that won't get you anywhere. I did it for a
long time...and I could have done other shit, things to make me happier.
It was only when I finally let go of it that I realized it doesn't matter."

Lawson gave her a look, and Shepard sighed. "I guess the closest thing I
had to a father figure was David Anderson. The closest thing I had to a
mother was Rachel Florez. I wanted to impress them both. I wanted to
prove they were right for believing in me. But the thing I remember
about both of them is that they never sat down and told me 'you must do
this or that or we will be through with you'. I excelled at what I
studied because I wanted to be the best – and yeah, I thought at the
time if I was the best people would care."

Miranda nodded, and Shepard shook her head. "But that was me missing the
whole fucking point. In the long run, Rachel turned out to be a piece of
shit. In the long run, I found out that being the best at everything I
tried didn't make me any fucking happier at all. It just made me a
better tool for the Alliance to use. You gotta find your own reasons to
value yourself, or you'll never be happy with anything."

Shepard sat back, puffing on her cigarette. "As for the shit about
coming from everything and me coming from nothing..." She shrugged.
"That's true of a lot of people. President Windsor once basically told
me the same thing when I said I wasn't comfy with being on the same
social level as he was. I don't judge people by where they came from –
only by what they can do. Liara came from the highest levels of asari
society and it didn't do her a damned bit of good. She had a miserable
childhood – less physical abuse than mine, but what can be more fucked
up to a kid than being made to feel like she's trash by her own family?"

Shepard puffed on her cigarette again before putting it out. "The fact
that some slimy fucker bred you up in a lab to be 'perfect' doesn't
matter much to me. You are making your own choices now. If that means
you can perform higher than most humans can, then I'll expect more out
of you than the rest of whoever I bring into this mess."

Shepard met Miranda's eyes. "But at the end of the day, who you make
yourself into – and what you want outta life – is always gonna be more
important than where the fuck you come from. If that wasn't true I'd
still be slinging red sand with the Reds. No one gives a shit about how
hard you had it, or I had it – they just want results."

Miranda tilted her head. "An interesting viewpoint. The Illusive Man
said I should value my talents and special abilities and use them to the
fullest. That a part of my … unique value was the very things that make
me question how much recognition I deserve for what I have accomplished."

Shepard leaned back. "Well, what /have /you accomplished?"

Miranda blinked. "Aside from pulling together and leading the Revenant
Cell and your resurrection? I was in charge of the fire-team that
recovered your body from Omega. Prior to that, I organized the recovery
of various Cerberus assets in the aftermath of the destruction of
Cerberus HQ and worked with Jacob Taylor to derail a terrorist threat."

The dark-haired Cerberus operative folded her arms. "Up until that
point, I mostly worked with various cells as a floating resource, aiding
in gathering information, coordinating operations, and on occasion
engaging in infiltration and surveillance through … alternative methods."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "So, strong on organizational stuff,
information gathering, all that kinda thing? Like an AIS agent?"

Miranda gave that concept a few seconds of thought before nodding. "That
is a good way to characterize it, I suppose. While I don't have the
level of combat experience that as AIS agent does, of course, I can hold
my own in combat – pistols, submachine guns, and assault rifles, plus
info-war and biotics. I heal faster and tire more slowly than baseline
humans, and my reflexes are augmented."

Shepard looked at the package of cigarettes, but decided not to chain
smoke a third. "Sounds to me like you could be nasty in a fight. But
that's not all an XO has to do. The hardest part of leadership for me
was letting other people do the job. Some of it was, for a long time,
that I was … not trained right. No one taught me how to lead the right way."

Shepard stretched. "But a lot of it was that I knew I was better and
more likely to get the job done than anyone else. I didn't like my
people getting hurt."

Lawson nodded. "Hence why you so often lead from the front." She tilted
her head. "I do not know how much use as an executive officer I will be.
A good deal of my time, I expect, would be spent on correlating
intelligence information from the base when we are out on patrol or on
assignment, and assisting Doctor Sedanya with the cybernetic aspects of
your needs. I always thought an XO would have most of their day expended
on maintenance of the crew."

Shepard waggled a hand. "I've been a line XO for a division, and – very
briefly, mind you – for a ship. One thing stays the same, you try to
filter bullshit from reaching the CO. Pressly was...great at that. He
was always thinking two steps of ahead – of what you'd need, of what you
forgot about. I was more details oriented in just making sure shit
didn't blow up. There's no 'guide' how to be a good XO, anymore than
there's a valid guide on how to 'lead'."

Shepard picked up the Vindrasian and poured more into her glass. "But
someone as details oriented as you should do fine. You don't drink?"

Miranda gave a faint smile. "Not often. One drawback of my metabolism is
that it tends to affect me more strongly – and quickly – than others.
You, on the other hand, have a large number of filters and other systems
that will stop you from becoming drunk … quickly, at least."

Shepard snorted. "The advantages of a fake liver?"

Miranda shrugged. "It's cloned. But it has cybernetic supports, for
filtering purposes and to maintain stability. You still should not drink
anything outre...such as krogan ryncol."

Shepard nodded, sipping the scotch slowly. "What do I have to do tomorrow?"

Miranda clicked her omni-tool, bringing up a small scrolling screen.
"Fitting and testing of the bio-amp, installation of the bio-amp
software links to both your omni-tool and your onboard cybernetics. Then
tuning the cybernetic devices to the proper resonance, and checking to
make sure everything works."

Miranda smiled. "After that, some armor fitting and options on how you
want that set up. We'll probably need to work on your weapons as well –
Jacob retrofitted your Sunfire pistol with modern thermal technology and
a higher-powered MA rail, but you may want to make modifications
yourself. And you will want to determine your own weapons loadouts. We
also need to demonstrate some of the features of your new form and …
well, as I mentioned, testing."

Shepard nodded. "And after that?"

Miranda folded her arms. "Reviewing ship and base personnel for your
selection, and waiting for a signal from one of the wildcat colonies
suggesting it is trouble. To be honest, Shepard, what happens is
entirely up to you – you have the dossiers on possible useful recruits,
the ship is ready to go at a moment's notice once we get it fully
staffed, and if you chose to do something unrecommended, such as make
contact with the Alliance or Council, I would provide you with various
options to ensure that didn't end badly."

Shepard inhaled sharply, before taking another drink. "I'll think about
it." She smiled. "I don't mind you coming around to talk, but tell
Chambers if she pulls any psych shit on me she'd better be a bit more
civil with it in the future."

Miranda smiled wider. "I'll be more than happy to convey that to her."

O-TWCD-O

Making her biotics work again – properly – was a trial that took up most
of the next day.

Shepard had to endure an hour of 'electronervous adjustments' – which
sounded like a fancy way of being electrocuted – to tune her cybernetics
to the same voltages as her own remaining nervous system. Most of her
spine was still intact, if supported by cyberware, and nerves had been
threaded through her body, ending in nerve interface caps for most of
her cyberware and a thin network of pressure and temperature receptors
for the skin.

She could still feel pain – especially on the areas of her body not
converted entirely to cyberware – but one of the first tricks Miranda
demonstrated to her was something called a pain editor, which could
selectively shut down parts of her nervous system that reported pain in
the first place.

"It's not entirely safe to use, Shepard – after all, pain is the body's
method for warning you something is wrong that needs attention – but if
pain becomes a distraction you can certainly cut it off."

Channeling biotics through cyberware felt strange and disconnected,
which she supposed made sense. At the same time, her biotics – once they
got everything working right – had a lot more snap and speed to them,
and the tingling burn she often felt after even a few warps was gone
entirely.

From there, they moved onto testing her biotics, in a specially
constructed facility in the medical wing.

Her power was also a lot more than she remembered. The best warp she'd
ever thrown before her death in biotic testing had burned through two
inches of steel in thirty-five seconds, and that was with total
concentration on a tightly focused area. It had given her shakes and a
headache for two hours and pain down all the nerves in her arm for a day.

She literally turned a three inch segment of hardened battle steel to
slag in half that time and didn't even feel the effort when it came time
for her to test her power, under the watchful eyes of Miranda and
Sedanya. Her lift and throw capacity were not much stronger than before,
but her pull was. Her barrier was much stronger, and her kanquess was
even faster, and the nova it generated buckled the reinforced walls of
the testing area in medical when she flared it.

When she was done testing, Trellani had shown up, dressed in a black
dress with orange highlights, and spent several hours patiently teaching
her a few more biotic skills she'd never known. According to Trellani,
most of them were limited to the Temple of Athame, and rarely taught
even to non-temple Asari, much less aliens.

The nastiest of them was the blade of force she'd seen Liara and Benezia
use so handily and could never master. Her own blade was thinner and
weaker, but it could still gash a heavy steel plate down to a depth of
three inches.

Shepard had asked about that technique, as she'd seen Balak pull it off
as well. Trellani's response was that the batarians had captured several
lower-ranking priestesses in the past and probably tortured the details
out of them, although based on what Shepard remembered of his use of it,
he wasn't much better than Shepard herself. Trellani demonstrated the
ability to slice through a foot-thick chunk of metal with the blades of
force, although it appeared to fatigue her slightly.

Trellani also taught her more about the singularity, and although
Shepard's remained weak and unstable, both Miranda and Sedanya were
highly impressed. "Very few non-asari can generate even a weak
singularity effect and hold it for any amount of time, Shepard."

She shrugged. "Well, I certainly couldn't before you crammed me full of
extras, so I don't see it as a big accomplishment on my part. This will
come in handy for flushing people out of cover."

Trellani's teaching method was strange and somewhat uncomfortable, as
she could somehow use a shallow link to 'push' memories – shorn of any
personal viewpoints – into Shepard's head to demonstrate a technique.
There was never even a hint of the matriarch's emotions or memories in
such connections, and Shepard had asked, when she was resting, how much
skill that took.

Trellani's features twisted into an amused smile. "It took me two
hundred years of meditation and practice as an under-priestess to master
the ways of the Shallow Waters. Most of the Clans rarely rose high in
the Temple, and in those days my goal was to be the first not of the
Thirty" – she paused, clenching her teeth for a moment, then continuing
– "...to become Solarch."

Shepard nodded. "You ended up the third-highest priestess, though. And
you were connected to Benezia."

Trellani sighed, an expression of pain crossing her features. "Lady
Benezia was my … there is no good human word for it, but a combination
of mentor and patron would fit best into your language. When she
encouraged me to explore the Writings of the Temple, I did so eagerly. I
suspect it was my own mastery of ancient asari language – a skill most
in the Temple disdain to pursue – that lead to my own undoing. I
discovered truths about the Temple that broke not only my faith in
Athame, but in the Thirty."

Shepard arched an eyebrow as she waited for Lawson to finish running the
results of the last tests. "And what was that?"

The matriarch's gaze met hers heavily. "Is not your soul occluded enough
with the crimes of your own people, that you would hear of the failings
of mine? Suffice it to say it was vile enough that I sought to flee –
and the price I paid for the knowledge was the obliteration of my loved
ones, family, and followers."

Shepard bit her lip. "And you ended up with Cerberus? That seems a
stretch. Trusting an organization that hates aliens...doesn't seem like
the best move."

Trellani's expression eased. "There are choices we all make when we are
swept far out of sight of the shore, Shepard. Mine are not what matters
at the current moment. I will say this – few can understand Jack as well
as I do, and I even I do not know everything about him. I joined him
because he offered me a way to achieve my own goals – as he has done
with you."

She gestured to the facility around her. "All of this is, to him, a
gamble. A gamble that you will serve the needs he has put you to. Make
no mistake, human – in the long run, it does not matter whether you
decide to join Cerberus or flee from it. Just by once more drawing
breath and agreeing that the Collectors are a threat, you do his bidding
– and allow him to focus on other plans."

Shepard frowned, and turned back to the testing now that Miranda was
finished, but the words stuck with her. She knew that Harper had
researched her, down to the point they knew which scars to keep and get
rid of, what music and clothes she like, even just how to pitch their
little offer in a way to make her likely to accept.

Did she actually have any choices in this? The anger in her head over
losing Liara, the wondering about just how fucked up the Alliance was,
the worry over the Reapers – and the idea that hundreds of thousands of
people might be Reaper slaves already – all added up to one direction.
She'd have to work with Cerberus.

But that flew in the face of what she should be doing, didn't it? She
flung more warpfire, testing her endurance, as her thoughts raced.

She didn't stand for law, or the concept of law. The law hadn't done her
any good, hadn't saved her. It hadn't protected her. She hated criminals
because they hurt those like she had been, not because they broke the law.

Cerberus had hurt people who were weak. Even if Harper had cleaned out
the ones who thought mass experimentation on aliens was nifty, she
doubted he had gone entirely clean. There was a bit too much effort on
giving her no real connection to Cerberus. Miranda's little history of
her own activities was so clean-cut that it was clear the nasty stuff
was probably handled by others. Like that hard-ass security guy, Ezno,
or Trellani.

Still, opposing Cerberus – especially if what they wanted from her lined
up with her own goals – just because they had done bad shit in the past
wasn't a logical thing to do. She had done bad shit in the past and
changed. She didn't think the same was true of Harper, but he /had
/owned up to the responsibility of what Cerberus had done, even if he'd
added a lot of bullshit caveats.

She moved through the kanquess as requested, as Miranda did more scans
of her body, and considered. The easiest thing to do was go along with
everything for now, and keep an open eye out for things she didn't agree
with. Maybe she could talk to Vigil about finding out what Cerberus was
really up to, or even Tali.

If they were mostly on the up and up … then she was willing to let
bygones be bygones, and if she ran across Richard Williams she would
crush his fucking skull and call that payment completed. If Harper was
trying to hustle her, well, she'd figure out how to deal with him after
she'd polished off the Broker and figured out about these Collector things.

"That's it, Shepard. We have enough data for final adjustments, now."

She nodded, and then frowned. Usually after hours of biotic exertion her
nerves would be screaming with pain and she'd feel like she was
starving. She wasn't even sweating now, and only felt faintly hungry. "I
must have a lot more biotic reserves than I used to."

Miranda nodded, coming out of the small room off to one side of the
testing chamber where she'd been running the scans and observing
results. The smell of burned metal and ozone hung in the air along with
wafts of smoke, and she wrinkled her nose as she walked up to Shepard.
"Yes. Your node system was augmented, but the blueware means you channel
your biotic energy much more efficiently."

Shepard arched an eyebrow."If the shit is that good, why doesn't every
biotic use it?"

Miranda sighed. "Blueware cybernetics is often … disruptive to the body.
It causes a great deal of extraneous neural and nervous feedback that
must be compensated for, long term nerve degeneration that has to be
repaired constantly by expensive nanotherapy, and requires a large
amount of eezo. I'd say a third of the cost of bringing you back to life
was merely the blueware components alone – and keep in mind that because
of the blueware, you are also extremely vulnerable to things like EMP
explosions and certain magnetic attacks."

Shepard nodded. "But the advantages?"

Miranda smiled. "Less use of the body's bio-electrical field, higher
discrimination in biotic effects, and much greater reserves by dint of
the software in your bio-amp being able to manage the field effects at
all stages – generation, propagation and discharge – rather than just
the last. You won't go through your reserves as quickly and will suffer
much less nerve pain or feedback effects."

Miranda held up a finger. "But be aware you still need more food than
normal. Your hunger may feel muted now, but we don't have a good
understanding of the mechanisms behind what drives hunger sensations in
high-conversion cybernetic people. If you feel hungry at ALL, consider
that the equivalent of nearly starving."

Shepard nodded. "Guess it's time for a burger, then."

O-TWCD-O

Fiddling with armor and guns after lunch was more interesting for Shepard.

The base armor they'd built for her was, as she'd already seen, a
bone-white set of Spectre armor, with slightly different outlines and no
cape. They chose the color as it was one-eighty away from the colors
that Shepard normally wore, as a way to blur her identity.

The armor was modular, and had sections that could be added or removed
for various types of missions – extra shield generators, stealth
packages, and the like. It was more advanced in other ways – it linked
to her cybernetics, interfaced with her weapons via smart-linked
wireless sensors, and had built in omni-armor generators that could
cover the torso, back, shoulders and shins.

Both arms could generate omni-shields and omni-blades, and each forearm
contained a powerful short-range plasma flamethrower. The suit was
designed especially for her body and fit like a glove, and the HUD was
actually interfaced with her cybernetic eyes.

The helmet was different – white armor framework with a mirrored
faceplate shaped like a stylized skull, with a slightly longer back
section. Miranda said that was to confuse observers into thinking she
might be asari instead of human.

The armor worked well, although Shepard opted for heavier shielding
given Miranda's earlier warnings about taking damage. The fact that
someone had developed a kinetic barrier that could work with instead of
disrupt a biotic's barrier power was a big shock for Shepard, but one
she definitely approved of. Not having to maintain a barrier all the
time would give her more power to use her biotics for other things.

The self-sealing features of the armor were highly useful, as was the
built-in medical computer and real-time link to medical displays, both
on the base and her new flagship. Sedanya and Miranda could even deploy
some limited repair functionality remotely, from a small reservoir of
nanite agents and medical omnigel in the suit proper.

The weapons lineup needed work, and she'd ensconced herself in the
armory omni-foundry with a couple of plates of food, a package of
cigarettes, and her notebook. Taylor had wandered up from Security and
asked to watch her work, which she had no problem with. She'd fiddled a
bit with the Sunfire pistol, but Taylor had gone ahead and done a very
good job of getting it up to modern spec, so after tinkering with the
sights a bit set it aside.

The sniper rifle selection was impressive, but most of them were too
heavy for her tastes. She ended up doing some minor modifications to a
turian sniper rifle with semi-automatic fire and heavy-penetration APP
rounds, mostly upgrading the TeV rating by boosting the launcher
accelerator rails and adding fluidic shock balancing to it.

A good assault rifle wasn't hard to find – the Cerberus techs had built
up the old Mattock rifle into a terrifying new incarnation with new
technologies they called the Harrier. Choked out to twice its previous
caliber, fully automatic and with self-adjusting recoil dampers, the
weapon was already vicious. Shepard lengthened the barrel extensively,
implanting much stronger accelerator rails, and retrofitting the ammo
block loader to accept much larger sizes. She adjusted the ammo caster
to throw a more dart-shaped shot from the gun and increased the rate of
fire by adding an additional cycler to the rail recycling system.

Taylor whistled. "That's going to have some monstrous kick to it."

She shrugged. "I'm more concerned with accuracy – full auto is nice, but
the main fire pattern will be short bursts. I want them fast and tight,
though – and to hit hard enough to rip up whatever they hit. I might
swap in phasic rounds at some point, but .. we'll see."

The biggest project to do was upgrade her ODIN. She'd come up with a
crazy idea for a new-model ODIN style shotgun before she'd died, but the
technology to make it work hadn't existed back then. It still didn't,
for the most part, but she could adapt a few things.

She reconfigured the entire casting system, opting for narrower but
thicker wedges of uranium hexafloride, and slapped in a thin magnetic
film discharge spinneret at the barrel. The wedges would still be
super-heated by the ammo-caster, but they would be sliced and dispersed.
They would then be coated in a thin film of phasic magnetic iron, giving
them more shield-penetrating capability.

She lengthened the barrel some, adding in a more powerful acceleration
rail and a fully automatic recycler. Then on reflection, she tore that
down and instead went with two separate rail systems, each linked
dynamically via a small hot-swap modification to increase the rate of fire.

Taylor had blinked at that. "That's...an interesting use of the rails.
I'm starting to see why your designs sell so well."

Shepard paused. "Huh?"

Taylor chuckled. "I'm guessing someone told you that your old weapons
officer had started a company with the people on Intei'sai, selling a
handful of your designs. I think the turians made a mod of one of your
sniper rifles, and the double-action pistol you invented is now the
stock sidearm of the Alliance, called the Shepard." He smiled.

She snorted at the very idea. "Well, I'm glad Colms didn't end up making
a big bomb, but I wonder why he got out of the Alliance in the first place?"

Taylor shrugged. "From what I gather, his big Kyle torpedo got cut in
the funding appropriations. I mean, yeah, it works – we took the idea
and installed the launch system on the new Normandy, for example – but
the cost of each torpedo was ruinous – and the facility to compress
neutronium was an expense the SA couldn't afford long-term. The
technology is still there, but for the cost of five torpedoes you could
built two frigates and a wing of fighters."

Shepard nodded. "So he got fed up and left?"

Taylor shrugged. "I guess. Didn't really keep tight tabs on him, to be
honest, but I used the handgun quite a bit and modded some of the
innards myself."

Shepard nodded, flipping to a different page in her battered notebook.
"I had a lot of time on my hands and I liked thinking of new ideas. It's
about the only … creative thing I did, I guess. I'm sure most women
would be focused on something else."

The black man's large shoulders shrugged as he watched her layout the
rail supports for the new weapon. "I dunno. I think you gotta focus on
what you're good at. You're good at this and you enjoy it, so why not do
it?"

She smiled as she dropped shield-goggles over her eyes and gestured for
him to step back as she began spot-welding components together. "You'd
be surprised, Mr. Taylor, the stupid shit I was subjected to over the
years by the media. When the ODIN fiasco blew up it just added more
negativity to my image, and it pretty much fucked John Oracal over and
out." She sighed. "Wonder what he's up to?"

Taylor chuckled. "He financed Colms and his little company, and he's on
the board, I think. There's some other patents of yours that technically
he can't produce – like the ODIN – but he got a dispensation from the
Alliance about a year ago to produce a version of it for Vanguards to use."

She nodded. "Well, I haven't had much chance to glance over specifics
for designs, mostly looking at various new technologies." She paused to
narrow the weld on one tricky section of the rail before finishing and
pulling off the goggles. "I'll say that it's more about thinking about a
new way to do the same shit than just throwing bigger or stronger
components or rails into a housing."

She lifted the entire assembly, moving it over to the main workbench,
and Taylor leaned back against the wall. "There's something to be said
for big guns, though."

Shepard smiled. "I used to think that way too, until Admiral Ahern
clarified some things for me." She began slotting in segments of the
rail assembly into the framework of the new ODIN shotgun. "The biggest
problem is that a gun that can't hit the target is useless. I used to
use a lot of big guns, and I wasn't real effective with them."

Taylor nodded. "Maybe so, but the game has changed for you now. You have
the arm strength of a krogan and the targeting software to compensate
for feedback and recoil."

She nodded. "True, but the big guns aren't going to be as useful to me
in the situations I expect to be headed into. I doubt I'll be involved
in large scale battles where I need suppressive fire." She scratched her
head, and then on a lark, pulled out two more components from the
cabinets under the foundry workbench.

Taylor blinked. "...you're adding an omni-bayonet to the shotgun?"

She grinned. "Sometimes you go with what a master tactician tells you. I
built a custom ODIN for Ahern when I got training with him, and he
wanted an omni-bayonet on it. Maybe it will come in handy for something."

Taylor shook his head, folding his arms again. "I'll withhold judgment
on that, but it sounds like sticking a flamethrower on a dreadnought,
ma'am."

She laughed. "That's what I said!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 8: Arc I : Usual Conspirators*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

/*A/N*:
/

/I was working on this chapter in conjunction with the other chapter. I
finished up last night when I couldn't get to sleep to due to pain.
/

/This chapter jumps around to cover some different players. As
AlwaysKnownAsMatt has grumped about, some of it is infodumpy - when my
head is not so foggy with painkillers I can try to clean it up.
Originally I'd hoped to include some of this into ATTWN but the changed
structure of that didn't allow for it. /

/Reviews are always welcome.
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'The only truly limited commodity is time, for it can only spent, never
purchased.'
/

/- volus Book of Plenix
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Still playing the silent routine, huh?"

David Anderson sat quietly in the padded room, reading a copy of the
Bible, unaware of the observers watching him through the ceiling of his
cell.

"Yes, sir. No changes today. Woke up, ate, an hour of isometric
exercises, read the Bible for two hours, took a nap. Woke up for lunch,
more isometrics, and is now reading the Bible again."

The AIS agent on the haptic screen on the wall of the observation room
frowned, his dark brown eyes narrowing in thought. "I suppose I should
be thankful of that. Another four months, and we'll have had him long
enough to get the Commissars to sign off on memory readjustment."

The man in the observation room merely gave a shrug. "Given his exposure
to the information in question, I'm not sure why we went this route.
When Admiral Chu learned from Kyle about the project we didn't go
through this rigmarole, Mr. Parker. I know I've asked this before, but
I'm afraid at this point I'd really like to know WHY we've kept him
locked up like this when he clearly isn't crazy."

Parker tilted his head. "Ethics at this late hour, Doctor Barnes? After
your long participation in other, more unsavory things?" His voice was
amused, but had an edge of irritation to it.

Barnes snorted. "Not at all. Ass-covering and curiosity. I have a Red
Note from the Lords of Sol authorizing me to do whatever the AIS tells
me, but I still would like to know so that I can have my own story
straight if this blows up. I've been involved in some very dicey
elements of certain projects and I am not about to walk blindly into
whatever you people have planned."

Parker smiled coldly. "Very well, Doctor. To answer your concerns,
Admiral Chu did not manage to contact anyone else before he was
apprehended, instead attempting to verify what he'd been told. We went
in and did the mind wipe before the idiot in charge even bothered to try
and find out who had told Chu about NOVENSILES in the first place, and
thus we had no clue about Kyle's knowledge until much later. We're not
making the same mistake twice."

Parker leaned back slightly in the chair barely visible in the small
haptic screen. "It took us a good six months to monitor everyone
Anderson could have told and see if we picked up anything. After that,
we could have altered his memories, but the call was made on high to
avoid doing that. They spent three months trying to break the man with
truth serum and got nothing out of it, but the cover story we gave –
complete mental breakdown – isn't something people get over in a few
months."

Barnes arched an eyebrow. "So we're keeping him locked up to fit a cover
story?"

Parker smiled. "We've genned up recordings of him ranting and raving,
claiming Shepard was assassinated by the asari, or other such nonsense.
Faked up brain readings of severe mental imbalance. Suggested that his
alcoholism of earlier years may have played a part. The best part was
that his fiance had been away, busy with her new job on Grissom, for the
past couple of months – she ended up blaming herself for 'not seeing the
signs'."

Parker leaned back a bit further. "The man demolished a good portion of
his house and broke two fingers in his hand when Shepard died, then
drank enough to give himself alcohol poisoning. A bit of careful poking
around in his history shows he had a similar drinking fit when Shepard
had her little incident on Torfan."

Barnes compressed his lips. "Hence why you wanted the reports I was
giving on his mental state and the signs of liver failure. Interesting.
And since Alliance law requires two years of monitoring and conventional
therapy before we try neurochemical adjustment – "

Parker nodded. "Exactly. When he comes out of it, he'll have lost his
memories of anything much past Shepard's death. In case he left himself
some kind of notes or hints at what he found on the omni-tool, we have
left it in his possessions at his home – but removed all the
incriminating things except oblique references to the already
discredited L2 project. The alterations will also include a subconscious
mental command to report to the AIS anyone who contacts him and mentions
certain keywords – such as NOVENSILES."

Barnes gave a brief, cool smile. "I wish you'd told me about this aspect
of things earlier. I could have been of some assistance."

Parker shook his head. "We couldn't risk it – there was every chance
there may have been some infiltration of the Institute by outside
parties, and the security review took longer than expected. Even so, the
only reason I'm telling you all this now is that you'll have to change
up the next few weeks of mental reports to show he's getting worse, not
better."

Barnes nodded. "I understand. Assuming he makes no alterations in his
activity, should I go ahead and prepare the alteration programming now …
or wait for a court date?"

Parker hesitated. "Go ahead and have everything ready to go, but we may
want to get a court order and talk with his fiance first. The appearance
of doing things by the numbers, after all, is the best way to avoid
suspicion. I trust that, if they wanted to see him in person, you could
administer something to unbalance him?"

Barnes snorted. "I could make the poor man foam at the mouth and try to
kill anything he sees with the drugs and techniques I have on hand, but
they might actually cause real damage to his mind if used for extended
periods of time. I can guarantee, though, that he won't appear sane to
anyone who sees him for a span of at least two hours."

Parker nodded. "Good enough. Get that ready and I will contact you again
in a week."

The comm-link faded to silence, and Barnes shook his head, glancing one
last time at the image of Anderson, quietly reading the Bible. Out of
curiosity, he had the monitoring system zoom in, and saw that he was
reading the Book of Job.

Barnes gave a slow smile at that.

O-TWCD-O

Donnel Udina sat in his luxurious office, rubbing the small of his back
and wishing very much he could be anywhere else at the moment.

With a grunt, he sat back squarely in his chair, staring with
undisguised distaste at the two people in expensive suits sitting across
from him. His voice, when he spoke, was cool and distant.

"Senators, I assure you I have a full understanding of what the Addison
Administration thinks it wants. Thankfully, I don't answer to said
administration. What I very strongly doubt is if said administration
understands the larger costs of following through with the stated ideas
you've put forward, or the consequences they will produce. I am not
going to undo the work I've done in the past few years on short-sighted
political stunts."

Senator Jelia Stephens quirked her perfect lips, her dark green eyes
gazing at him almost in amusement. "Then who exactly do you answer to,
Councilor Udina? Do you think you are somehow above the lawfully elected
representatives of the Systems Alliance? The woman who gave you that
position is dead, and the President who affirmed it is a disgrace. The
party you once championed holds less than five percent of the vote – and
falling. Your job is to represent humanity, not push your own agendas."

Udina smiled thinly at her. "Your words, Senator, only drive home my
point. Allow me to explain why you are so very wrong and ill-informed.
First, I answer to no one but the President of the Systems Alliance.
That much is Council mandate. You can have the President relieve me of
my job at his leisure, but I suspect you have already tried and failed
to win over President Huerta with your errant stupidity. He has, no
doubt to your chagrin, upheld most of the policies President Windsor
started – and dislikes the concept that the representative of humanity
to the Council is beholden to the whims of the electorate."

His voice rose in pitch. "Second, your 'economic plan' is political
suicide. Raising tariffs at this juncture would violate the agreements
we reached when we were given additional allotments under the Treaty of
Faraxen to expand our ships. Violating those would induce claw-backs in
our fleet size, which would not only cripple our shipbuilding industry
and military industry – throwing millions out of work – but would
generate counter-tariffs from the other races. I can assure you they
would place these tariffs on goods we cannot produce ourselves, causing
additional economic decline that would far outstrip any gains from tariffs."

The second senator snorted. "Udina, haven't you been paying attention?
We don't want a big fleet. And we don't want the big military companies
wasting on tax dollars. If that means we have to choke the beast using
extreme methods, we will."

Udina gave the man a narrow smile. "Which lets me know, Senator Dawkins,
that you have not the slightest idea /why/ there has been such a run-up
in military spending. You two may have had the intellectual capacity to
note that every other Council race, even the volus, has increased
military buildups in the past two years."

Senator Stephens nodded warily. "Yes, we have. But the core platform we
champion still calls for reductions in useless military spending. The
geth are almost broken, Councilor, and still we are burning GDP on the
fleet when our own colonies suffer. What other races do is hardly our
concern."

Udina rolled his eyes. "Senators, you do not possess the security
clearances required to understand why a military buildup is continuing –
by all races. The Prime Minister does. If you insist on pushing through
these packages in the Senate, I suspect you will find that many other
parties will band together to stop such a push because they are not as
short-sighted, and that the Prime Minister himself will oppose your
packages."

They both frowned, and Udina continued. "But perhaps most importantly,
the reason I'm going to dismiss everything you say or want is simple.
You people, if you are lucky, will hold your offices for ten years. If
you make a bollocks of the economy and enrage our fellow Council races,
you will simply retire from public service, and make vast fees selling
your so-called 'experience' to gullible PICs and selling memoirs and
speeches on the extranet. I, on the other hand, will be expected to
clean up your messes. Sadly for you, demanding that I accede to your
demands without offering me either a compelling reason to do so nor
having the power to enforce your demands lets me know that you are
basically desperate."

He smiled narrowly. "So unless you have anything to offer to convince
me, the door is that way."

Senator Dawkins folded his arms. "You are making a big mistake. Huerta's
numbers are down, and he won't be re-elected, that much is certain. And
Terra Firma will not forget your intransigence in the future."

Senator Stephens, on the other hand, was giving Udina a speculative
look. "You are far too canny a politicians to dig your heels in like
this without a reason. You know something."

Udina's smile flickered into something almost gloating. "Suffice it to
say, Senators, that one advantage of being in the position I am in is
that I have a more unrestricted level of access to the High Lords of
Sol." He leaned back. "Your party will attempt to force a procedural
vote on the budget adjustments for the Systems Alliance military next
month – everyone knows this. You have the votes to win, the Secretary of
Defense is in political trouble and the Addison Administration feels it
can do a cabinet reorganization, come out stronger in the polls, and
move its agenda."

Udina shook his head slowly, and withdrew a piece of paper from his own
suit jacket. It was thick card stock, elegant and a dark, feral red,
with finely scrawled calligraphy upon its surface, along with a heavy
wax seal. He laid it on his desk and inclined his head. "You will find,
however, that your agenda has failed to take into account one source of
disruption."

Stephens paled. "A Red Note from the High Lords?"

Udina folded his hands together. "Understand, Senators – I did not have
to divulge this information. I could have happily let you build your
little coalition, make your edits, push your package – and watch you get
humiliated on live broadcast. The main reason I'm letting you know this
is because I do not want the other Council members to even hear of this
… idiocy your political backers have pushed."

He tapped the note. "The second reason is that we don't necessarily have
to be at total loggerheads. Some of the Alliance Blue members want the
existing funding for the Navy and Marines re-purposed to provide
protection for wildcat colonies. If you focus on slashing that
ridiculous concept, you will still achieve significant savings – and in
a way that does not trigger a tariff war, endanger our security, or
irritate the Lords."

Dawkins frowned. "That will alienate some of our own voting base.
There's a lot of concern about these missing wildcat colonies."

Udina scoffed. "We know what happened – pirates. The entire Traverse is
now full of more of them than ever. I've long mandated the wildcats were
going to be a drain with no return, and if they are now paying the price
for demanding 'independence', then good riddance." His voice hardened.
"More to the point, I would suspect the majority of your constituents
are more concerned about reducing the budget than where such reductions
happen, given they live on Sol and pay the highest taxes."

Dawkins opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as Stephens touched his
hand gently. She inclined her head to Udina. "We'll have to consider all
of this very carefully, Councilor. We will be in touch once we have
decided upon a course of action and conferred with our colleagues."

She stood, and Dawkins did as well, departing after a few more empty
pleasantries. Once they were gone, Udina cleared his desktop before
savagely tapping a button on his commlink panel.

"Amanda, no more visitors today. If anyone asks, I'm occupied on a
fact-finding mission and out of the office until tomorrow morning."

His public relations secretary's perky voice was apologetic. "Understood
sir – but you have a call on line five. The secure line."

Udina frowned. "Alright. I'll take it." He tapped the comm panel. "Udina
here."

The voice that sounded out of the panel was smooth, an almost exotic
feminine vibrato. "I trust our information was timely and useful, and
our gift had the intended effect?"

Udina scowled, and tapped a control to trigger his security fields in
the room. "Yes, although the idea of forging a Red Note remains utterly
insane. And I still don't know who exactly you represent, Ms. Brooks."

The woman known as Ms. Brooks gave a gentle laugh. "As I said in our
first communication, we're simply concerned citizens who are a bit more
savvy in our grasp of how galactic politics works. Derailing that
package was critical to maintaining good relations and continuing the
military buildup. And as we both know, the day that build up will be
needed for more than geth is always getting closer."

His eyes narrowed. "I agree. But most 'concerned citizens' are not
capable of knowing what the opposition parties are planning, or being
able to forge a Red Note so well that my own detector thought it was
authentic. Nor do they have access to the level of security required to
know why the buildup is occurring. I am not ungrateful for your
assistance, but the fact that you will not identify who you represent is
very concerning."

Brooks gave an amused sigh. "Councilor Udina, I ask you to simply have a
little more patience. In a few weeks, we will need a favor from you. It
will not require you to compromise your position, utter any public
statements, or commit any direct actions – merely to listen to someone
for a few minutes. At that time we will be willing to explain who
exactly we are."

Udina frowned. "Which is all well and good, up until the point this may
turn out to be some kind of stunt pulled to frame me for corruption."

Brooks sighed, this time in a less amused fashion. "Councilor, all we've
asked you to do so far is turn down bills attempting to reduce the SA
military and acts that would alienate – no pun intended – the other
Council species. In return we've provided you with a great deal of
useful information already, information that you've used to bolster your
position and win favor from the asari Councilor, the quarians, and
several powerful Senators. There is nothing illegal in what you've done
or said – you were careful not to actually say the note we gave you was
an actual Red Note, after all."

Udina pursed his lips. "So, in other words, I should trust you blindly."
His voice was sarcastic. "That is not exactly something most experienced
political operators at this level of the game we play tend to indulge
in, Ms. Brooks."

Brooks gave a trill of laughter. "No, I don't suppose it is. I can lay
your fears to rest in one regard, however – you'll have a visitor in a
few minutes. He happened to be in the area on other business, but I
thought seeing him in person could lay rest most of your fears. He can
answer a few questions. For now, we'll contact you when we have more
information."

As usual, the commlink cut out on her end, and a moment later he got
another message in his inbox, giving him a new TTG number to call the
next time he needed to talk. Whoever he was talking to had excellent
operational security – his one attempt to trace the given TTG number had
revealed it was out of service, and when the C-SEC agent he'd asked to
look over the number tried to run a trace on who had used it or what had
connected to it in the last thirty days, the fact that the number had
been used by Udina didn't show up.

Given that the TTG system was routed through powerful computers on the
Citadel itself that supposedly protected even Spectre-class
communications, that worried Udina more than a little. He

sighed.

A quick glance over the news boards revealed nothing was happening that
was out of the norm. More riots in turian space by batarians. Outbreaks
of some kind of plague on Omega. Another idiotic stunt by Aish Ashland.

For the most part, the past two years had calmed a great deal from the
chaos at the time of Shepard's death. He recalled that with a pang. He
found himself often wishing Shepard had not died, if only to hear her
irreverent and Neanderthal take on politics. The fact that she'd so
studiously been researching the courses on politics he'd suggested to
her before her death had often lead him to wonder what she could have
become if not for the tragedy that claimed her life.

The geth had paid for what they had done – although conspiracy theories
still abounded that it had been Aria, or P., or the asari, or the volus,
or even bitter Alliance soldiers, who had really destroyed the Normandy.
The fact that most of Shepard's people were now missing or refused to
serve the Alliance had raised more than a few eyebrows over the years,
and the fact that von Grath would go to such lengths to recover her body
had started a truly ridiculous rumor that the two had an affair.

Udina hated the media sometimes. He was thinking about how to deal with
his next unhappy meeting with Westerlund News when his secretary lit up
his comm-panel.

"Ah...Councilor? I know you said no more visitors...but...there's a
Commandant here, requesting to speak with you. He says it has to do with
…. a Ms. Brooks?"

Udina paled, but sat up straight in his seat. "Send him in, Amanda." He
blanked his desk, and exhaled to steady himself, hoping he didn't look
nervous. Commissars made anyone with a brain nervous, and a Commandant
was even worse than a regular Commissar.

It was times like this he truly understood why Anderson had become an
alcoholic.

A few moments later the door opened, and the heavyset form of a
Commandant strode through. Udina recognized him instantly as he stood to
greet him.

"Commandant Chisholm. How may I be of service?"

Chisholm's scarred face twisted into a smile, as he glanced around the
office. "We've both moved up in the world, I see. I'm here because a
mutual friend wished to assure you that your recent communications and
actions with them were on the level and that this whole thing wasn't
some kind of setup."

Udina nodded slowly. "The … information I've been given is very high
level and not available to most groups outside of the Ministry or the
very upper echelons of Alliance Military command – neither who have any
reason to support me. And some of what I've been given is … unorthodox
in nature. You can understand my concern, I'm sure."

Chisholm laughed. "Then let me put you at ease. The elements you are
dealing with are well known to me, and this is in no way, shape or form
some kind of operation designed to frame you for corruption or drive you
from office. Ms. Brooks happens to be affiliated with the Alliance
Military, and the information you've been provided has in some cases
come from Commissariat or AIS sources."

Udina's eyes narrowed. "And why am I being fed this information?"

Chisholm walked across the room. "Councilor, the past few years have
been extremely disturbing in some ways to certain elements of the
Commissariat. A President was nearly killed , two cabinet
administrations have fallen. A major political party was found to be
corrupt. Some of this could have been prevented if the Commissariat had
a freer hand, but our powers and actions are sharply limited by the
Court of Lords."

Chisholm paused, looking over his shoulder at Udina. "And frankly, some
of the actions we've been told not to act on in the past few years are
troubling. If we have to employ unorthodox or irregular channels to
counter these … shall we call them /problems/ … then we will. You are
one such channel."

Udina folded his arms. "I see. You suspect the High Lords do not wish to
continue the military build up?"

Chisholm's smile turned wintry. "Let us say instead that we've found
evidence – evidence we can't act on – that some of the Lords may be
taking a stand the Commissariat feels is unwise. We can't directly
oppose them due to our own conditioning, but the nature of that
conditioning will not let us merely fall silent and do nothing in the
face of a clear and present danger to the Alliance. Hence..."

He gestured at Udina, who nodded slowly. "A curious – and frustrating –
situation to be forced to deal with." The sharp gray eyes snapped up
towards the Commandant. "And who else is involved in this little action
of yours?"

Chisholm chuckled. "For now, Councilor, we prefer if you only know the
barest amount of information. Like Ms. Brooks said, in a short amount of
time someone will be in contact with you, someone who will explain a
great deal more – and show you something that will change the entire
political equation. But until that point we merely ask you help us
maintain a positive status quo."

Udina nodded slowly, and the Commandant smiled widely. "In that case,
Counselor, I will take up no more of your time. Go with the Grace of our
Father." He stepped out of the office with a brisk pace, and Udina
leaned back and exhaled.

"...another shit-storm. Wonderful."

O-TWCD-O

In a different, more elegant part of the Citadel Presidium, Barla Von
considered the numbers before him carefully, his mind working hard.

People often assumed the Shadow Broker's true power was the network of
spies, informers and assassins he wielded, operating all across known
space. And, to the brutish sort of valuations practiced by those not
volus, there was probably a certain truth to that. But that was only
part of the Broker's power. The other half of the equation was the
Broker's skillful influence, manipulation and understanding of economic
markets.

No military construction would happen without a flow of resources and
capital. A new project to gather intelligence would need expenditures of
cash and bases set up to operate from. Expanding trade routes,
colonization plans, new merchandise coming to market – all of these had
subtle but noticeable effects on the galactic trade system.

By watching certain companies, by monitoring trade lanes, by keeping an
ear to the merchants and free traders, the Broker had often gathered
intelligence missed by more conventional intelligence agencies. It was
not as if these agencies ignored such things – merely that they rarely
had specialists who had the sort of penetration and resources the Broker
did.

Barla Von had long ago learned the two halves of the operation fed one
another, providing useful information that the other side could build
on. It gave the Broker not only unmatched insight, but powerful amounts
of income and capital to work with and expend on various projects.

And to Barla Von, it really all came down to money.

There were those who sneered at capitalism and commercialism. It was, of
course, never those who profited from such, nor those who could take
advantage of what capitalism offered. Ultimately, it was criticized by
those unwilling or unable to improve their own lot in life, and who
demanded someone do so for them.

Among the many differing reactions of alien species, that impulse among
the underclass to hate their more successful betters was almost
universal. Only the turians could be said to be free of it, and that was
more due to their bizarre outlook on 'values'.

To Barla Von, every /thing/ – skills, abilities, materials, land,
people, information – all of these things had a value. And anything with
a value had those who would value it more highly, or less highly,
leaving the possibility of a profit.

To rail against the inequality of the system as empowering those with
the most money was pointless. History – of all races – was filled with
stories of those who'd come from nothing to build up vast fortunes and
power. While it was certainly true that power tended to flow to the
hands of those most capable of wielding it, that didn't exclude it from
anyone with the will to succeed.

From what little he understood, Matriarch Lidanya had come from nothing
and was now rumored to be the choice for the heir of the most powerful
of the Houses of the Thirty. While some societies were less egalitarian
– the salarians and batarians in many ways, and humans in some – no race
barred the chance to advance, to be successful with one's own skills, to
anyone.

Therein lay what so infuriated those who had no power. It required both
hard work and the ability to improve one's own self. Barla Von remained
convinced many of the so-called 'unfortunates' of the galaxy lacked such
an impulse.

Some argued they had no chance to gain useful skills – with no money and
no opportunities, how could they? Others argued the old saying of 'the
rich get richer' as if that were some kind of bad thing. Ultimately, no
one wanted to face the ugly reality of life – some people were
successful, others weren't.

Expecting some sort of divine hand to lift a person who was unsuccessful
up to where they could be was the worst sort of indulgence. There were a
large number of out of work batarians now, shuffling about the Traverse.
They wanted 'living assistance' from the Citadel, because they'd been
driven from their homes and had nothing.

Did these fools think that handing them cash would solve anything? They
would expend it all and ask for more. A few batarians had banded
together to start various companies – mercenary bands, manual labor
groups, repair teams – and had already begun to prosper. Those who
simply sat in refugee camps and demanded someone fix their problems for
them never would ascend to power or wealth.

They did not have the proper mindset.

The quarians were an excellent example of this kind of crippled
thinking. Their communal ownership of everything of limited availability
rendered the very concept of an economy into a mockery, more controlled
by tradition, by posturing and popularity, than by talent or even need.
This left them completely inept when it came to suddenly being forced to
deal with galactic economics and produce a functional economy that
relied on more than barter and 'the needs of the many'.

Pagh. Useless eaters. Barla Von could admire a hard-working manual
laborer, after all – they were quite often the foundation of the wealth
the worker's betters would build. One could not sneer at the working
classes, because without them the rich would have no tools to build
wealth. But there was a long walk in the cloudbanks from that and
pandering to the incapacity of some to see that not everyone could be on
top.

He tapped another series of spreadsheets, making minute adjustments to
an equity package, and refocused his thoughts.

He understood, on a purely intellectual level, why some felt this way.
It wasn't a particularly volus way to look at the universe, of course,
but he could do it. The volus placed value on everything, and never
formed a real government of any kind. Everything was for sale, and laws
were mutual agreements that everyone found worth supporting. Early volus
history had its share of conflicts and troubles, but the volus had never
undergone the kind of convoluted gymnastics other races had to justify
why they acted as they did.

Above all else, Barla Von prided himself on being an excellent judge of
both innate and potential value. Something that was seemingly worthless
now might have future value, or value in the eyes of parties not yet
aware it was for sale. Those who rejected such a world view could never
hope to compete meaningfully with those who embraced it.

The turians had dominated the volus for centuries by dint of pure
military power and force, by having greater technology and a wider
market of goods, and by being critical to the stability of the Citadel
governance scam. The asari were the economic and cultural muscle. The
salarians provided science and intelligence. The turians were the
manpower and firepower. The system was balanced, albeit precariously, as
each could do significant harm to the other.

The humans and quarians threw that equation out of balance. The quarians
were inept traders and hopeless at managing money, but they were
fiendishly spartan and had a long acquaintance with making do and
stretching value. Their technology was often radical or even unorthodox,
but it worked. And the communal nature of their culture, for all its
drawbacks, had one keen advantage – they saw themselves as apart, and
took no sides.

The humans were less predictable. More than once they'd surprised him
with innovative ideas in science, trade, or even military tactics. Their
grasp of economics was beyond laughable and their government was the
most curiously twisted mix of central planning and free-market he'd ever
seen, but it worked – for what the humans wanted it to do.

The re-balance of the Council had a curious effect on the volus – they
had a chance to finally wiggle out from under the thumb of the turians.
Pulling out of the turian markets entirely and throwing cash into the
quarian markets had, of course, destabilized the Hierarchy. The asari
had stepped into help, albeit with caveats and loans rather than actual
assistance, but the net effect was the turians were unable to bother
with trying to control the volus due to internal conflicts and economic
issues.

The drawback was simple: the volus still didn't have the muscle to
impress other races. And no matter how much Barla Von hated the idea,
the galaxy was only going to be impressed with military power, not
monetary power. The addition of the vorcha to the Vol Protectorate had
paid off, but that still left the volus with a need for a command-tier
of soldiers.

Mercenaries were not a dependable option. They could be bought, true –
but that only meant they could be bought again by someone else. They
needed an option for flexible, innovative soldiers who owed the Volus
something and would be loyal when trouble came. And VDF was simply too
small – most volus did not have the interest or aptitude for combat,
especially ground combat.

To obtain such, Barla Von was going to have to give away perfectly good
money on a black hole of an investment.

Given his beliefs, it was with a great deal of innate distaste that
Barla Von viewed the proposal in front of him, an offer from an
non-Alliance human banking concern. The various wildcat colonies that
seemed to always flow out of human space were being pressured by many
things : rampant piracy, a hostile Alliance, stricter enforcement of
Citadel regulations on unlicensed trading, and of course, the handful of
colonies that had been mysteriously vanished.

The financial supporters behind these wildcat colonies were mostly
extremist groups. Outre religious systems, intra-racial elitists, cults
and worse. Few if any of the wildcat colonies existed on anything but a
bare subsistence level, their so-called capital of Horizon only having
any development because it had once been a real Alliance colony.

As a result, their finances were less than stellar. However, the latest
batch had, through some convoluted swindles and less than reputable
elements in organized crime, managed to set up a banking concern. The
so-called Freedom Frontier Bank was designed to allow wildcat colonies
to pool resource and leverage investment income into their fledgling
colonies.

Barla Von was going to dump a great deal of money into this money pit,
against his better judgment, because both the Vol Protectorate and the
Shadow Broker wanted him to.

The volus reasoning was clear. If they could convince these humans to
join the Vol Protectorate, it would extend Vol space by a fair amount –
and give them unrestricted trade lanes into the Traverse. While some
volus merchants were wary of Aria, she'd stabilized her power in recent
months to an impressive degree, aided by the actions of both the Sisters
of Vengeance and the strange vigilante known as the Archangel.

The Broker network had been nearly decimated both on Ilium and on Omega
itself, and attempts to rebuild it had only wasted time and money. And
lives, he supposed, although that wasn't as bad as losing money. The
long and short of it was that it looked as if Aria's empire was gaining
permanency, and the volus weren't about to ignore an untapped market. If
they could even obtain slight discounts on Aria's eezo, reselling it to
the quarians at a markup would generate enormous profits.

But in order to complete such things, they needed secure trade lanes.
Hence, supporting the wildcats. The volus lack of government oversight –
and their hatred of the kind of arcane tax thievery the Alliance
practiced – would allow the volus to hopefully convince the wildcats
that throwing in with the Protectorate could only benefit them and not
cost them their precious personal liberty.

If the wildcat colonies could also provide an officer tier for the
volus-vorcha forces, humanity had proven quite formidable when it came
to war. Such an added value would offset almost any cost. Barla Von
disliked it but could understanding the reason. Risk mitigated reward.

The Broker's reasons for wanting the investments made were more …
difficult to grasp.

Barla Von did not know much of what the Network did. He found it both
unwise and frankly disturbing to be involved in most of the operations
the Shadow Broker conducted, and after dealing with crazies like
Tetrimus, Wrex, Tazzik or his old security Chief, Shields, had long ago
decided the majority of the Broker's agents were all extremely
terrifying and rarely if ever asked them questions about where exactly
the money he made for them went to.

The less he knew, the less value he had in the eyes of those who might
wish him harm, or to capture him. His security was elaborate,
multi-layered and vicious – but as the saying went, the unseen pit is
the one that kills you. He preferred to keep his interests firmly on the
financial sides of things.

But even he knew the Broker had some kind of knowledge about the strange
vanishings of human wildcat colonies. Six had vanished – and each time,
the Broker had pulled agents out just days before the vanishing. Barla
knew this because he'd paid for the transports and lodging of such agents.

So, if the Broker knew who was behind the colonies vanishing, why invest
in them? The property rights were murky enough as it was, and all six of
the empty colonies were under heavy Alliance lockdown. Already there
were murmurs that the Alliance would auction the worlds off, but none of
them were worth much. They all required heavy terraforming, weren't that
mineral rich, and the only value most of them really offered was that no
one else wanted the places.

Still, speculating wouldn't change anything. He finished his adjustments
to the package and sent it off to the human bankers. It was a large
financial assistance package, with multiple riders attached of various
economic and financial incentives for responding in a certain fashion.

The most basic was just a few million credits, as a 'goodwill and
charity' gesture. If the bank would agree to convince wildcat worlds to
accept diplomats and observers from the Vol Protectorate, though, more
credits would be added, as well as a line of low-interest credit good
towards purchasing survival equipment, foodstuffs, and bulk materials.

If the worlds actually fell inline with and accepted Protectorate rule,
a rider of fifty million credits for 'colonial development and defense'
was attached. The Vol Protectorate would dispatch ships to protect
wildcat worlds – both from conventional pirates and 'unwanted Alliance
tax piracy'. They would use their financial clout to attempt to
influence Alliance policy.

The biggest part of the package, though, was contingent on the Freedom
Frontier Bank actually joining the Vol Court of Corporations, and to
allow volus investment on the worlds as formal colonies of the Vol
Protectorate. In that case, Barla Von had been instructed to push out
interest free loans and grants, as well as materials 'offerings' and
shipments of security mechs, defense infrastructure, and terraforming
equipment.

Final value? Half a billion credits.

The Broker had put up a third of the money – through intermediaries and
front-companies, of course, operating on the Vol Court of Corporations.
Elkoss Combine had put up half, seeing a large market for selling all
manner of survival gear, weapons, ships, and more.

But Barla Von remained troubled by small details deep within the
package. Unlike most volus contracts, which featured heavy claw-back
penalties for breaking the agreements, and risk-mitigation features
designed to pad and break bad investments, this one had no investor
protections.

There were also large insurance packages taken out on the loan balances,
but not for the material goods. In essence, it was nothing more than a
huge, unlimited, no-strings-attached handout – something that flew in
the face of every volus concept.

Never give away anything without a return in value.

It troubled the volus banker for two reasons. First and more dire, it
suggested someone either had some information he did not about the
situation, or that someone had been given bad information. Either way,
he was dealing with a situation where he couldn't accurately access
risks. If the situation was somehow a net benefit, he would miss out if
he didn't also invest right along with everyone else – but then again,
if it was designed to fail, he would lose money short and long term.

Both were intolerable, but the second thing that bothered him was not
just the Broker's involvement, but his mystifying statements about why
he was doing it. When he'd been given the assignment, he'd questioned
both its necessity and value, and the Broker had answered in a short phrase.

"Risk is only an issue for those who fail to know what they are doing."

That implied that – as usual – the Broker expected to profit no matter
the outcome. But it didn't mean Barla Von could profit as well.

He supposed, as he finalized the transmission, that in this instance,
not knowing meant he couldn't be sure of what would happen. Adding his
own investments to the mix might pay off, or they might not – but if the
Broker was gambling that the colonies would be destroyed, then the
Broker was attempting to weaken the Vol Protectorate.

Barla Von understood very well the dangerous position that put him in.
As one of the High Proctors of the Vol Banking System and a chair on the
Vol Court of Corporations, he had a fiduciary and even patriotic duty to
inform the Vol Protectorate that they might be playing into a trap. On
the other hand, he had no proof – and betraying the Broker would only
end in extremely rapid death.

With a sigh, he leaned his stout form back into his chair, musing
quietly. The idea of missing out on a lucrative investment opportunity
irked him badly, but so did blind risk. He would wait and see, gambling
on the outcomes that made the most sense, even if that boded ill for his
people.

O-TWCD-O

In the storm-racked night of Ilium, Tazzik stood over the twisted,
broken corpse of yet another Broker operative, grimacing at the mess her
corpse had made of the expensive carpet.

Behind him, a Broker ops team was spreading out, looking for clues.
Waste of time, in Tazzik's opinion – the Sisters hadn't fucked up so
far, they were hardly about to start now. Their latest kill, that of a
critical information broker and investment mogul, Tynasa Eresil, was
pretty much the death knell to the Ilium operation.

Tynasa was a clanless asari who'd built up a fortune in junk bonds,
quack science, and convincing foolish humans she could give them 'biotic
oneness' with some crazy mix of siari, red sand, and mind-altering
substances. One part cult leader, one part salesperson, she'd built up a
media empire and a brand that was sold across asari and human space.

Her investments and business cunning were legendary, and she'd long ago
seen the profit in joining forces with the Broker. Below Tetrimus,
Tazzik, and Barla Von, Tynasa was possibly the most powerful of the many
Broker agents in the entire network.

Now she was a twisted wreck, dead – along with her human lover and most
of her security team. Tazzik lit a fresh cigar and glanced over at where
the techs were scanning the melted hole in one wall.

"Anything?"

The lead tech, a male quarian, spread his hands. "Nothing of note,
Master Tazzik. As usual, software shows no penetrations, but physical
examination of the hardware reveals it was definitely hacked. Someone
breached her security systems and wiped all the data before deactivating
the cameras – and the killed the backup generator before cutting the
main power."

Tazzik walked around the ruined corpse gingerly, gazing at the wall.
"And this?"

The asari next to the quarian tech sighed. "Warpfire. Whoever is doing
this is incredibly powerful, there's vaporization patter on the corpses.
They struck hard and fast with a paralyzing nerve agent – it wasn't
effective on the two turians outside, both were killed at close range
with some kind of very high-powered shotgun blasts. From the
constriction, I'd say they were hit with a stasis effect first, then
basically executed point blank."

The asari gestured to the bodies. "The two guards, Cina Tynasa, and her
paramour were probably unable to move. The attackers melted the wall,
shot the two guards – heavy pistol, clean kills. The human female looks
like she was an unintended casualty – she must have been leaning against
the wall when they vaped it."

Tazzik took in the nearly bisected and hacked corpse. "And a warp sword
for Tynasa. They don't usually butcher their targets this way."

The quarian nodded. "Bruising on the arm where Mistress Tynasa's
omni-tool bracelet would have been here – they took it. It's possible
they interrogated her and something she said infuriated the killers.
Other than that, again, nothing. No traces of any kind of biological
matter. No camera pickups. No one saw anything. Nothing on the traffic
net. They boosted an abandoned car and drove it nearby, then drove it to
a deserted area of Westside. The car was doused with some kind of mix of
oxidants, hydrogen peroxide, and home-brew black nano – by the time our
people got to it there was no telling what had been in the car."

Tazzik nodded , blowing out a cloud of smoke. "That means the only
remaining high-level agent on this world … is me." He gave a small,
amused smile at that, while the team looked around nervously. "Very
well. Set a fire. Bribe the police, call it an electrical fire and that
everyone was overcome by smoke inhalation. Suppress any kind of rumor
that the Sisters were behind this."

He turned away, stepping through the luxurious rooms of the palatial
estate Tynasa had built for herself, absently wondering if he should
stick around Ilium or pull up stakes. Without any other agents on world,
managing data traffic and reports alone would take up all his time – and
he was never good at that sort of thing anyway.

The weakness of the Broker Network was the need to maintain absolute
communications security. The LINK, by its nature, couldn't be hacked or
traced. It was a vast system of various point-to-point laser
communications links, connected at various points with FTL drones using
one-time pads and a complex algorithm for what messages routed where.
The LINK itself scrambled all routing information and relied on
possession of specialized hardware linked with carefully protected
orbital satellites and deep space beacons to confirm a valid user.

The bottleneck was at some point, the LINK had to have a direct
connection to HQ. For years, that had been routed through Ilium, given
the masses of data traffic and comms signals to bury any Broker traffic
in. When the Broker had made the decision to being moving out of the
galaxy, the world the Broker Flagship orbited had changed, and the hub
of communications now actually routed through Irune.

That move had occurred less than twelve hours before Old Silver had
died. Tazzik could not help but think that couldn't be coincidence. He'd
tried several times to point this out to both Tetrimus and the Broker
himself, but had been ignored.

A common trend, since the debacle at Omega. Tazzik rubbed his
replacement shoulder as he walked out the front door of the richly
decorated mansion towards his waiting aircar.

Tazzik's mind was agile and clever, but he'd never been like most
salarians. Bred as part of a special program to create super-soldiers,
Tazzik was the only survivor of an egg clutch of six hundred. Seen as a
fundamental failure, he'd been slated to be converted to Shieldbreaker
fodder when the Broker had expressed an interest in the project, and had
ended up sold into his service.

The long conversion into the killing machine he'd become had taken
years, but Tazzik didn't mind. He wasn't raised as a salarian. He didn't
share their viewpoints, their outlook on life, or their love of sneakery
and spying – although he, like most of his people, was not a bad hand at
such. Tazzik had been raised under the tutelage of a being that gloried
in power, combat, and superiority, and he took those lessons to heart.

Along the way, he'd come to enjoy the challenge of killing the
unkillable, stopping the unstoppable, and all of that. Fear and terror
were his tools – that and the sheer brutality of his kills. For years,
the Broker had approved of his bloodlust, and given him marks and
targets to engage in it.

In recent years, though, he'd seemed to lose the Broker's favor – even
before Omega. Tazzik was best in situations where he had a single,
straightforward goal and no complicated side factors or elements to deal
with. Capturing Okeer had gone poorly from the get-go, and going after
Cerberus data caches had nearly gotten him killed fighting the Odd
Couple. And then the stupid fucks had shown up again on Omega, this time
with a party of Dancers and Shepard's entire fighting force, plus the
Black Blade of the Vasir.

He loved a good fight, but he wasn't ever going to be able to fight off
that kind of bullshit by himself. Of course, Tetrimus had – and made it
look easy. The only reason the stupid old bird had gotten hurt at all
was in explosion near his ship when he was getting away.

Tetrimus, for all his power, was still a crippled old freak. He was
mocking and dismissive, so secure in his own power that he tended to see
everyone except the Broker himself as a lesser being. Maybe the
experiments and cyberware had driven him crazy at some point.

Bottom line, though, Tazzik wasn't going to pretend he was invincible or
immortal. And he was not ashamed to admit when it came to running around
in the shadows, there were others better suited to the task.

With that though firmly in place, he commed the Broker once he was
secure in his aircar, headed back to the central facility he tended to
operate from on Ilium. The transmission was baffled through half a dozen
cutouts before being tight-beamed to an orbiting FTL booster, and then
flung across the comm nets towards Irune, and from there to the system
the Broker's flagship was in now, hiding in yet another storm-racked gas
giant.

"Report."

Tazzik squared his augmented shoulders and gave the Broker the rundown,
including what the forensic techs had said. When he was done, the Broker
was quiet for several seconds before speaking.

"Ilium is now a complete loss. There are still forty seven mid-level and
almost a hundred information level contacts, but these are useless
without coordination and oversight. Inserting new level 4 and 5 contacts
has been stymied at every turn."

Tazzik nodded. "The way I see it, boss, the only target left, really, is
me."

The Broker's basso rumble was even deeper than usual. "That is not an
acceptable outcome. These Sisters have proven to be extremely competent.
You are not especially protected against biotic attacks, as you learned
on Omega. If you were overpowered and captured, the results would be
unoptimal."

Tazzik puffed on his cigar. "I was actually pretty much thinking the
same thing. If this was that Archangel nut, I'd stick around and take my
chances. But these two don't fight straight up."

His voice turned sly. "But I got a good idea on ow to make this whole
messy egg pile into something that will let us break even."

The Broker said nothing for a second. "I am surprised you are not
protesting. Proceed with your idea."

Tazzik glanced out a window at the purple-tinted skyline of Ilium, then
cleared his speaking passage. "The Sisters are out to kill you, boss.
That's been what's on the notes the whole time. The only chance we ever
had to take them out was either trace who they were working for or set a
trap. And every time we set a trap, they knew."

The Broker's growl was impatient. "This is obvious."

Tazzik's smile grew. "But here's the funny thing, boss, something I
think you and the old bird overlooked. You've been assuming the whole
time there had to be a leaker, or a traitor. Then why the fuck are they
on Ilium and not Irune? They can't trace you from here unless they
capture me and take me alive, then make me talk. And I'm not stupid
enough to know somewhere in all this fancy crap you've installed in me
is a killswitch if that happens."

The Broker's voice rumbled more softly. "Is there a point to this
conjecture?"

Tazzik puffed again. "I don't think they're trying to trace you from
here at all, boss. I think they're trying to draw someone out. They take
out everyone supporting me till it's just me. What's my most likely
move, facing a pair of biotic broads who like to strike from stealth?"

The Broker was silent, then spoke. "You would withdraw off world. You
would not be fool to move to anywhere secure...and I would dispatch
Tetrimus to deal with the situation. I was already planning to do so."

Tazzik's smile turned into a full blown grin. "Yes. And doing that is
just what they want. Taking me out is hard. I don't doubt they could get
the drop on me, but in a one-on-one fight I can handle just about
anything. But like Omega taught me, biotics don't play by my kind of
rules. I've got enough anti-biotic toys that I might ruin their day, but
a pull at the wrong time or some kinda freaky barrier shit that knocks
me off a tall tower and I'm fucked."

He put his cigar down. "So I bail, the old bird comes in. He's his usual
self – walking around all badass, banging his cane, basically calling
them out. What the shit is HE gonna do if they have some way to nullify
his biotics?"

The Broker was silent for several seconds. "Then what do you advise?"

Tazzik exhaled. "Like you said, this location isn't salvageable short
term. With the Network so torn up, the Thirty are making inroads every
day. They're already pitting the factions of the clanless against each
other, and buying up properties like crazy. STG and AIS too. Given what
we know, it's not worth trying to rebuild here."

He inhaled. "But if we could figure out some way to make 'em think
Tetrimus was coming, set it up as a trap, then we'd have a shot at
taking them out. And I don't mean a conventional trap, I mean something
big and ugly, like a fusion plant explosion or 'accidental' kinetic
bombardment."

The Broker mused on this for several seconds. "The drawbacks are
considerable and lengthy, and if my original surmise is correct, and
they have an agent in the Network – or are part of it themselves – then
they will no doubt find out."

Tazzik's smile didn't fade. "That's why we can't be the ones to set up
the trap. I'm thinking someone like the Shifter should do it, move
people in under the cover of setting up shop. Don't put any details on
the Network at all, just that we're going to be 'reorganizing' and that
I'll be pulling up stakes to oversee bullshit on … " He paused,
thinking, then shrugged "...Bekenstein or some shit. Let Tetrimus drop a
few hints to the lower-levels here he's gonna try and run down the Sisters."

The Broker's voice was the low grinding sound that was amusement. "And
when they go after him, a massive attack to destroy the entire area.
That has all the trademarks of your tactics. I can think of
improvements, but the basic concept is sound. How long will you need to
extract from Ilium?"

Tazzik thought about that. "The Sisters usually spend time researching
each hit, it looks like – and I don't follow a pattern of where I move.
I'll upload all my files tonight and be ready to move in the morning. If
you gen up a flash clone of me and slot it with a walkabout chip, slap
it in a set of bulky armor, and get it here in a few days, they may not
even realize I'm gone."

"A very expensive decoy."

Tazzik leaned back. "It keeps them here. I really don't want these
bitches running to some other op we have and shredding that like they
did here, or worse, linking up with that nut gutting people on Omega."

The Broker rumbled. "We may have a potential solution to the Archangel
problem shortly, due to the plans of our allies. I'll speak of it more
when you return to the ship. For now, implement closeout procedures and
do a completely level nine purge. Also, how many female asari do you
have on your personal staff?"

Tazzik blinked. "Four. Why?"

"Execute them all, tonight. Just in case." With that the Broker
disconnected, and Tazzik sighed.

O-TWCD-O

"The situation has stabilized in the past six months, although there are
still issues to be worked out to provide a more final closure to this
distasteful incident."

The voice of Thana T'Armal echoed across the Temple of Athame, as she
stood in the middle of the Council of Matriarchs. Dressed in shimmering
blue and black silks cinched tightly at the waist, draped in a heavy
black shawl, she looked more drawn and tired that Uressa T'Shora
remembered from the last meeting of the Council.

Even so, her voice was still strong. "The economic hardships suffered by
the Alliance, the pullback of their government into more staid
isolationism, and the recent xenophobia demonstrated by their Ministers,
has meshed well with our demands for tighter immigration controls. Last
year, almost seven hundred thousand clanless ventured into the Systems
Alliance. This year, only fifty four thousand have done so, and the
so-called 'Alliance asari' are not as open minded to the idea of
continued immigration after that pack of Triune cultists was found on
Watson."

The various matriarchs murmured, a few gentle touches of hands on wrists
or subtle motions of siari rustling the quiet of the chamber before it
fell to silence again. Thana's eyes narrowed as she gazed upon them.
"The resultant trade concessions and reduced flow of humans from the
Alliance to our own borders is but a short term effect, one we can
reverse in the fullness of time. The Exodus movement is over, the …
unstable elements of society removed from our harmony."

Matriarch Wesha T'Cathus, one of the youngest of the Council, stood to
speak, and Thana inclined her head regally. "Our thanks to you, Highest,
for your leadership and council in this dark period. But I am reluctant
to dismiss the storm as over merely at the calming of the tides. The
core reason the clanless fled from our unity into the morass of
ever-shifting values and the fractured culture of the humans cannot be
chalked up to mere economic distress."

Thana folded her arms. "I am aware of this. However, at this time, I see
no better course of action than what we have planned, which is
incorporation of human populations in our own worlds in the short term,
slowly weakening the Alliance in the long term to become a vassal state."

Wesha bowed, but made a sign of siari disagreement. "While this strategy
was decided in the fullness of council, the problem with such a plan is
that it requires the humans not to leverage the asari who have joined
them and taken up their ways."

Matriarch T'Vurth gave a low snicker. "That shouldn't be a problem.
Humans are fascinated with us."

Wesha smiled. "This is true. But my sisters, the case can also be made
that the Alliance has proven it can defy our expectations in large ways.
We expected they would buckle after gracious Matriarch T'Shora saved
them from the turians, but they recovered their footing. We expected
them to merely become technological vassals, but they have instead made
great leaps in technology on their own and in combination with the
turians and salarians. We expected them to be powerless pawns, yet they
are now on the Council. It seems … unwise … to assume our current plans
will follow our expectations."

Matriarch Yulsanis T'Purice, ancient and older than any of them, stood
slowly. "We have seen many things we did not expect in the long dance of
years under sun and moon. Yet as always, tides end up upon the shore –
where else are they to go? The humans are unpredictable – but only in
the short term. In longer spans, they are very easily predicted. Their
masses want security, the obliviation of responsibility, comfort and
entertainment. Their rich want status, influence and admiration, their
leaders want to remain such and to safeguard their own elevation. They
are not like us. They do not sublimate their needs for the good of all
like the turians, or even the harmony of all as we do."

The old matriarch coughed, then continued in a slightly stronger voice.
"Thana's plan relies on the greed and short-sighted fixation of
humanity. In time, they will want to come here – especially as their
government tightens its grip in the face of problems. In time, the asari
there will become less mysterious because they are familiar. Humans are
creatures of adventure, of sensation, and of belief in their own destiny
– the idea they are being steered is nothing that occurs to the masses."

Thana smiled. "Precisely, wise Yulsanis. It may take fifty years or a
century, but eventually they will cling to us all the tighter for the
short separation. They cannot trust the salarian. The volus have already
delivered the turians into our hands and are now probably going to
economically backstab the quarians, who are divided and powerless in any
event."

Wesha shrugged and sat back down. Swallowing, Uressa stood, politely
waiting for Thana to acknowledge her before speaking. "Beloved sisters,
the plans and wisdom flowing from this Council is, as usual, deft and
sinuous. But I fear it ultimately steers us to a path that is
destructive to our unity. Humans should be beloved cousins that we
nurture and provide protection to, not utilize for their value at
stabilizing the clanless."

Thana sighed in irritation, but this time it was Matriarch Iasela T'Vaan
who spoke. "Again with this argument? Matriarch Uressa, again I remind
you – it was your personal decision to take the Second Fleet and stop
the turians. To defy both this Council and the Citadel Council in that
action. Your compassion does you great credit, but you are deliberately
ignoring the truths that lay bare to the rest of us."

The old matron folded her arms. "Humans are lead by a corrupted mirror
of the Thirty, who haven already proven willing to inflict almost turian
levels of self-destructiveness in the name of 'stability' and 'justice'.
Their Commissars are even more dysfunctional than the most twisted
Justicar, and their system of governance locks most of their people into
paying taxes for benefits they can't even use. They are going to
eventually do something stupid and the Council will have no choice but
to sanction them as we did the krogan, or even the rachni – and then it
will be too late to save them."

T'Vaan huffed. "Better that we take them under our caress now, even if
that robs them of their own choices and paths, than let them take the
wrong ones. I did not let my daughters choose their own way because they
lacked the wisdom to do so. Why is this any different?"

Uressa folded her own arms. "Because we are planning to subsume them, to
make them into little more than a caste of sexual pets and military
fodder? Because we are willing to risk them turning against us and
becoming the spear-tip of the salarians or even the turians if the
humans figure out our intentions? I will not belabor the point that the
humans deserve better after proving their valor and bravery at the
battle of the Citadel, or bleeding alongside the turians to stop the
geth while we observe."

Thana held up a hand in a sign of siari calm. "Your points are taken,
and heard, Matriarch Uressa. We did not come to this decision without a
great deal of discussion, and your objections have not changed. And if
the humans had been content to follow along the path we wished, such an
accommodation would very well be possible."

Her voice hardened. "But I do not forget for a moment that that Trellani
is still out there, still in possession of knowledge that could turn the
entirety of our own race against us. The Broker is convinced she is now
allied with Cerberus – and may have been for some time even before its
alleged destruction. The convolution of certain economic markets, not to
mention the actions of Hades, prove well enough it is not dead ."

Thana lowered her hand. "I make our reasons plain and bring this up only
to restate the course we have already set. The Exodus has stopped. Our
task – to stabilize the clanless, to rebuild the power of the Clans, to
widen our own numbers – is the next step. Increasing human numbers in
our own worlds is a part of that step."

She smiled. "There is always time to reconsider longer term actions and
plans for the Alliance as a whole. No one is suggesting that we
disenfranchise our cousins. Their inventiveness and drive may be a boon
to us in the long term once we make adjustments to their culture and
outlook. But to suggest that we simply stand away and let them flail
about without our guidance is cruelty, no matter how kind the intent may
be."

Uressa nodded, but still stood. "Your words are taken at face value, Sea
Lily, but one question still remains, one you yourself just implied –
what if Trellani tells them what we plan? Will we then turn aside from
this ideal?"

Thana gave a serene smile. "You, of all people, should pray that never
happens. If it does and the humans become a liability, they will have to
go the way of the krogan. Our job – the holy task of the Thirty – is to
guide and protect the asari, and ensure we are supreme – not other
races, not even our cousins."

Thana's voice was hard. "As the Writings say, if there is that which
taints the waters, it must be cast upon the shore, lest all be poisoned."

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 9: Arc I Ending : The Butcher*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

/*A/N*:
/

/Medical condition is improving but not fully recovered - nerve pain is
still there. Plus, my mother may have lung cancer - thankfully, it was
picked up on a routine scan to make sure she was fully over her previous
cancer and they think they can deal with it with little trouble. Still,
it has left me occupied and distracted.
/

/I needed to go over some of what was in Shepard's head, but I'm not
100% happy with the way it turned out. At the same time, it's pretty
much the best place to end Arc I on and move on with the actual story.
Given that it took quite a while to even put this together I am not sure
when the next chapter will come out. /

/Reviews are always welcome.
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'Now we're being hunted on Omega, on Ilium, and in open fucking space?'
/

/- Captain Thtek Erala, salarian 'organ facilitator' for Eclipse/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

After spending a day hurling biotics, modification of guns and armor,
and then hours going over personnel reviews, Shepard retired to her
quarters to listen to music and try to sort herself out a bit.

She wondered, as she lay on the extremely comfortable bed in her rooms,
if she was still in a sort of shock or not. Surely, after realizing
she'd lost not only her life, but that of her wife, some of her best
friends, and hearing that her government was adrift and her father
figure was in a nut house, she should be … affected.

She should be a weepy, useless wreck. Instead she just felt
disconnected. As if she couldn't make herself believe it was real. The
venting she'd done her first night 'awake', after seeing that horrible
video, had just left her feeling empty.

The rage was there. But not the depth of sorrow she should have felt.
Was that a good thing?

She sighed, closing her eyes. Thinking about it wasn't going to change
anything.

The door chimed, and she sat up, brushing her hair back with one hand
and stepping out of the bedroom into the main area. She glanced at the
clock, it was just past 2300, and frowned. "Come in."

She didn't know who to expect, but it wasn't Kelly Chambers. The
psychologist walked in, wearing a black Cerberus jumpsuit, and glanced
around. "Evening."

Shepard frowned. "What do you want?"

Kelly gave her a thin smile. "Coming to check up on you, see how you're
doing, and making sure you're adjusting. Miranda seemed to think you
were okay, but she's got her own issues and wanted me to double check.
So I thought I'd run through some things I wanted to go over with
you...ask some questions. That kind of thing."

Shepard sighed. "More shrink bullshit? I figured you'd be along sooner
or later to pick my brains, but it can wait until the morning."

The redhead shook her head. "No, not really. I mean … Shepard. You
/died./ If you're going to stand here and tell a trained psychologist
that you're hunky dory with that then I have to wonder if we didn't fuck
up somewhere in fixing up your brain."

Shepard gave her the tiniest of smiles. "Maybe I'm not fine, but I don't
really feel like telling you about my dreams and shit right now. The
last time we talked you decided to call me out on not trusting you guys,
as if Cerberus was all about cupcakes and flowers." She folded her arms.
"Color me skeptical."

Kelly tilted her head. "Look, I'm sorry if I pissed you off when we
first met, but that's my job."

Shepard gave her a hard look. "Your job is to piss me off?"

Chambers shrugged. "My job at that time was to engage you emotionally –
which I did. You were, and in some ways still are, in a state of shock.
And not to be a bitch about it, but you've spent a lot of your life
hiding behind mental defense mechanisms, and we don't have time for that
right now. A lot of what I do is useless if I'm not overt with it. It's
not going to help you if I'm just observing, because you have this
tendency to internalize your emotions and refuse to engage in
constructive self-analysis. Some of what I do will probably always piss
you off because you don't like psychologists."

Shepard nodded sourly. "And why should I? Most of 'em were fucking
useless, and they weren't exactly trying to make me feel better after
Torfan."

Chambers sighed. "I won't argue that. Most of the psychologists and
psychiatrists in your life so far were only there to play CYA for your
mental state in case you lost it completely and shot a civilian or
something. They couldn't address any of your issues because you were a Z."

Shepard folded her arms. "Yeah, Jiong explained that to me. But at least
when he talked to me about how I was doing and felt, he didn't try to
fucking guilt-trip me."

Kelly's lips twisted in a smile. "Your Commissar, huh? Let me guess. He
ran some kinda jazz on you about how 'psychology works', a bunch of
feel-good BS about how you adapted as well as could be expected, and
pretty much never called you out on anything? Never called you out on
the situation with your wife, or your entire world-view?"

Shepard narrowed her eyes. "He gave me advice. I found him easy to talk
to. He didn't insult me the way you do."

Kelly shook her head again. "Goddamned Black Hats. Look, Shepard. I'm
not going to piss on the man and say he was telling you a lot of what
you wanted – or needed – to hear. But I'll say he didn't have any more
vested interest in fixing your problems than the earlier pack of mental
health workers did. They – the Alliance – wanted you stable, and later
on, in a semblance of being happy. You're smart enough to have figured
that out on your own."

Shepard was silent a long moment before nodding.

Kelly's bright smile split her features as she continued. "Well, that's
not the same as helping you. It's like dealing with pain from cancer by
numbing the nerves rather than fixing the problem. It will make you feel
better but it sure as shit won't save your life."

Shepard walked over to her desk and picked up her pack of cigarettes,
lighting one. "And you're different how? I can't imagine the Illusive
Man is very concerned about anything but my ability to do the job."

Kelly leaned against the wall. "And your mental stability is part of you
being able to do your job. No one has done this before, coming back from
the dead – and let's face it, right now you have more on your plate than
that. The mess with Commodore Anderson, the fact that your wife and
several friends died, the ugly things you found out about the Alliance."
She folded her arms. "The Illusive Man would be stupid to assume you can
deal with this sort of thing and remain perfectly stable."

Shepard tightened her jaw, then took another puff of her cigarette and
blew it out angrily. "So you think I'm going to flip out?"

Kelly shook her head. "No, I don't. I think – in the short term – you
are basically repressing a lot of feelings, emotions, and internal
conflict. I'm different from the docs who worked with you before because
I'm not locked into a certain way of proceeding or doing things, and I'm
not hindered by someone telling me how to make sure you react."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "The Illusive Man doesn't care how I act?"

Kelly waved a hand. "If you tell the Illusive Man to kiss your ass and
walk away, or if you join the Dog – that's not any of my charge and has
no impact on what I'll be working on with you. You have to be free to
make the choices you think are right – now, and in the future. Using
psychological tricks on you to make you agree with the goals of Cerberus
won't work forever, and the very first thing the Alliance would do once
you expose yourself as being alive again is attempt to 'break our
brainwashing'. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Bottom line,
Shepard, is that I'm just here to help – what forms it takes will be up
to you, after I explain them."

Shepard folded her arms. "That sounds good, but what exactly can you do
to help me? Laying on a goddamned couch and talking about my feelings
isn't going to do shit."

Kelly sighed. "I'll level with you. There is a big difference in
stopping you from falling apart and actually helping you get better."
She adjusted her position."The methods I use are focused in a different
direction than modern Alliance psychological theory. They're fixated on
quantitative methods – lots of testing, data-gathering, theory making
and statistical analysis."

She made swirly gestures with both hands and a silly face and Shepard
smothered the impulse to grin. "Oh, it all sounds impressive, but
they're only looking at people in abstract. Nothing is tailored to
personal circumstances – everyone is expected to fit the mold, and the
psychological stuff the Alliance does is never changed to fit the
person. The stuff I do is always designed first and foremost to
complement both the patient and what the patient wants for an outcome."

Shepard puffed on the cigarette, thinking. "Go on."

The redhead lifted one hand in a measuring gesture. "I, on the other
hand, use different approaches, and tailor them to you specifically. You
have trust issues, security issues, and emotional issues. You don't need
me to lay you out and have you tell me about your dreams. You need clear
advice on why you are going through what you are, and you need someone
you can talk to who will give you practical, useful and most of all
meaningful options and ways of dealing with the aftermath of … well, dying."

Shepard inhaled, blowing out smoke. "And what if I'm not interested in
opening up my head to you, Chambers?"

Kelly shrugged. "I guess the bullshit answer would be you don't have to.
But we both know that's bullshit. If you don't want to listen to me,
then you can sit here and wonder just why in the fuck you feel empty and
why you aren't a goddamned crying wreck, smoke and drink and chit-chat
with the other anti-social rejects like Lawson or fucking Ezno, and do
your thing. When the shit you've just gone through finally all hits you,
given that you have the psychological stability of a volus at a ryncol
drinking contest, you'll probably have a good old nervous breakdown."

Shepard hated the smug look on the doctor's face, but the fact that
Kelly had nearly picked out exactly what Shepard was indeed feeling was
pretty impressive. But that didn't mean Shepard wanted to go along with
it. "If you're so smart, why am I feeling that way?"

Chambers pushed off the wall, walking past Shepard to take a cigarette
out of her pack, then pulled out two glasses from the small table next
to the desk, pouring scotch into each. She talked as she worked. "I
could throw a lot of technical lingo at you, but the blunt way to put is
is simple. Your mind doesn't want to admit it. It's a mental defense
mechanism. You don't even know how to grieve, in a lot of ways, because
in your mind you never had anything you valued before – so you don't
know how to process losing it."

She handed Shepard the scotch, and sat down on the couch. Shepard eyed
her a long moment before taking a drink. "Sounds like bullshit."

Kelly sipped the scotch with an appreciative smile before lighting the
cigarette. "I think you had a fear of losing things – the respect of the
people important to you, the trust of the Alliance – but you never lost
anything really until Torfan. That pretty much destroyed you for weeks."

Shepard stiffened. "I'm not really wanting to talk about that."

Kelly shrugged. "Of course you don't. That's your mantra for everything
that your mind can't fit itself around. Shove it down, ignore it,
pretend it doesn't hurt. God fucking forbid you actually let yourself
cry or someone might think you're not a robotic slave."

Shepard's hand tightened around the glass for a split second before she
caught herself. She took a deep breath. "Is this supposed to be helping me?"

Kelly gave her a direct look. "Shepard, no matter what anyone has told
you, the only thing I can do to help you is get you to /admit your own
issues/. You have lots of them, and since you never had anyone you could
actually trust who would help you work through them, you just try to
shove them in a box."

Kelly puffed on the cigarette. "Newsflash, honey – you leave toxic
materials in barrels long enough and they could start to leak. That's
pretty much what is happening here. Leave aside that you died. That your
wife is /dead/, your friends are /dead/, your father figure is in an
insane asylum. Leave aside the fact that you had crazy literally crammed
into your brain, that the first real friends you had tossed you away, or
that everyone in your life – from the slavers, to the gangs, to the
Alliance, to your wife, to even us, has used you."

Kelly gave her a sad smile. "Ultimately, even without all that, the
biggest problem you have is that in order to function, you had to lie to
yourself a lot. Almost every day. You had to tell yourself nothing hurt
when it did. That you could endure, when you really couldn't. You lived
in constant fear of rejection and failure because you never understood
WHY the few people who believed in you did so, and worst of all? Even
the people who cared about you the most didn't bother to understand that
you needed to know why they cared, why they loved – otherwise you were
sure that you'd fail them somehow."

The psychologist shook her head sadly, and took a shot of the scotch.
"You can't process everything right now because your mind doesn't even
know where to start. You never mourned your parents when they died,
because they were pieces of shit – and that is how most people learn to
deal with the passing of loved ones. You never had 'normal'
relationships, so you had no grounding on how to deal with your wife –
or her loss. All you can do is basically lie to yourself that you can
handle it – and you can't."

Shepard was silent as the redhead continued. "To be fair, we all lie to
ourselves. We lie and say being lonely doesn't hurt because we have to
lower our defenses to achieve intimacy, and we get hurt when we do. We
lie and tell ourselves that happy people are stupid, that optimists are
delusional, and that we can make our own way, when none of us can really
do that without going crazy or being a sociopath. But in your case,
you've had to lie to yourself...about pretty much everything, for as
long as you can remember. You never had a baseline to work from."

Shepard looked away. As much as what Kelly said stung, there wasn't any
double talk or dishonesty in her words. "And you can fix all that?"

Kelly sighed. "Fuck, no."

She took another long slug of the drink, and Shepard frowned. After a
moment, Chambers spoke again. "I won't lie to you. Even if I had ten
years and you cooperated fully with me, there's always going to be
damage. You don't have a functional outlook on friendship, really. Your
mind is so conditioned to being double-crossed that your only real
criterion for trust is not being double crossed. Your sexual issues are
a complete mess. Then there's how you look at yourself. At best you're a
high-functional social autistic, with a persecution complex and a
penchant for rationalization of anything that conflicts with your
worldview."

She folded her arms. "I could go on and on, but cataloging your problems
won't do you much good unless you can process a method of either
accepting or changing who you are. Accepting who you are means you have
to stop lying to yourself. Changing who you are means you have to learn
to deal with the damage and move on. I can't 'fix you' because you
aren't' a machine. I can give you advice, and I can suggest goals to
move towards – but you have to make the choices, and do the work. And
ultimately – and I know this sounds trite – most of us pretend we'll
magically become someone else. We say we want to be rich, or that we
want to lose weight, or that we want to start a business. But we're
lying to ourselves, because in order to change ourselves we have to
define goals."

Kelly met her gaze. "I can work with you to help you decide what you
want to do to address some of these things, but we have to figure out
what you WANT to do first. A lot that process will piss you the fuck
off, because unlike your Commissar I'm not going to sugar coat it. A lot
of it requires you to trust me. Not just trust me to not screw you over,
but really REALLY trust me, with shit you didn't even want to talk to
Liara about. You may end up deciding you don't think you can handle …
changing who you are."

Shepard sat down, drinking again. "That's a lot to ask for. Trust."

Kelly shrugged. "And I know that. I don't take it lightly. I already
told the Illusive Man that betraying you is the single fastest way to
alienate you, and I'm fully aware that in order for you to trust me you
have to feel I'm worth that effort. But we can go over some other things
first, and once you see what I'm doing actually works instead of just
allowing you to ignore the problems in your life, maybe you will trust
me more."

She drank again, and leaned back. "The first thing we need to deal with
is helping you process the mess you're in right now. The process of
grief and all that isn't something you can address quickly, no matter
how many times people want to break it down into trite stages. Your mind
has to unpack the reality. It has to deal with something that it doesn't
want to deal with. Sitting here in this place, disconnected from
everything, makes that hard to do. Talking to Tali and Joker may help
with that, but ultimately you'll need to have it driven home before that
defense breaks."

She puffed on her cigarette. "Then there's the whole mess of how exactly
you're going to make it through day by day. Conventional psychology
tells me that things like nostalgia, distance and time aren't going to
cut it. There are multiple layers of problems with you."

Shepard eyed the woman thoughtfully. "And your answer? Sorry, it just
sounds like you keep saying 'I can help you with this' or 'I can fix
that' but not telling me how."

Kelly smiled. "I could bamboozle you with bullshit –
cognitive-behavioral modeling, task-fixed reclamation schemes, reward
and thought-model systems. It's just fucking words, though. There's two
ways we can do it."

She held up her left hand, with the glass of scotch. "We can focus on
getting you 'better'. We can try to slowly examine and discuss the
damage you've gone though, and why it affected you. We can discuss the
things you suffered, how they changed your outlooks. Why the choices you
made were the only choices you knew how to take at the time."

She sipped the scotch. "We'll then explore exactly what you should be
feeling, and more importantly, why you feel those things. Why your
emotions react the way they do. Why people act how they act. Things that
most people take for granted. Once we've done that, and you have some
kind of framework of where you should be, then you have the tools to
develop your own … well, frame of mind."

Kelly drained her glass with a grimace. "Personally, I don't think
that's going to work, Shepard. You're not in a place where you can spend
days and weeks reflecting, sorting yourself out, having weepy fits and
punching shit and screaming at the universe for fucking you over. The
other way we can do it is ...well, finish the patch job. Cover the
things you need to get you through this mess, get you the kinds of
support you need to endure, and then hope that at some point after you
deal with the Collectors and Brokers we can back-track to a place where
more conventional therapy and time to reflect and heal is possible."

Shepard thought over the words. "What does that entail?"

Kelly smiled, and handed her the empty glass. After a second, Shepard
took it, refilled it, and handed it back. Kelly took another drink.
"Goddamn, that's stuff is strong. Anyway. It's a … process. It's called
rational emotive behavioral modification. The less fancy wording is that
everyone has rational and irrational processes on a mental, every day
level."

The slender woman leaned back again, puffing on the cigarette that had
nearly burned down. "A lot of people end up stuck with things like
self-blame, self-pity, shame, depression and anxiety because of their
behaviors and tendencies. The traditional method of rational emotive
work, therapy, tries a lot of different things to explain, educate, and
work with a person to pick up on the signs of the negatives, accentuate
the positives, and focus on questioning and disputing things that cause
negative behavior."

Shepard nodded slowly. "Wordy but it makes sense."

Kelly smirked. "The behavioral modification version is a bit more …
well, shyster. It argues that a good part of what makes our
personalities the way they are is those very same irrational things.
Some heroism isn't rational or positive. Some love isn't healthy or
rational. Some deeply seated things like grief and honesty require very
irrational mental gymnastics to arrive at or maintain – or move past."

Kelly sighed. "Rather than tear these things down, rational emotive
behavioral modification uses them to prop a person up – to buttress the
person they are or want to be with all aspects of their personality,
both good and bad. It's often considered ethically wrong because it can
take people to some really unpleasant ramifications pretty quick."

Shepard narrowed her eyes. "Like...what?"

Kelly shrugged. "Used correctly, it can allow people to accept their
flaws and move on. Used incorrectly, it can allow people to justify
their own flaws and work them into a completely fucked up ethical and
moral framework. It's one thing to be merciless to those you hate, it's
another to decide that mercy itself is injustice. Ardiente used it to
condition the Sao Paulo Guard, for example."

Shepard said nothing for a long moment. She saw her cigarette had gone
out, and lit another. Exhaling smoke, she finally shook her head. "Give
me an example of what you think is wrong with me, then."

Kelly met her gaze. "Alright. A lot of people in your situation have a
messed-up idea of justice and culpability. You had choices all your life
once you got away from the sex slavers – you could have left the gangs.
You had people who could have helped you with that. But you decided you
liked the power of terrorizing others at the time – of not being the one
who was scared."

Shepard grimaced, but Kelly continued in a harder voice. "And when you
became a Marine, that didn't change – only the targets. Instead of the
weak, like yourself, you went after those who preyed on the weak. But
the reasons for that weren't just to protect others, no matter what you
tell yourself. You liked their fear. You liked being strong. You pushed
yourself to be the best because you didn't want to be cast away again –
but also because you never wanted to be weak again."

Shepard gave her a hard stare. "So this is just about tearing me down?"

Kelly shook her head. "It's about making you face what you are and not
fighting yourself internally over it. I'm not here to judge your choices
in life, or your reasons. But I know that you aren't going to be able to
internalize a lot of your own pain because it makes you feel weak – and
a part of you won't accept that. Weakness in your mind leads to you
being used again. You're accepting what we've done to your body after
death so easily not because you're emotionally stunted – but because a
part of you /likes/ the idea of being deathless, of being stronger."

The redhead scrubbed out her now nearly dead cigarette. "You aren't
reacting to this in a normal way because you aren't normal."

Shepard didn't answer for a long moment, and when she did her voice was
tired. "I don't even know. I won't argue some of what you said made a
lot of sense. I never had a chance to be normal."

Chambers shook her head. "No, that's not it. You had those chances. You
simply never took them because you didn't recognize them – but they were
there. That's the core of your problems, this … and don't get too upset,
but this self-pitying denialism you maintain. You made choices along the
way in your life, and they brought you to this moment."

Chambers finished her drink. "You chose to not bother to try to
understand your emotions because it hurt. Because it was hard, and
because you worried if you went to Anderson or Florez with your
questions they would think less of you. You let yourself be dehumanized
and brutal because you liked being feared. It gave you power, when you
were once powerless and helpless. You chose to go along with what Liara
offered you – not because it was the best thing for her, but because you
were lonely and needed someone to cling to."

The psychologist folded her arms. "Now? That's all gone. So it really
comes down to how you plan to live the rest of your life. You can chose
to ignore the pain and emotions and emptiness. The more you do that, the
more you'll end up channeling that into every action. You can chose to
face it all head on and simply deal with it. If you do that, a lot of
what you probably considered changes to the person you were will fall
away, because they weren't built on truly understanding yourself or
fixing your issues. Or you can choose to deconstruct it and fix it,
which will take a lot of time we don't have. The first is stupid, the
third out of reach, that means the second is the only approach that works."

Shepard drank, then shook her head. "And this has nothing to do with
Cerberus wanting to use me?"

Kelly shrugged. "I've studied you enough to know you hate being kept in
the dark, hate being lied to, and hate being manipulated. I consistently
advised the Illusive Man not to do those things, ever. His idea of how
you should be treated psychologically was simply to keep you busy and
distracted with the fight, and on occasion to expect you to fall apart.
Eventually you'd come to rely on Cerberus and would be more likely to
join the ranks."

The psychologist folded her arms. "I'm not going to do that to you,
because it would end up hurting you in the long run. I'm not going to
lie to you, or try to get you to do anything you don't understand or
feel like you can't go along with. You don't have full control of the
Revenant Cell because the Illusive Man 'trusts' you, or thinks you'd be
the best leader for it. You have it because I recommended – and Trellani
agreed – that you wouldn't work with us in any other way, and that you
needed the control."

Kelly cupped her chin with both hands, smiling."You don't have to make
your mind up tonight about what you want to do. Right now, the most
important thing is that you know you have options, that you have help
available, and that you know you can trust us."

Shepard frowned. "And how can I be sure you are trustworthy, Chambers? I
mean, you admitted you studied me for a long time – you could just be
saying all the things I want to hear, like this set of rooms was
designed to make me feel comfortable."

Kelly nodded. "The only way to earn your trust, I think, is to prove
that someone is willing to risk losing something – or everything – and
not double cross you. I don't expect to earn your trust overnight with a
smile and comforting words. It's up to you to decide how we will earn
your trust – and that you understand that we're trusting you in turn –
not to simply sell us out to the Alliance or the Council, not to look at
us as disposable because we're Cerberus, that sort of thing."

The woman folded her arms. "But ultimately? The biggest change you have
to make before anything else can work – no matter what path you choose –
is to realize that shutting people out and distrusting them hurts you
more than protects you. Freud wrote about it. The more you distrust and
don't let yourself be vulnerable, the less capable you are of actually
absorbing the kind of shocks and hurt that betrayal causes."

Kelly gestured to the room. "You are right – we studied you for a long
time. The Alliance never bothered to do that. We made adjustments to
your needs. The Alliance never did. We don't have the kind of limits the
Alliance did. We didn't spend billions to bring you back to life to
double cross you, or to use you either – if we'd wanted to do that, our
approach would be completely different."

The redhead arched her back, and then yawned. "If you want me to show
you I can be trusted, you have to set the terms."

Shepard paused a long moment, then frowned. "I'll think about it."

Kelly nodded. "And really, that's all I ask. I'm not promising I can
make you 'better'. I can help you deal with it, and I can help you move
past it." She set the glass of scotch down and headed for the door.
"Depending on how you want to move forward with the task of dealing with
the Collectors, let's talk about this again over the weekend. Sound fair?"

Shepard nodded, and then Chambers was gone. Shepard sat down at her desk
again, eyes drifting over to the haptic image of Liara, smiling gently.

She killed the lights to the room, sitting in the dark, staring at the
image of her lost wife for a very long time.

*O-TWCD-O*

After breakfast, Shepard spent most of the next morning testing her
weapons and making alterations to them, before sitting down with Miranda
and Chambers to select and finalize the staff selections. That process
was boring but necessary, and Shepard found herself more than a little
shocked at the depth of talent the Cerberus scouts had to offer.

The people in question had already been approached and recruited by
Cerberus, but only very recently. And she found that, given the high
level of automation, she didn't really need a lot of people to get
things moving. The ships, for example, would need only a handful of
people to operate.

Most of the naval personnel Cerberus had selected were hardened Corsairs
who had already worked with Cerberus in the past. Shepard recognized the
names of more than a few. A lot of them had gotten in hot water with the
SA for being too 'brutal' in attacks and raids on the batarians, and
some of them didn't have a much better track record than Shepard when it
came to taking prisoners.

The Corsair program had been drawn down sharply about six months after
her death, when an overzealous Corsair chasing batarian pirates had
ended up getting into a shooting match with Aria's Black Fleet. Many
Corsairs were now forced to merchant escort duty rather than freely
flying around looking for pirates, something that pissed a lot of them off.

She ended up picking about a hundred of them. The most senior of them
was Commander Ronald Taylor, Jacob's father, who was actually retired
from the Corsairs but was swayed by the offer to come back and get more
pirate killing done. The captains and the crews did not know – yet – of
Shepard's survival. They would be in-briefed upon arrival.

Given that almost all of them were strong supporters of her actions,
though, Chambers was confident they'd have few problems.

The new Normandy – as she had decided to call her flagship – needed a
few more specialists. A pair of engineers Tali had worked with on the
Kazan were recruited, along with a handful of ECM and technical types,
including the guy who'd come up with the IES stealth system in the first
place. For the most part, however, the high levels of automation meant
the Normandy only needed a very small crew as compared to the Kazan or
even the old Normandy.

When it came time to select marines, though, the problems were more
difficult. Cerberus had managed to locate all of her former surviving
marine team, but the outlook on getting any of them to work for them was
low.

Senior Chief Vega had gone into semi-retirement after his near maiming
in Neo Berlin, mostly focusing on training his nephew, James Vega, and
getting him up to speed as DACT commander. Her own DACTs, Florez and
Montoya, were assigned with now Lieutenant Ashley Williams to some kind
of secret operation in turian space.

Chief Haln, Sergeant Ownby, Sergeant Haskins, and Corporal Rodriguez,
her only surviving Marines from the Normandy, were still being 'felt
out' by Cerberus recruiters. Most of her Marines from the Kazan were
still attached to that ship, which was now under the command of Captain
Delacor, who had assumed her role as humanity's Spectre.

Jason Dunn was 'engaged elsewhere', and Shepard didn't want to disrupt
Baby Blue's life on Tuchanka.

There were, of course, Cerberus soldiers she could have recruited, but
she didn't like that idea for lots of reasons. Nor did she want to start
cold-recruiting soldiers until she could explain who she was to them,
and that wasn't going to happen right away. Instead, she would use the
combat mechs she had, along with Vigil's assistance, until she could
figure out how to best recruit a good fighting force.

As she worked, she compared Lawson and Chambers, and how they reacted.

Lawson was coolly efficient, with a meticulous memory and a tendency
towards lists. Towards Shepard she was respectful but firm, not trying
to order Shepard around but determined to get her own viewpoints at
least heard.

Chambers, on the other hand, was somewhat disorganized at first glance,
yet somehow managed to be able to pinpoint the candidates Shepard would
approve of with ease. She was far less stiff than Miranda, and seemed to
have no issues with drinking Shepard's scotch while she worked. She
peppered the commander with simple questions that, on reflection, were
designed to make Shepard stop and think rather than just answer.

The main difference in the two was the focus of what they wanted. Lawson
preferred operatives – people who thought and acted strategically. She
advocated those people who had ties to Cerberus in the past, as a way to
make recruitment easier. And she constantly put forth suggestions on how
Shepard could leverage Cerberus.

Kelly, on the other hand, picked candidates that acted much like Shepard
herself – intolerant of slavers, tactically focused, and usually with
one or two quirks that Chambers said gave them leverage. She pointed out
that stronger connections to Cerberus might make things go faster and
easier, but could bite them in the ass in the long run. The most
interesting thing to Shepard was that Chambers didn't seem to think
Shepard should associate herself with Cerberus at all.

Given the bewildering and draining conversation Kelly had subjected
Shepard to the night before, she found it hard to pin down exactly what
kind of game the redhead was playing.

After lunch, Miranda took Shepard into the medical labs, and explained
some of the more dangerous or extreme features of her new form.

"Your cybernetic systems are powered by an Inusannon power star in your
lower back. For the most part, this suffices to power the myomer
muscles, subsystems and internal systems that you can trigger. However,
like all power stars, it only regenerates energy very slowly. That means
if you overexert yourself, you'll begin to run low on power."

Miranda gestured to the set of exercise equipment in a corner. "At full
power, assuming no damage to your skeletal structure, you can lift
significantly more weight than a human woman your size would be capable
of. Your limbs have several power settings. At low levels, you are
roughly as strong as a baseline human. Moderate level has you
approaching krogan strength, and 'overclocking' has you fully capable of
lifting over a ton of weight. Keep in mind, however, that it's still
possible to lift incorrectly and damage your cyberware."

Shepard frowned. "In my quarters, I dented a solid steel wall. What
level am I normally set at?"

Miranda winced. "The lowest level, usually. However, the system is
designed to respond to adrenaline production, stepping up settings
automatically. You can over-ride it, but that requires manual
interaction from you. This is so you don't have to try to alter settings
in the middle of a fight, or when taken by surprise – but it does also
mean you need to watch your anger."

Miranda had Shepard bring up her internal HUD. "Along with superhuman
strength, your speed was also augmented. Some of your reflexes are now
wired directly into both your cybernetic eyes and a concealed band of
sensors at the base of the neck. One reason for the gray-box for your
eyes is to filter the content of what you see to prevent sensory
overload. You will be able to evade and dodge very quickly, as well as
run much faster than before."

Miranda folded her arms. "However, like the extra strength, the more
speed you use, the faster you end up draining your energy. At the
highest rates of speed you can probably outrun a salarian, but you can't
operate at that speed for very long."

Shepard nodded. "What happens when I run out of power?"

Miranda tapped a control on the nearby panel, bringing up a large haptic
screen, busy with outlines of Shepard's body and cyberware. "The system
will automatically shut off enhanced strength and speed once you reach
twenty percent charge on your power star. Should you lose power
entirely, your cybernetics will shut down and you'll begin to die. Most
of the critical systems have short power backups, but they won't last
for more than ten minutes or so."

Miranda touched something on the haptic panel. "There's also a mode the
team calls 'overclocking', which I referred to before. This mode sets
all your systems at full power, which is more than you can usually
access. You can only operate in this mode for roughly five minutes, so
you need to make it count. The overclocking also affects your sensory
input, which will probably make you feel like others are moving more
slowly – which they are, compared to you."

Miranda looked at Shepard. "This mode is often going to leave you
debilitated. Among other things, it tends to put a great deal of
pressure on the remaining biological parts of your body, and generates
so much waste heat you could literally cook yourself alive if you aren't
careful. Coming out of it will make you feel extremely fatigued,
possibly disoriented."

She tapped another control. "Your cybernetics are, in many areas,
self-regenerating. The metal itself used in them is an Inusannon alloy
that somehow 'remembers' what it should be and will consume resources
and energy to repair itself. However, you can only carry so much omnigel
onboard with your armor and inside your body. Once it goes through that
stock, it will attempt to cannibalize less important systems to keep you
alive, although that tends to cause more internal damage."

Shepard narrowed her eyes. "So if I take too much damage I can still get
killed."

Miranda nodded. "And if enemies keep you under constant fire with no
change to regenerate energy, it's possible for even weapons that would
not conventionally be able to stop you to 'whittle you down', so to
speak. That's not even taking into consideration that ion weapons and
EMP weapons will damage some elements of your cybernetic systems."

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. "Great."

Miranda explained how Shepard could trigger various systems – aiming
modes and 'eye-gun sync' modes in her cybernetic eyes that worked with
the gyros in her wrists, or how to activate the omni-blades embedded in
her elbows and knees. Shepard had powered systems to provide air
filtration (or even stored air, in small tanks below her lungs), and
even a backup nervous system of sorts in case she was incapacitated by
nerve-disruption attacks, although Miranda warned her that had even
greater drawbacks to use, and could damage her biotics severely.

Shepard ate her dinner alone, in her quarters, reading documentation the
medical team had prepared about her own body. Most of it was rather
depressing – there was a long list of things that had unknown effects if
overused, such as rapid blood regeneration or the augmentations to her
nervous system. She sourly noted that she also had heat-sinks, to deal
with the increased output of her biotics, and that they could overload
and cause internal damage if she went overboard.

Pushing away her meal, Shepard thought carefully about how she wanted to
proceed. At some point, she would have to leave the station and take
action. How to present herself would be a problem – she couldn't just
announce who she was. That meant never appearing in public without her
full armor, and utilizing the voice-modulation it had built in.

Trellani and Miranda had both pointed out the possibility of passing as
an asari, given that she could create weak singularities now, and she
gave some thought to the best ways to utilize that. It gave her the
kernel of an idea, and she called Miranda to have everyone meet in the
morning for a briefing in operations.

Sara Shepard was dead, of course. But that didn't mean her legacy was
dead. And given that she had to reach out to people who seemed to take a
dim view of criminals, she knew just exactly how to act.

*O-TWCD-O*

Shepard stood in operations, arms folded, as the people she'd called
into the first meeting of the Revenant Cell came into the room. She
thought over what she'd planned as they filed in, keeping her face calm
and empty of emotions.

So far, monitoring of every human wildcat colony hadn't revealed
anything out of place, and Shepard wasn't about to just sit and wait for
the next colony to get hit. On the other hand, they didn't know what
they were dealing with in the first place, so she had to get some kind
of fieldwork in to look over the clues. Finally, she had specialists she
needed to recruit, but for most of them – Archangel, Solus, and the
Sisters of Vengeance – Cerberus had no contact method or hard information.

Rather than simply storm out there, she brought together her people and
planned to figure out what the first move should be.

Shepard glanced around the galaxy display, and then at the handful of
people standing nearby. Miranda stood to her right, next to the ex-AIS
agent, Trudy, with Taylor and Ezno just to one side of her. On the left
Tali and Joker stood together. Across from Shepard floated the form of
Vigil. A bit to one side stood the quarian engineer, Kiala'Dost, along
with her human husband, the former Alliance lieutenant Dost. Doctor
Sedanya and one of the other medical doctors, Doctor Wilson, were
standing next to Dost.

Shepard exhaled, and spoke quietly. "Alright, let's get started." She
folded her hands in front of her. "Right now, I've decided to go along
with this … plan of the Illusive Man's. However, there's some caveats,
and I'm putting them up front. Anyone who can't or won't abide by them
needs to speak up now."

She glanced around the room. "I am not going to 'represent Cerberus'.
While I understand that Cerberus is funding and providing this entire
thing, I simply don't have enough information – or trust – to put myself
in any kind of position where the Illusive Man can use me as some kind
of propaganda. For the duration of my affiliation, I was told you all
answer to me."

Ezno immediately spoke up. "That is not correct in all regards. There is
data and equipment aboard this station that would implicate some
Cerberus front companies. While I have no problems taking orders that go
along with the stated goals of the program, if you decide to simply turn
this facility over to the Alliance or the Council, my orders are to
ensure nothing sensitive or compromising remains. In that I will not
take any countermanding orders from you."

Shepard narrowed her eyes. "And what does this data and equipment entail?"

Ezno folded his arms. "Data manifests, communications systems, financial
transactions, the QEC linking system, and some of the more esoteric
medical equipment not strictly needed to keep you alive and functional.
Some of this is being removed over time, and some functions are being
researched by the medical staff, so that the equipment I'm talking about
can be decommissioned."

The hardness in his eyes didn't relent. "Most importantly, your
authority ends as far as I'm concerned once you decide to stop
cooperating with the Illusive Man. The rest of these people were
gathered to support you. I'm the Illusive Man's skin in the game, and my
involvement outside of security will be very minimal."

She shrugged. "Fair enough. Anybody else?"

Miranda looked uncomfortable. "Shepard, I understand why you are making
this statement, but your distrust of Cerberus – "

Shepard held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong, Lawson – I'm not saying I'm
'distrustful' of anything. But there's no value in me doing anything if
the idea gets out that I'm working for Cerberus. There are those who
will smear whatever I do at that point with your group's past actions,
instead of focusing on the problem. It doesn't matter what you believe
Cerberus stands for – only what the public believes. I've learned that
much already, just by being branded a bloody-handed killer."

Miranda looked like she wanted to object, but Ezno nodded. "Ah. You fear
the Broker and his ilk will attempt to poison the well."

Shepard didn't recognize the term, but Chambers smiled. "Yeah, that
would fit. Poisoning the well is basically throwing stuff at the source
of information instead of dealing with the argument or evidence put
forward. If Shepard goes in representing Cerberus, the focus will be on
her coming back to life and Cerberus's … views on aliens."

Tali folded her arms. "And the fact that Cerberus has aliens working for
them?"

Shepard spoke. "Won't really count, Tali. I mean, we're talking two
quarians and one asari – and if we're going to be totally Council-stupid
about this, the first thing they'll say is 'the quarians are both exiles
and the asari is a criminal'. The Council – and the Alliance – are going
to look at the politics first, just like they did when I first brought
the shit about Reapers to them in the first place."

Dost spoke. "Then what did you plan to do?"

Shepard smiled. "We don't know when the next colony will be hit. We
don't know anything about who's doing this, and we have no hard evidence
of who we would be facing. As such, I'm not planning to go charging in
when one does go missing until we have a chance to scout remotely."

She tapped her omni-tool and the map shifted its perspective. "What I do
know is that right now, everyone in the Alliance and Council is telling
themselves this is a bunch of slaver activity, because there's a lot of
slavers and pirates in this region after the fall of the Hegemony." A
single system flashed. "At the same time, we have several potential
issues in the region we need to look at too – one of the most useful
recruits, called Jack, is in this system. Nearby, we have evidence that
Okeer may be operating on Korlus."

Shepard glanced around, then continued. "Since sitting on my ass doesn't
appeal to me, I'm going to kill multiple birds with one stone. I need to
test my flagship, my ships, and my gear. I need to see how well these
war-robots you've put together handle. So I need a live fire situation."

She touched several systems, which flashed red. "Cerberus intel tells us
there are pirate or slaver bases in these Traverse systems, and at least
some of the wildcat worlds were raided by them. My first order of
business is to wipe these bases and their inhabitants out of existence."
She smiled. "If I kill all the fucking slavers, and then more wildcat
colonies vanish, it will be harder for the Alliance or Council to
dismiss the vanishing as 'slaver activity'."

Shepard tapped one system. "Korlus is here, a ship recycling and hazmat
processing world. Until recently it was run by the Blue Suns Military
Corporation, but now there's heavy fighting on the world between
elements of the Blue Suns. Details aren't clear. If Okeer is operating
down there, I want to know why he is, and what he's doing. After we
sweep these six bases, we'll hit Korlus before taking on two more –
using the confusion and chaos to cover our movement."

She folded her arms. "Once we've taken out most of the big players,
we'll stop by Purgatory and I'll talk with Warden Kuril and retrieve Jack."

Miranda spoke. "Is there a reason you decided not to attempt to recruit
any of the others first, such as Doctor Solus?"

Shepard smiled. "There is. Jack has been on ice nearly as long as I was
dead for, so recent events will be a blur to her anyway. But the rest
won't know me from anyone else, and have no real reason to listen to me.
According to the Illusive Man, this Kasumi Goto character is in Alliance
space, and I have a side trip to make before this all starts anyway, so
I can pick her up then. Mr. Massani is on Omega, and is conducting
business of his own – he's not ready to join yet."

Shepard folded her arms. "By the time I get to Omega, I want to have
already built up a reputation – not as myself, but as the person who
took down the pirates and slavers. It will be a lot easier to convince
this Archangel to work for us – or at least listen to us – if we can
present ourselves as the people who just fucked up a bunch of criminals
and slavers, not as an organization best known for cutting up aliens."

Ezno grimaced. "Are you going to run this as a military operation, then,
or as some kind of cover?"

Shepard tilted her head. "I'm thinking that what I need is some kind of
… message. The first few strikes I want to come out of nowhere. I want
survivors, I want the story to spread, but no idea who's behind it. I
want the ships we hit with to be unrecognizable. Eventually, after I
crush several bases, I'll figure out how to announce that the pirates
are being hunted."

She turned to Vigil. "Can you coordinate the fleet we have now and the
war robots?"

The sphere pulsed. "With ease. I can also suppress the defense systems
and other security features of the pirates, and conduct cyberwarfare on
their systems … such as core containment or life support."

Shepard smiled widely. "The faster and more overwhelming the strikes,
the better – I'll go for terror later on."

Miranda frowned. "What happens when the next colony vanishes, though?
How do we respond?"

Shepard exhaled. "That depends on when it happens. If it happens before
we get this off the ground, we'll investigate quietly. If it happens
while we're purging the pirates, Vigil will send automated ships and
mechs to check it out and secure the area. Hopefully, it won't happen
until after we've crushed all the pirates, and preferably picked up
Doctor Solus."

Trudy nodded. "So far, there's been about a three month gap between each
strike – given the last attack was about a week and a half ago, we have
time if you're quick and don't dawdle."

Shepard nodded. "In that case, we have time to do this right. The
message I'm going to send will be pretty clear."

*O-TWCD-O*

It took a good week to get Shepard's forces organized, most of that
taken up with producing more war mechs and doing preliminary scouting
runs on various pirate bases.

A number of the pirate bases and anchorages were singled out as large
enough to attract notice, but not so big that her fleets and mechs
couldn't break them. Vigil was confident that with its cyberwarfare
capabilities it could wreak havoc on pirate installations and ships, but
Shepard didn't want any slaves or prisoners killed – just pirates.

At the end of the week, the strikes went out. She split her available
ships into four groups. Two groups went out with one heavy cruiser, a
pair of destroyers, and four frigates each. They would each hit two
fueling stops used by pirates, before each taking out a single pirate
base and falling back.

The third group consisted of the light carrier, three destroyers, and
four frigates, and it was to hit a pair of pirate refit docks and
slave-holding facilities. The carrier's fighters were more than a match
for pirate defenses, and Vigil would ensure any slaves would be left alive.

Shepard herself would take the new Normandy, three destroyers, and three
frigates and go after the trio of bases in the Ahiba system. Once she
was done with orbitally bombarding those, the entire fleet would
fall-back and group up near Umlor, where one of the more powerful pirate
captains made his headquarters.

The entire fleet would attack that base and reduce it to ashes, then
fall back through a loop of mass relays before doing a long FTL move
back to a secondary relay system that would lead them back to home base.

Given that they had no crews yet, this assault would be the test of
whether or not Vigil could handle the fleet solo. She made very sure to
give the AI clear instructions about what she wanted accomplished,
before she got on the QEC with the Illusive Man.

As usual, he was neatly dressed – a white silk suit of some kind, with a
gray shirt, ribbon tie, and the ever present cigarette. "Shepard.
Miranda says you're preparing to strike a number of pirate positions."

She nodded, folding her arms. "Yeah. The Council is blind, but not
stupid – if we wipe the pirates out, it will be harder for them to claim
the disappearances of colonies are just due to pirate activity."

The glowing blue eyes narrowed. "There has been a lack of anti-pirate
operations in the past year due to the war with the geth and the fact
that most of the harrying is being done on the borders worlds and
independent colonies. Even so, some of the more powerful pirate commands
are a bit much to take on with a pair of cruisers and a carrier."

She nodded. "I'm hitting the smaller bases first – we're going after one
big target, but that's it. The big thing I want is an audience."

Jack Harper inhaled on his cigarette. "An audience to what, precisely?"

Shepard smiled. "Chambers said that if I don't plan to do this as a
Cerberus operation, then I need some kind of … persona … for who is
attacking the pirates, to cover our later operations. I can't just
announce myself as being alive again, as you said – but that doesn't
preclude me from taking advantage of my own reputation."

She tapped her omni-tool. "I recorded that earlier today. A message I
want broadcasted on open channels once we drop the last pirate base."

The Illusive Man tapped a haptic panel next to his barely-visible chair,
his image in the QEC flickering as he leaned forward to examine
something. After a few minutes of silence, a thin, cool smile appeared
on his features.

"I see. Quite the idea. Vigil can be of some assistance in making sure
the message gets everywhere, and I'll have my people run this into the
extranet and across several open comms networks and deploy it once you
signal me to do so. Very original thinking."

She shrugged. "It was a mix of ideas I picked up by listening to both
Miranda and Chambers. And besides, it's about goddamned time those
slaving fucks remembered what fear feels like."

*O-TWCD-O*

When the signal hit the extranet, it was unprecedented. Something had
spliced the transmission into over fifty communications networks, from
the broadcast of Westerlund News to the booster signal for the Deep
Space Gamma Burst Warning Network.

It played in bars and clubs, on the holoscreens in businesses and
restaurants. The voice that spoke was modulated, female, deep and almost
mocking.

The image was nothing more than the broken, shattered body of a batarian
slaver, a warp sword shoved through his chest.

"There was once a time, I am told, when piracy was combated. A human
woman, one of our lesser cousins, took to the stars to bring fire and
death to those who would rape, and pillage, and enslave."

"She was brutal and she did not care how much blood she spilled, nor
would she allow the criminals to escape justice. When the pirates
thought they had her trapped, she crushed them instead, and then
executed the guilty."

"For her justice, they called her a monster, a killer. They called her
the Butcher."

"Pirates lived in fear of facing her. Slavers fled from the very hint
she was in a sector. She saved lives and worlds, and asked for nothing
in return. And …. as it happens, she was indeed given nothing. She was
betrayed and murdered, and her own government forgot about her life to
make money and propaganda out of her death."

"Sara Shepard is dead."

On far-away Ilium, Liara listened to the broadcast, jaw tight with old
pain. On Dirth, a former president of the SA watched on his vidscreen,
and a scarred, crippled man who was once her XO gave a faint, sardonic
smile.

On Omega, the pirates jeered and the slavers snorted, and a single
turian paused in his scouting of a gang hide out to listen to the
strong, husky voice and its words.

"She is dead. Yet her mission, her truth, her vengeance – that lives on."

The image changed, to a real-time display of the wreckage of the pirate
docks at Ratha, at shattered bases on Virtmore and Enera, to show the
burning conflagration that was all that remained of the pirate city on
Umlor. The whispers went silent. The jeers fell silent.

On Mindoir, savage cheers rang out. On Ilium, the markets for certain
exchanges took a hit as investors pulled out of the known pirate-backed
ventures.

"You have long thought you were beyond the reach of justice, pirates and
slavers, criminals and walking filth. You are hunted like the vermin you
are on Omega, where the Archangel slays you by the dozen, and you do not
heed. You are slaughtered and driven out on Ilium, where my beloved
sisters, the Sisters of Vengeance, deliver unto you what you have wrought."

"Siari says all things must balance in the end. An accounting is needed.
The so-called leaders of our races, the Citadel Council, the CEOs, the
military leaders – you have all stood by and done nothing as the
innocent were raped and enslaved. As the helpless were murdered."

The image shifted again, to a view of the gleaming whiteness of the
Presidium. "Sara Shepard died for you, and you cannot even show her the
courtesy of protecting those she could not longer protect. If you will
not act...I will."

"The Butcher cannot be killed, for one cannot kill justice, nor
vengeance. The concept is eternal. Pirates, slavers, drug runners,
cloneleggers, dustpushers – you have all been given your final warning.
There will be no mercy, no chances for surrender, no arrests. Just
death, as certain as the will of the Justicars."

"I am now the Butcher. And I am now coming for you."

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 10: Arc II : Opening Carnage*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

/*A/N*:
/

/I've been out for a bit. I will probably be out for a while longer.
However, I am not dead and neither is the story. I had some time this
weekend to work on this, and while I'm not 100% happy with the result,
it gets the job done. I'd like to thank everyone who PM''d, reviewed and
messaged me with uplifting words.
/

/Liethr didn't beta this one so blame me for any goofs. Reviews are
always welcome.
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

*THE SECOND ARC: ASK OF THE LESSER, LEST THE GREATER NOT WISH TO ANSWER
AND TURN AGAINST YOU*

/'The problem with monsters is that they rarely start that way. The
forces that shape them and turn them into such rarely leave them capable
of realizing what they have become, and make the immune to the sort of
hesitancy of conscience that restrains the rest of us. Turning them back
from the path is therefore only possible when you know why they became a
monster in the first place.'
/

/- Benezia T'Soni, 'No Single Raindrop Blames Itself For the Flood'
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shepard stood behind Joker in the cockpit of the new Normandy, silently
watching as the pilot's hands moved rapidly over the haptic console in
front of him, cap down and his expression focused. The ship was moving
carefully through an extremely dangerous and narrow flight path, one
risky enough that normally it would be left to a computer to control.

She kept quiet as she ran her fingers through her hair, absently
wondering if it was going to grow or if it was as synthetic as most of
the rest of her body. She never felt tired physically anymore, but she
was almost weary of the rapid pace of events she'd undergone in the time
since her transmission to the galaxy.

The past two weeks had been a hectic mess.

Her assault on the slavery networks that compromised the Traverse
borders had gone better than she ever could have expected. Vigil was
more than up to remote-piloting most of the ships Cerberus had given her
to play with, after a few more modifications by Tali. If the boastful
silver sphere could be taken at face value, it was originally designed
to manage trillions of war droids and millions of ships, after all, so
this was hardly as surprising to Shepard as it was to Miranda.

They had hit eleven targets in two weeks – pirate moorings, slaveholder
stations, fueling stops – and torn apart the entire spinward border of
Aria's domain. The pirate stronghold at Umlor had been completely
annihilated, the only survivors the freed slaves. In every battle they'd
routed the pirates and slavers, so far not even loosing a single ship in
combat. And when they'd assaulted Umlor, they'd not only broken the back
of the slaver's fleets, they'd torn out the beating heart of its finances.

Umlor had been the first large-scale testing of the war robots, and that
had gone just as perfectly as she had planned.

She let a small, grim smile cross her features for a moment at the
memory. Without any oversight from the Alliance, and with Vigil
certainly not giving a damn about atrocities, she had no one stopping
her from executing the slaving, pirate filth. She'd gone down in person
at the end, testing herself against living enemies instead of computer
generated simulations.

The landing drop had been a bit rough, and her position had been hit by
nearly a dozen krogan in heavy armor. It took her all of nine seconds to
kill them – seven of them with her ODIN, one with a omni-tool slash to
the face, two more with kicks that snapped their spines. The last one
she took a full hit from the krogan's energy maul without even
staggering, before tearing the maul – and the krogan's hand – away and
killing him with his own weapon.

That's when it hit her that she wasn't even close to a normal human anymore.

She'd run down a fleeting pirate on a hover-bike while she was on foot,
torn the man's head off along with his armored helmet, and laughed as
she leapt away, falling thirty five feet and landing as if she'd hopped
down off a short step. She'd stopped a punch from a krogan with a single
hand before crushing his fist like tinfoil, tearing his arm off with a
tug a moment later before punching through his combat armor and
splattering his primary heart.

She'd taken a direct hit from a lance cannon and skidded back fifteen
feet, only to leap up, barely feeling any pain, and dash forward before
the turian slaver who'd shot her could recover. She'd dodged incoming
fire as if it was moving in slow motion, and she could fire her sniper
rifle with one hand and still hit targets in the eye at five hundred
feet – while running.

The sheer terror and incoherent panic the slaving bastards had felt
helped mute the pain in her heart, and she had found herself laughing as
she literally walked through the ineffective and pitiful fire of her
enemies to butcher them. Gunships were too slow to hit her, and the
light armored vehicle that was the last line of defense before she tore
into the command center was nothing more than an irritant – she
shattered the armaglass cockpit with a biotic-enhanced punch and hurled
a shockwave into the cockpit, turning the interior into a
blood-splattered abattoir.

There was no mercy, no surrender, just annihilation. But after the last
foe was dead, when she'd returned to the base and looked over her armor,
the second half of her ugly realization had hit her.

She'd taken a direct hit in the thigh from some high-ballistic rifle and
didn't even feel any pain, or loss of movement. She'd melted a gunship
out of the sky with nothing but hurled warpfire and her nerves didn't
hurt. She'd run over forty miles an hour on foot and torn apart a
durasteel security door a good three inches thick with her bare hands –
and she wasn't even /tired./

She wasn't sure how to process how to feel about that. Chambers had
warned her that the realization of her current state was something she
still hadn't faced fully yet, but in the days since the assault she
began to wonder if she was even human anymore.

It didn't help there weren't very many real people around. Shepard was
still waiting for Miranda's people to bring her some more
flesh-and-blood soldiers, but the augmented combat robots under Vigil's
control were nasty enough that she didn't really need any more backup.
Each one was so heavily armored that anything short of heavy weapons
would only do minor damage, and they could use the sort of heavy weapons
that a human soldier required a tripod to use.

They didn't hesitate to execute the slavers they encountered, and Vigil
could at least be counted on to make her laugh with a quip or two as it
mockingly killed off the slavers. But they were hardly going to rein her
bloodthirsty impulses in battle in. On the other hand, it was a relief
in a way to not have to worry about losing soldiers or getting her
friends killed – the robots used some of Vigil's strange living metal,
and unless the power source of the robot was destroyed would slowly
regenerate and repair itself.

The attacks had gone well, far better than Shepard had expected. The
slavers had gotten sloppy and lazy, fattened by being able to prey on
poorly defended borders with most of the normal patrol ships of the
Alliance and Hierarchy busy fighting the geth. They had never really
expected to face down the kind of heavy ships and firepower that the
Illusive Man had put into her hands.

Shepard was careful to free slaves and let a few fleeing slave ships get
away, knowing they would spread the terror and fear. Her forces tore
apart the border slave worlds, then took down the more important ports,
and finally crushed the backbone of the slaver shipbuilding facilities.
And at last, after two weeks of raiding, they'd finally identified the
real target she'd been looking for.

Chresi V, the Last Stop.

Chresi V was a borderline habitable world, clinging to the ass-end of
the western Traverse. A pirate port, it had grown from a mere set of hab
domes to several sprawling bases clustered thickly around a ring of
fortified modules and prefabricated towers. Its docks were open to all,
far from the police frigates and snooping eyes of Citadel forces, while
its slave market was the largest in the galaxy – it dwarfed even the
batarian markets, and rivaled that of Omega itself.

Chresi V was known as the Last Stop because it was traditionally used by
smaller slaver rings to drop off captured slaves and take payment, and
for bigger slaver operations to buy up slaves en masse for delivery. It
boasted its own HE station, and the 'lord' of the system, an aging
mid-caste outcast from the Hegemony called Rythek, was friendly with
many of the smaller pirate outfits. It had evolved over the years –
starting out at little more than a hiding hole and place to dump charge,
it had grown powerful under the chaos of the collapse of the Batarian
Hegemony and the fracturing of Aria's control over her warlords. With
the advent of the Geth War, many trade lanes once patrolled by turian,
human or asari ships went without protection.

The pirates and slavers had done well. Chresi V boasted everything
raiders needed – repair facilities, slaveholding pens, clonelegger
salons, and enough raw materials to provide both repairs and slowly
build new ships or overhaul those taken as prizes. Increasingly, as it
sent out specialized raiders that did little else but attack resource
transports, ore haulers, and the like, and more such specialists that
raided supply depots on poorly guarded frontier worlds, it had become
the center of pirate attacks in the entire eastern sectors of the galaxy.

The Alliance had never managed to locate the exact system the world was
in, despite looking. Rythek was cunning and smart, and the only known
way to get to the system was through a nasty FTL route that dipped
between a binary black hole system. Pirates wanting to do business on
Chresi V had to meet in the Vendra System and be approached by some of
Rythak's pilots with specialized navigation software.

But when Shepard's war robots had put Umlor to the torch, they'd found
one of Rythak's message boats on the world, capturing it intact. Vigil
was easily able to hack the boat's systems and extract the needed
piloting instructions, and now Joker was carefully guiding the fleet
single file through the FTL lane.

Due to the black holes, the 'shape' of FTL space in this region was
warped. No existing ship could make the FTL trip the 'long way' around
the coreward approach – charge build up would have reached critical
levels only half way there.

Shepard pondered on the utility of the position Chresi V held as a base
of operations for her own needs, assuming she was willing to have
Cerberus tow the asteroid base she had there. After thinking about it,
she discarded the idea as unworkable and probably dangerous – the FTL
corridor was too narrow for such a thing to work.

She refocused as Joker exhaled, his voice mostly steady. "Past the
primary gravity fields. Breaching the solar wind envelope in five
minutes, ma'am."

She nodded, reaching down to pick up the bone-white helmet of her battle
armor. "Vigil..."

From a nearby console, a shimmering silver orb erupted into being. "Yes,
primitive?"

She nodded at the cockpit windows. "Prepare the fleet. Once we're done,
drop beacons so the Alliance can find this place. They'll have to handle
the slaves we free today."

The sphere bobbed. "Very well. Orders for the fleet?"

She smiled behind her helmet. "You know, the usual. Leave nothing alive
but the slaves. And when you find Rythek... let me know."

O-TWCD-O

"Admiral Branson, Captain Shearsi has arrived."

Branson glanced up from the reports scrolling across his screen – more
news from the Geth front at Nodaxis – to nod at the ensign in front of
him. "Very good, send her in, please."

He sat back in his chair, glancing around the circular room and the many
haptic screens on the walls, the stations of data analysts, and the
other admirals in the room. The atmosphere was tense, and despite the
comfortable leather high-back chair he reclined into, he felt stiff and
uneasy.

Officially styled as Alliance Naval High Command, the room was
informally known as the War Pit. It was the nerve center of the Alliance
military machine, tied in to the fleets, ground forces, comms systems
and forward operations of most of the Alliance armed forces. For most of
its existence, it performed few functions beyond coordinating large
fleet movements. Certainly there had never been a need to assemble the
fleet admirals and fleet master in one place to discuss strategy.

When the Geth War broke out, though, that had changed, and now the NHC
was used almost weekly. The war had gone very well in Branson's opinion,
despite the loss of a dreadnought and almost half a dozen heavy
cruisers. More and more technology was being adapted from asari base
tech packages, while the salarians had begun to market powerful computer
and ECM systems. The AIS suspected the more powerful of these systems
were derived from the Reaper technology they'd salvaged from Nazara.

The Alliance had made its own strides in that regard, having been given
the engines – or what they assumed were the engines – of the massive war
machine. While the jump drive was incomprehensible, having driven nine
Manswell-Nobel scientists to madness and making a mess of physics and
hyperdynamic field theory, the FTL drive was more comprehensible, and as
a result the newest line of Alliance capital ships could keep pace with
a frigate of a few years back.

It gave them a decided edge over the geth, whose lines had finally
broken not long back, although at a heavy cost in ships and lives. Now,
with the Geth War beginning to wind down and the collapse of the
Hierarchy, Branson had hoped things would calm down.

Unfortunately, with the chaos in the Traverse, it was unlikely to so in
the near future. And thus, the assembled officers within its walls and
the knowledge that the High Lords were expecting action and answers soon
pressed down on Branson's shoulders with a heavy weight.

The past few weeks had seen enough anomalous actions on the frontier to
justify the High Admiral calling for a meeting of the Fleet Command, to
discuss what was going on in the Traverse – namely, the actions of this
Butcher – and determine if she was a threat. The Alliance had sent in
multiple scout and recon teams to the area, often arriving just after
they got mysterious messages from the Butcher, to find yet another
pirate port blown to smithereens, horrific scenes of carnage and death
among the slavers, and crowds of freed slaves that needed repatriation.

The Alliance was getting increasingly nervous about the Butcher –
estimates of her fleet strength varied wildly, but just by the number of
wrecked hulls and dead slavers they'd found in her wake, her fleet had
destroyed over two hundred ships and slaughtered over thirty thousand
pirates – not counting the hundreds of thousands dead at Umlor. There
was a great deal of worry that the Butcher was the cats-paw or front of
a more dangerous or antagonistic group, and the fact that the AIS had
been unable to determine anything about the Butcher – or her fleet,
finances, or ultimate goals – made more than one Senator from the border
colonies nervous.

He cleared his thoughts, refocusing on the faces around him – fellow
admirals, all well schooled in keeping their thoughts and expressions
neutral. As he finished glancing around, a dark skinned woman appeared
in the entrance of the room, her Indian features set in a mask of
discipline and calm.

"Captain Shearsi, Fifty-Third Scout Battlegroup Typhon, reporting, sirs."

Brandon nodded, gesturing to a chair on the inside of the circular table
the admiral sat at. "At ease. Be seated, Captain. I presume you have the
initial scouting report from what we're seeing in the Traverse?"

The woman nodded, pulling out a data-padd before sitting down. "I do."
She glanced around the table at the faces of the admirals. "I'm not sure
what to make of what we have found, but at least we have some hard data
now on the Butcher."

Admiral Ahern sat to the far left, flanked by Admiral Dragunov and
Admiral Okuda. To Branson's right was Admiral Tyrson and Admiral
Hackett, flanked by Sixth Fleet's Admiral Rogeti.

Branson glanced over his notes. "That is good news. Very well, Captain.
Proceed."

Captain Shearsi tapped her padd, bringing up her own reports. Her voice
was cool but firm, with only a hint of a British accent to it. "Yes,
sir. The Fifty-third scout battlegroup Typhon was dispatched on
long-range reconnaissance to the Western Traverse to scout and find
information on the Butcher. We were in the process of examining FTL
wakes in the Jakona system, a slaver fueling stop that appeared to be
destroyed by her forces."

She took a slow breath. "We broke this investigation off after my
forward scouts began receiving broken transmissions from the Rythek
Pirate Group. They claimed that the Chresi V system, a known pirate
operational hub, had been destroyed."

She glanced up at the admirals. "My scout group had already identified
four other sites hit by the Butcher in the past week, but as you all
know the exact location of the Chresi system was not known to us.
Shortly after finding a handful of severely damaged pirate ships barely
functioning and taking the few survivors into custody, my science
officer picked up a homing beacon near a pair of black holes. The homing
beacon was standard Alliance surplus stock, available on any one of a
dozen black markets – it had been modified by a very skilled technician,
but we couldn't determine anything else of note about it."

She exhaled. "We were told by our captives that this beacon was marking
the only path to the Chresi system. Following the beacon lead us to a
small star system."

She tapped her padd again, bringing up images on the far haptic screen.
"Chresi V has – well, had – two HE3-rich gas giants and a single
borderline habitable world, which was the site of a failed batarian
colony. The pirate lord Rythek set up his base there, managing to
maintain profitability and his rule for the past eleven years. Rythek
was funded, we think, by both certain turian separatists and by the
Blood Pack – we know he was engaged in smuggling krogan off Tuchanka, in
weapons running to Facinus, and in pirating some turian merchant traffic."

"Six months ago, Rythek – or slavers answering to him – hit the colony
of Hadley's Hope very hard, making off with over eight hundred slaves,
killing two thousand civilians and destroying a pair of Corsair ships.
Given the size of his fleet – it included at least ten older model
turian heavy cruisers and a dozen batarian light cruisers, with more
coming in since the fall of the Hegemony – he was probably the strongest
of the 'border lords' in the Traverse not answering directly to Aria."

Hackett nodded gravely. "He was causing trouble before the Benezia
Incident – some of his men participated in the strike of Eden Prime a
year before Saren hit the place. He was also involved with some of the
slaver operations that the Second RRU under Kyle destroyed. We never
could pin him down and bring him to battle because no one could lead us
to the system."

Branson nodded. "Continue, Captain."

The woman nodded, her face turning grim. "We entered the system at full
battle readiness, some six hours after the transmissions hit our comm
networks and two hours after sorting out our captives. Rythek was known
to have at least fifty ships, most of them light raiding vessels, and to
have both orbital defenses and a large ground force, so we figured a
fight would still be ongoing. When we arrived however, the entire pirate
fleet had been completely destroyed, and the planet kinetically bombarded."

The captain glanced at her padd again, clearly gathering her thoughts.
"After a quick recon of the system, we were unable to localize where
exactly the attackers had struck from. Nor could we concretely pin down
the source of their weapons systems. Scanners indicated there were ion
discharges similar to some high-performance Alliance engines, but too
diffuse to be sure. We attempted to recover scans from the wrecked
pirate ships, but every working computer system we found was hit with an
extremely dangerous and polymorphic viral VI package that had wiped all
data. My science officer attempted to categorize the various weapons
signatures in the area, but her findings were … well, mixed."

Ahern frowned. "Define 'mixed', Captain."

She sighed. "The primary weapons used appear to be multi-stage
disruptor-sheathed mass accelerator cannons, with a throw weight of
battlecruiser class. Impact analysis from a destroyed pirate heavy
cruiser indicates a single shot was capable of breaking their shields,
blasting completely through the length of the vessel, and out the back
of the ship. Targeting patterns and solar wind analysis would indicate
there were more than ten such ships in the attacking force."

Admiral Rogeti grimaced. "Ten battlecrusiers? That's a goddamned armada."

Dragunov's harsh accent rang out. "Enough. Continue, Captain."

Shearsi tapped at her padd and images of the surface of the world came
up. Its cratered surface was blackened in places by clear signs of heavy
kinetic and torpedo bombardment. "From what we can tell, Rythak's 'base'
consisted of about thirty to forty colonization modules, arranged in a
large circle with a force-shield generator to keep the atmosphere in. A
docking and landing facility to the south was not harmed by the
bombardment, nor were the slave pens."

She gestured to a ring of debris circling the planet. "Based on the
wreckage, Rythek had a heavy battle platform and well over twenty
cruisers and at least one heavy battlecruiser in orbit, and more than
twice that number of ships in the system. All of them were completely
destroyed. Sensors indicated along with the mass accelerator fire that
high yield, high performance M/AM torpedoes were utilized, with asari
detonation triggers."

She gestured to the planet itself. "When we arrived, the slaves were the
only living beings still on the world. The majority of the colonization
modules had been kinetically bombarded from orbit, but traces on the
outskirts of the landing area show that an assault force landed at some
point and engaged in heavy fighting on the planet's surface. Based on
the … well, trail of destruction, the landing party was mostly focused
on breaching the command center, and then fanning out to slaughter every
single slaver on the planet."

The Indian woman sighed. "We were able to recover and rescue the slaves
on the surface of the planet, and interviewed them to determine what
happened. According to them, the pirates were taken by surprise and
bombarded, then suffered an attack by what they describe as very
advanced mechs, similar in design to a RAMPART mech but with heavier
armor and different weapons. The assault was lead by a small unit of
super-heavy mechs. with the overall leader appearing to be an asari
wearing white armor."

She paused. "We obtained a single image from a monitoring camera in the
slave barracks at extreme distance." She tapped her padd, and the blurry
image filled the screen – a tall figure in heavy white armor, with an
elongated asari helmet, carrying what looked like a very heavy rifle of
some kind.

Shearsi gestured to the screen. "The marines were not able to see much
from the slave quarters, but they did see this white-armored leader
engage in brief combat with two krogan slavers. They described the
figure as tall – based on the terrain and other references, this person
stands about 5'10 to six feet – and definitely asari. Based on the
powers they described seeing – a blade invocation, and a combination of
biotic charge and singularity – we're thinking this was possibly either
a rogue member of the Thirty, or a lapsed Priestess of Athame."

Ahern grimaced. "If that's an asari, then it's definitely one of the
Thirty based on the height alone. Jesus fuck, this gets worse and worse."

Branson grimaced as well. News that one of the Thirty was involved in
this mess would make the High Lords of Sol very nervous. "Continue."

Shearsi consulted her padd again, as the rest of the admirals said
nothing. "Several of the slaves were ex-Marines, and their descriptions
were more detailed. According to them, the kinetic assault killed most
of the slavers on the ground. The slave pens had their own atmosphere
and power sources, and were well away from the main habitation to
prevent the pirates from 'damaging the merchandise'. The assault was
carefully targeted not to harm the slaves."

Branson finally spoke. "Interesting. That speaks of extremely skilled
gunnery. Continue, Captain."

Shearsi bit her lip. "The most worrying part about the assault was the
savagery, sir. The pirates were...well, massacred. More than half of
them had to have been unarmed, and they were shot dead, and in some
cases burned alive. Not a single pirate ship was found intact, and I
find it very hard to believe none of them surrendered. Every single
slaver inside the camp was either killed in battle, or executed."

Ahern snorted. "And nothing of fucking value was lost."

Shearsi nodded. "I'm not really feeling sorry for the pirates, sir. But
a strike force capable of completely obliterating a pirate lord of
Rythak's strength is very troubling, given that we don't know who it
answers to. The fact that a fleet of that size somehow achieved complete
surprise in their attack suggests some form of stealth technology was used."

Branson frowned. "Speculate later. How did you proceed from that point?"

Shearsi squared her shoulders. "I advised Alliance medical we had slaves
in need of treatment. Medical frigates were on-site within eight hours.
I also communicated to the Citadel we had a large number of non-human
liberated slaves. Alliance medical and psychological personnel were able
to deal with the humans in the group. As per orders, all intelligence
was copied to the AIS for analysis."

She paused. "There was also a surviving pirate – or suspected pirate –
ship in the area near the entrance to the FTL lane, a converted elcor
hauler. They transmitted some images of the ships in the attack, the
only hard visuals we have so far that show the enemy in action. I've
already transmitted them to the AIS, along with the logs of all
interviews with the slaves."

She tapped her padd once, displaying a single, grainy image. A dozen
black and gray dagger shaped ships were visible, surrounding a larger
ship that had fighters exiting a hangar bay. The ships didn't look
familiar, except for the lead ship.

Ahern's eyes narrowed. "Enhance image, sector A-4." The image zoomed in
and was cleared slightly.

The ship that was in the lead looked like an Alliance frigate, only much
larger, with raked forward wings, larger engine pods, a more aggressive
slant to the wingtips and many more guns. Thick armor occluded ports
along the side.

Admiral Hackett frowned. "That looks like an Alliance ship design."

Ahern folded his arms. "Except we don't built our heavy cruisers to
match a frigate's spec. What in the blue hell is that thing?"

Branson narrowed his eyes at the image. "Was this … suspected pirate …
able to provide any more insight or information as to the nature of the
ship?"

Shearsi exhaled and looked down. "According to the pirate, sir, they had
no scans or emissions data – he claimed the ships hit the system in
stealth much like the Normandy's IES system. They didn't pick up any
transmissions of any kind – the attackers simply killed everything they
could."

"Anything else of note, Captain?" Ahern's voice was wary.

Shearsi hesitated, then nodded. "One more thing, sirs. We were able, as
I said, to confirm that someone or something landed at the pirate site.
They didn't leave very much evidence behind, but we definitely found
Rythek, or what was left of him. Someone literally punched a hole in his
chest armor, then pulled his arms off by sheer force, before immolating
him by way of some sort of plasma slurry." She bit her lip. "Based on
the number of wounds on his body, and the condition of the area he was
found in, we think this happened after he was taken captive."

There was an appalled pause in the room, and finally Admiral Tyrson
grimaced. "Sounds like this Butcher – if this is her handiwork – is even
more gruesome than Shepard ever was."

Branson merely nodded, eyes flickering to meet those of Ahern. "That's a
discussion for a later time. If there is nothing else...?"

Captain Shearsi straightened to attention. "All details are in my
reports, sir."

Admiral Hackett folded his arms. "Well done. Dismissed, Captain." He
waited until Shearsi was out of the room before letting out a heavy
sigh. "How many attacks does that make?"

Branson consulted his own padd. "Six, perhaps seven, in the span of four
days. That we know of. God knows how many more we don't even know about,
and that doesn't count the mess the Butcher has gotten up to in the past
two weeks. The High Lords are very nervous and the Council is going
crazy. We can't even identify who the attackers are with any certainty,
or their fleet strength."

The blond admiral lifted his hand. "So far, we know they have a carrier
of some kind, several heavy cruisers – possibly battle-cruisers – and
some form of stealth craft. They employ human-style engines and weapons,
with asari-style torpedoes, but the weapons they use are /very/ heavy.
They appear to mostly rely on some kind of war robots for an assault
force. They do not respond to any communications, and have destroyed
five of the largest and most dangerous pirate or slaver networks."

Admiral Tyrson snorted. "And the AIS has no clues who these people are?"

Branson sighed. "None. The information from Captain Shearsi is the first
hard data we have on their space or ground forces – or this asari leader
calling herself the Butcher. We know only the following – she's in
command of somewhere between eight and thirty ships, and those ships
don't exactly match any known design specs. We have no indications of
who built them or even where."

Branson rubbed his chin. "I've had the AIS investigate which asari could
possibly be behind this. There are plenty of them who can pull off the
biotics necessary, but almost none of them have the needed level of
military skill to pull the rest of this mess off. Even if they did –
every asari with the needed power and skill is fully accounted for." He
grimaced. "Based on the height of the asari in white armor... it must be
one of the Thirty, as Admiral Ahern pointed out. Any of them has the
money for this sort of thing, but not the motives – and it would be
noticed, if not by the AIS then the STG, certainly."

Ahern leaned back. "I've asked the few contacts I have in the Republic
for ideas and they're all drawing blanks, too. They don't think it's any
of the Houses of the Thirty, although that's mostly due to the fact that
asari don't fucking act like that."

Dragunov spoke. "Jona Sederis does."

Ahern rolled his eyes. "And we know exactly where that crazy bitch is.
She's not behind this. We don't have any footage of this Butcher
fighting, but it's pretty clear if she's flinging singularities about
that it's an asari of the Thirty, one who has heavy military training
and lots of money. Whoever she is, she has a damned good sense of
history. The poor bastards on Enera were shot to bits by something like
a high-powered shotgun, using uranium hexafloride rounds."

Hackett frowned. "Why is that significant?"

Ahern sighed. "Before her death, Major Shepard made me a specialty
version of her own ODIN shotgun. At the time she mentioned it could load
highly exotic substances as ammo in the caster, and that she herself
used uranium hexafloride. It's not the kind of detail just anyone would
know. Whoever this asari is knew Shepard – perhaps we can use that to
narrow our search."

Dragunov spoke, his accent harsher than usual. "Interesting. I'll have
the AIS look into it. But that's not all that is strange. Every one of
these pirate bases she has hit has conducted raids on Traverse wildcat
colonies. Who has the kind of money needed to put together a force
capable of cleaning out pirate colonies and doesn't register with any of
the big boys intelligence services?"

Branson nodded, eyes narrowing. "The Shadow Broker might."

Dragunov shook his head. "But why? The Broker is involved, at least on
some level, with the piracy. We know he makes money off of them and uses
them for informal information gathering – he has no reason to go after
his own people like this. The attacks are savage but designed both to
inflict fear and shatter the ability of pirates and slavers to operate
in the Traverse – why? P. and Aria both have pirate and slaving
operations, so we know it isn't them. Hades would be crowing if they
were behind it, and wouldn't associate with an asari in the first place."

Ahern folded his arms. "And it's /not/ the asari – even their craziest
Justicars wouldn't go for this kind of butchery. While they believe in
the hardest fucking kind of justice possible, they don't act in concert
with others – it's always one on one with them. This is bigger."

Branson rubbed his chin again. "Could they be funded by more … outre
interests? Turians? Volus?" When he got no answer, his expression
hardened. "We need to know more and to establish some form of official
policy on how the Fleet is to deal with this ... asari and her forces if
contact is made. "

Admiral Rogeti sighed. "And how, exactly, are we going to make contact?
Having a policy is all well and good, but it seems to me this asari is
doing us all a very big favor – and isn't interested in talking about it."

Branson shook his head. "No, she really isn't doing us any favors at
all. The outer colonies are lionizing the woman, to be sure – but a lot
of them are wondering why the Alliance can't do what she did.
Questioning if it's worth it to stay in the Alliance or not. The Council
is also upset, but that's mostly the asari who can't figure out who this
is. Merchants are nervous that if they deal with less-than-legal sources
or fuel stops they'll get caught up in the slaughter."

He exhaled. "Our biggest problem is that we don't know what this
person's motives are. It's hardly a bad thing she's killing off slavers
– on that we all agree – but not only is the political fallout
troubling, there's another factor. It is possible – even likely – that
some human corporations, or private citizens, had links to these slavers."

Ahern winced. "You're thinking this Butcher person is going to start
going after the financiers? Attacking Alliance or Citadel citizens?"

Branson nodded, but his mind was racing. He knew full well that at least
some of the slave activity was actually sanctioned by the Systems
Alliance as a method to prevent breakaway colonies from leaving the
Alliance. If the Butcher found hard proof of that and transmitted it,
there would political and economic hell to pay.

Hackett grunted. "With the fall of Rythek, what other major operations
for slavers are even operable?"

Rogeti rubbed his cheek. "Omega, some of the ports on Ilium, the Suns
'workforce enablement' on Korlus, and the few batarian holdouts in
Ralas. Ralas is a damned fortress with well over three hundred ships of
the Hegemony fragment and a half-dozen star-bases. Omega is … well,
Omega. Korlus is poorly defended, but most of its industry is in
ship-breaking and hazmat, not slavery."

Branson nodded. "If she hits another place, is it likely she'll go after
Korlus, or Omega?"

Ahern snorted. "She would be fucking stupid to head to Omega – or Ralas.
You'd need dreadnoughts to crack either, and I don't see any evidence of
her having that, thank God. And while there's a lot of slaves on Korlus,
every one of the targets so far was into active slaving operations, not
just having slaves. Attacking Korlus or Ilium makes no sense."

Branson's frown deepened. "Then what is the goal, if not the
obliteration of slavery? If we know her goals, we can at least make an
attempt at predicting her next target."

It was the voice of Dragunov that answered. "That is obvious. She's
going after every slaver port that could be responsible for the abducted
colonists. The slaver groups in the Silver Rim on the far side of the
galaxy haven't even been touched."

Rogeti shrugged. "I still do not see the problem."

Dragunov's eyes flashed. "The problem, Admiral, is that thus far, we've
maintained that these disappearances were caused by slaver raids –
despite the troubling lack of evidence to prove this. If another such
occurrence happens it will not be so easy to dismiss when all the
slavers that might accomplish such a thing have been obliterated."

The Fleet Master steepled his fingers. "That is the troubling thing, in
my mind. I suspect that there is some additional reason this Butcher is
targeting the slavers. As Admiral Branson mentioned, we are going to
have … issues … if the involvement of some parties is known – but we'll
have more problems if another wildcat colony goes dark and we have no
one to blame for it."

Tyrson spoke. "We've moving off the topic. The concern is the Butcher,
who is backing her, where she's getting her ships from, and why. It
can't be the Broker, or P., or Aria. Who exactly does that leave with
the kind of money to do this?"

Branson leaned back. "Most of the wealthier asari houses. Any of the Six
Clans of the salarians. Possibly the Deathwatch. Volus corporations and
the Noveria Corporation have the cash. AIS has already been looking
through the Lords and found nothing."

Admiral Okuda, silent up until this point, raised her chin. "None of
those actors have any reason to want to curtail human slavery or to stop
the vanishing of wildcat colonies. I think we're missing a bigger player
here, somehow."

Dragunov gave a sour smile. "In what way?"

The smaller Japanese woman adjusted her collar and smiled back frostily.
"Let's examine some things. Almost nine months after the death of
Shepard, a mysterious attacker on Omega begins slaughtering the gangs,
slavers, and eventually Broker agents, calling himself Archangel. No one
knows where this person came from, or how they became so powerful. Not
long after that, a pair of mysterious asari begin assassinating Broker
agents and backers on Ilium – again, out of the blue, no evidence of who
is backing them or how they are able to do what no one else has."

She gestured to the monitor. "Now, once again, we have a strange
assailant come out of literally no where and in little more than three
weeks reduce the equivalent of two full strength regiments and a battle
fleet to wreckage – and we don't have a single bit of hard physical
evidence. Nothing! I do not believe in coincidences of that nature."

She smiled. "When you change the question from 'Who wants slavers taken
out' to 'who profits from the mess on Omega, Ilium and the Traverse'
then we only have one possible culprit. The asari hate Aria and want her
taken down. They hate the fact that the clanless on Ilium run the place
and they have no foothold there. Most of all, they hate the fact that
any of their own kind get enslaved and held."

Okuda folded her arms. "These pirate networks were important to Aria AND
the Broker as a source of slaves, wealth, and no doubt as a buffer
against attack. But no slaver group would need to capture entire
planets. We know the asari have encouraged a great deal of human
immigration to their worlds, but the AIS is still reporting they are
trying very hard to vastly increase the amount of humans moving to asari
space. Is it possible the asari are behind the disappearances and are
using these various agents to clean up their tracks? That the completely
over-the-top savagery we see is designed specifically to make us suspect
another culprit?"

Branson's eyebrow rose, but it was Ahern who spoke. "That's pretty
far-fetched."

The woman shrugged. "No more far-fetched than any of the other possible
solutions we have. These attacks aren't the sort of thing salarians or
turians would do. They aren't the work of some random asari who got
pissed off at slaving. This is a highly financed and extremely dangerous
campaign, and I think we should consider very carefully the possibility
that it is designed to cripple the Systems Alliance."

Dragunov's eyes narrowed. "Take captives for their own use in quieting
the clanless, while weakening the Broker and Aria. Break clanless power
on Ilium, break Aria's power on Omega, make the Systems Alliance look
incompetent and incapable of protecting its people and convince wildcat
colonies to join the Asari Republic. And reduce markets and operational
area for P. to operate out of. It would be a … very brilliant play, if
true."

Ahern leaned back. "And I still say it doesn't fucking fit." He held up
a hand at the raised eyebrow of Admiral Okuda. "I'm not saying your
wrong. I'm saying there's got to be more to it than just this. We need
to make a concerted effort at reaching out to this Butcher and seeing if
we can get some hard answers before we start throwing wild accusations
at the asari."

Branson sighed. "We will have to consult with the High Lords and
undoubtedly the Commissariat xenopsychologists before reaching any firm
conclusions, I agree. Tentatively, however – we still are left with
uncertainty about who is responsible, the asari or another actor. How do
we respond to resolve this?"

Admiral Okuda smiled. "Send Delacor to make sure there's no clear link
between any large human interests and the slavers, to neutralize our
exposure. I'm not cleared on some of the Black Projects but I have
enough sense to know we probably were involved on some level – clean
that up first. Then, reach out to the wildcat colonies. Pull back Third
and Second fleet from the geth war-front for refit and rotate the less
stressed units of those fleets into RRU forces on a temporary basis, so
we can react to disappearances faster. Extend monitoring to the various
wildcat colonies that are willing to work with us."

She folded her arms. "And when the hardliners wildcat colonies hold out
or refuse to work with us – and you know they will, at least the older
ones like Freedom's Progress – and end up vanishing, fabricate evidence
that Aria's slavers are behind it."

Dragunov gave a thin, almost evil smile. "Ah. A trap within a trap. If
the asari aren't behind this they'll want to use that to have the
Citadel Fleets attack Aria. If they are, though, they know full well an
invasion would reveal that they were really behind it and will be
reluctant to strike. An elegant solution."

Branson nodded. "I'll draw up the plans and inform the High Lords." He
paused. "Admiral Okuda, if it turns out the asari are not behind
this...who do you think is responsible?"

The Asian woman's features took on a thoughtful look for a moment, then
she smiled thinly. "If it isn't them, then the only possible answer is a
player we've overlooked. A group with resources to build a fleet and
finance an army of war robots, who are determined to stop predation on
human colonies. A group that won't work with or even expose itself to
any outside interference."

Branson frowned. "But no such group exists."

The admiral smiled back at him. "Not anymore. But when you look at all
the facts, what other groups do we know of that had the kind of
capabilities I just described? I can think of only one."

The room was silent for long seconds before Ahern began to curse.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 11: Arc II : The Price of Freedom*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

/*A/N*:
/

/Hey gang.
/

/I managed to get another one out, because I didn't feel like going into
work today. Not a lot of energy to get up and do much of anything
really. Hopefully some of you guys and gals out there can get some
entertainment value out of this. I did my best shot at cleaning the
typos up on this one, but who knows what I missed. Thanks for all the
reviews and PMs letting me know you are still thinking about me. /

/Some non-Shepard stuff is coming soon. /

/While I certainly have no intentions of following canon, starting the
show with the usual placeholder seemed an interesting way to re-purpose
the bullshit that was Freedom's Progress, and also explain why the
colony looked like a pile of suitcases. /

/Reviews are always welcome.
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'...what in the actual fuck?'
/

/- Spectre Jason Delacor, upon seeing the wreckage of the /Vetra-sath
/war robot on Freedom's Progress
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shepard glanced around the communications room as she entered, the
glowing sphere of Vigil bobbing slightly behind and beside her. She'd
been in the middle of discussing ways to utilize the war robots when the
voice of Miranda came over the comm system, saying the Illusive Man was
calling. Given that his usual communications occurred only at announced
and specific times – namely, the beginning of each day – a sudden call
was probably urgent.

She'd run most of the way to the comms room, knowing it was likely that
a colony was under attack.

Still, she slowed her speed as she entered, letting her usual stride
take its place. She wasn't even close to sure she fully trusted TIM, but
she had definitely decided she didn't like the idea of him seeing her as
one of his operatives or anything similar to it, and part of that meant
keeping cool. She came to a stop at the sight of the faintly glowing
image in the middle of the QEC device, folding her arms. "I'm here."

The Illusive Man was usually very difficult to read, his voice too slick
and polished to find cues in and his facial expression like ice, but
even she could detect a hint of excitement and anger in his voice. "It
is time for you to justify the expense in bringing you back, Shepard.
We've just lost all contact with the monitoring drones we have in place
around Freedom's Progress, one of the more heavily bankrolled if
somewhat less populated independent colonies. Given that we lost contact
fifteen minutes ago, whoever is attacking is no doubt still there."

She turned to Vigil. "Wake up Joker and Tali, get the Normandy's core
online and be ready to move." With a thin smile she glanced back at
Harper. "I don't think taking the full fleet is wise in this instance,
since we don't know what we're up against, and the stealth capabilities
of the rest of the ships is only a fraction of that of the Normandy."

The Illusive Man nodded, lighting a cigarette, holographic smoke fading
sharply as it rose into the air. "A wise precaution, for multiple
reasons. Assuming there are survivors, they won't be likely to be
agreeable. Freedom's Progress was an old penal colony, taken over and
controlled by separatist groups that were once terrorists on Earth. They
are a fractious lost, but had a great deal of support from certain
corporations and the planet, while not terraformed or well developed,
had several orbital defense platforms, GARDIAN towers, heavy ground
defenses, and a literal army of LOKI mechs."

He exhaled smoke. "And despite all of that, whatever took out the spy
drones I had in orbit did so fast enough that we have no information on
the threat, and the one remaining FTL drone I have in the system is not
picking up any weapons discharges." He paused, taking a sip of a drink
to his right.

"Given that Freedom's Progress was the most paranoid and heavily
defended of the wildcat colonies and populated mostly by those well
acquainted with defending themselves, the concept that they were taken
without a shot is … disquieting. Caution is certainly warranted."

She frowned at that. "We'll go in careful and focus on gathering
information, not a fight. Anything else I need to know? Any reason in
particular this one colony would be hit, compared to the others?"

The Illusive Man took a drag from his cigarette, then blew it out
thoughtfully. "Possible. Freedom's Progress is a contentious settlement,
as I said, given its background – especially in the eyes of the Systems
Alliance. Miranda can brief you on the politics and history of the
colony. I doubt strongly, however, that the politics play a role here,
aside from the fact that it is a colony of humans not associated – and
defended – by the Alliance."

He gave a thin, narrow smile. "One more thing. According to my
information, the planet recently contracted a quarian technical support
cohort to assist with their terraforming equipment. We've seen
inconsistent results when asari are on the planets being hit – the
earliest attacks killed them all, later ones simply left them
unconscious with zero memories of what happened. Quarians have never
been on an attacked world before. If the quarians are still alive – and
unaffected – they may have useful information."

She curled her expression into a distasteful sneer. "After how the
Flotilla treated Tali and Joker, can't say I'm all fired up to rescue them."

The man leaned back. "I am not really concerned if you rescue them or
interrogate and execute them. My only concern is that they may have
useful information. What happens to them is up to you."

She arched an eyebrow. "You don't care?"

Harper gave her a level gaze, swirling his drinking in hand before
taking a sip. "The difference in working for me rather than the
Alliance, Shepard, is that the methods don't matter as long as the job
gets done. I merely provide the /information/ – it is up to you to use
it as you see fit."

He glanced at something to his left. "The only other thing of note is
that the colony was one of a number of wildcats that took a series of ..
loans and grants from the Vol Protectorate – ones my research show were
backed by the Shadow Broker. In fact, every colony hit so far has had
this same pattern. There may be a connection – find out what you can."

She nodded. "And if don't find anything of use? No hints of who or what
did this? No survivors?"

He shrugged. "Then withdraw without leaving any evidence. Being unable
to find anything will dictate a different path for us to follow. We can
discuss your next targets – or how you plan to move forward – when you
get back. For now, go to Freedom's Progress and determine what you can."

The QEC flickered and died, and she gave a huff of irritation before
turning on a heel, marching out of the room.

Vigil bobbed behind her. "Your ship is powering up. I have alerted Zorah
and the pilot to make haste. I have also loaded thirty war robots in the
cargo hold, in case you need ground support to offset your general
incompetence."

She nodded, ignoring the AI's usual verbal barbs, stalking back to the
main corridor. From there it took her almost two minutes to get to the
armory, and she pushed the doors open to find that Taylor was there,
fiddling with something on one of the omni-foundry tables. "Jacob, find
Miranda and tell her to get to the Normandy ASAP. Freedom's Progress
just got hit."

The black man nodded, straightening and dropping the barrel of whatever
he was working on. "Sure thing, ma'am." He rushed out of the room as
Shepard walked to a locker and began pulling out her armor.

*O-TWCD-O*

Joker's voice rang across the CIC. "Hitting solar boundary in two
minutes, Shepard."

From her chair in the CIC she nodded, glancing over the status repeater
overhead. The trip from the asteroid base she was using to the system
had been fairly quick – less than three hours in FTL and a single jump.
Freedom's Progress was only habitable planet in the system, along with a
pair of gas giants with borderline-quality HE3 and a massive iron-core
planet in close orbit around the star.

The colony had an interesting background – if Horizon was the capital of
the wildcat colonies in terms of population and culture, Freedom's
Progress was the financial and political center. Its wealth came from
the mines on the surface, worked by mechs – polonium, cadmium, and one
of the highest-grades and purities of platinum in the entire galaxy were
mined, as well as a host of other minerals and low-quality but cheap HE3
from the gas giants. Despite its wealth, the colony's actual
construction was still mostly collections of colony modules and
duraplast panels lining roughly hewn cave systems due to the survivalist
and minimalist culture of the world.

People who came to Freedom's Progress hated the Systems Alliance and
everything it stood for, and prided themselves on a certain stark lack
of material luxuries.

The colony, according to Miranda, had been established over thirty years
ago, and was currently lead by a man known as Kenneth Logain, the
great-great grandson of the founder of EAGL, George Lincoln Logain, who
had been the most virulent and difficult to defeat of the many enemies
opposing Victor Manswell in his unification of Earth. Even decades of
hard-line repression and Commissariat persecution had not stamped out
some of the fire from certain citizens of Earth, and Freedom's Progress
had begun life as a penal colony, a place to dump the disaffected, in
the years before the Commissariat had become so overwhelmingly powerful.

During the First Contact War the SA abandoned the inhabitants to
whatever doom awaited them, much like had been done with Horizon, and as
a result Logain's people had managed to take over, seizing control of
the weapons and equipment left behind, including the defenses. They'd
dug in hard, hacking the mechs that worked the mines alongside them to a
more militant spec, and declared themselves 'free'.

By the time the SA got around to trying to re-secure the colony two and
half years later, the colonists had already bartered some of their new
found mineral wealth to the various volus and salarian traders in the
area for much more effective defenses and a large host of salarian
multifunction mechs, useful for both mining and defense. Rather than
reconquer the place, the Commissariat suggested writing the colony off
and using it as a place to ship dangerously revolutionary types off to.
This had faded in the years since the formation of the Penal Legions, of
course, but it left Freedom's Progress as a very rough-and-tumble place,
not peacenik farmers or Luddites.

Shepard was not surprised that a place like Freedom's Progress had been
hit. The SA would hardly lose sleep over it and the isolationist bent of
the inhabitants meant that few would miss them. And if the colony went
missing someone would be more than happy to take over the rich mineral
wealth.

She sighed, grimacing at her trend of thought, and then glanced down the
nearly empty Ops Alley. The Normandy still was not fully crewed –
Miranda and Ezno were still doing some final checks on the personnel
needed to man the ship – but the handful of people on board were doing
their jobs well enough. She slid her gaze to the science station, a
spike of hurt flashing across her features at the thought of Liara, and
set her jaw.

"Alright, we've been in system long enough for the sensors to give us a
look-see. Report."

The science tech, an almost painfully thin woman known as Jennifer
Goldstein, frowned at the sensor panel before pushing her mass of
white-blond hair to one side of her face. "No ships in orbit, ma'am.
There appears to be an orbital defense platform...no power emissions. No
signs of FTL transit. No combat wreckage. Minor particle traces, very
exotic..."

Vigil's voice lanced out. "Typical, even your sensor scans are
substandard. Shepard, that 'particle trace' your sensors are barely
detecting is the result of what the Inusannon defined as jump drives.
Reaper technology. Since there are clearly no Reapers in orbit, whatever
is generating them must be landed on the planetary surface, or has
already departed. The signature is not defined enough for a full Reaper,
or even a lesser war-form. Caution would be advised."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "Battle stations, full stealth. Joker bring
us into low observable orbit, near the main settlement site. Chambers,
any communications?"

Kelly manned the communications panel, being capable of performing that
task given its relative simplicity. "None at this time. I haven't sent
any messages, but I'm not even picking up baseline landing guidance
beacons."

The Normandy dipped, and as they got closer to the orbital defense
platform, Goldstein gave a low whistle. "Damn. Ma'am, the station got
hit by something very powerful." She tapped her console and the galaxy
map was replaced by a digital image of the station, a good third of it
completely gone and large sections melted and deformed."

Shepard's eyes narrowed. "Analysis?"

Goldstein frowned. "Some kind of … iron slurry?"

Shepard exhaled. "Do detailed scans and send a probe droid to take
physical sample of the slurry. Reaper weapons leave that kind of residue."

She nodded. "It's in a shitty orbit, destabilized. Probably will hit
atmo and burn in another few hours."

Vigil pulsed. "Thus, leaving no evidence. Clever."

Shepard rubbed her chin. "While that's happening, scans of the planet?"

Goldstein shrugged. "Minimal power emissions from the main settlement,
and none from the outlying mining sites. GARDIAN towers are … functional
but not drawing any energy. There are some minor power sources near the
outskirts of the colony, but they could be anything from fuel cells to
private vehicle motors."

Vigil pulsed several times, then rose into the air. "I am unable to make
contact with any of the computer networks in the settlement. They've
been … destroyed … for the most part by some kind of polymorphic VI
attack, similar to the ones I use on our enemies. I suspect the defenses
were hacked and deactivated even as they blew the defensive station
apart. There's some activity on the ground near the colony center, but
it is disconnected from all hardlines. If you want that hacked you'll
have to go in on the ground."

Shepard nodded. "Any sign of ships, Reapers …. giant melted holes in the
ground from landing? When Nazara landed on Eden Prime it looked like a
plasma bomb had blown up."

Goldstein scanned for several minutes. "Ah. Yes, ma'am. Northern side of
the main settlement, half a click from the settlement itself. Heat
signature is fading. About thirty feet across...at the rate it looks to
be cooling, whatever did that has been gone for at least an hour and a
half."

Shepard shrugged. The Normandy had gotten here as quick as it could,
within four hours. It would be another day or two before anyone else
noticed the colony had gone dark. "No point in hanging out up here,
then." She tapped her comm. "Miranda, you and Jacob suit up, please.
Prep two shuttles and fill one with war robots, have it land first and
establish a perimeter. Tali,meet me in the shuttle bay." She paused,
then clicked the comm again. "Doctor Sedanya, also please suit up and
head to the shuttle bay.

Chambers gave her a somewhat surprised look. "You are talking the XO,
the doctor, and Tali?"

Shepard nodded, pushing back from the command plinth. "Tali held her own
when she fought with me, and there may be quarians down there that need
medical attention. Plus, there may be hints that only a doctor or an
engineer would see. We can't afford to stay here long or leave any kind
of evidence that we were here."

Kelly shrugged. "Who is in charge while you, the XO, and the Engineer
are off the ship then?"

Shepard rolled her eyes. "Vigil, of course. Have to stroke its ego somehow."

The sphere pulsed. "Ungrateful zombie monkey."

*O-TWCD-O*

Freedom's Progress was a militant cubist's wet dream.

The colony itself was built into an ice-shelf, which was the source of
water and electrically cracked oxygen, as well as hydrogen for fuel
cells and power. The shelf was pared back in neat, long strips,
surmounted by or impregnated by boxy colony modules. Heavy durasteel
bunkers and barricades, set off with omnigel stiffened sandbags and
carefully tended fire lanes, dominated every ground approach.

GTS missiles and GARDIAN towers bristled over the main colony stack,
towering a good six hundred feet into the air and armored with thick
slabs of star-ship hull material, omnigel and plates of dark iron. The
stack broke at its base into a a broad crescent of more boxy colony
modules around a landing area, with heavy machine-gun nests and sniper
towers sprinkled about liberally. The entire colony was surrounded by a
fifteen foot tall, four foot thick wall of rubble, scrap iron and other
debris smoothed over with a covering of heavy omnigel and topped with
kinetic barrier projectors ever forty feet.

Taking the place by invasion would have been a bloodbath. Yet there was
no signs of any fighting. The front gates, the massive doors from an old
Lancaster-class transport's cargo bay, were open, the heavy guard shacks
built out of spare duraplast panels empty and unguarded.

Shepard bit her lip inside her helmet, moving forward slowly and
carefully. She'd launched a sensor drone of her own to accompany the one
Tali had put up, and had turned her reflex settings as high as they
would go to allow her to react faster. Doing so gave her unpleasantly
ugly shivers and a slight dizzy sensation as she moved, but it was worth
the increased reaction time.

The ground was snow-covered and icy, the crunch of it below her armored
boots making the footing a bit tricky as she panned her Harrier rifle
around. Behind her, Jacob walked just as slowly, hulkingly large in his
custom-built Devastator armor, a lance cannon clutched in his massive hands.

Miranda and Tali held the flanks. Miranda's combat armor was little more
than a series of omni-armor plates over her armored form-fitting suit,
but Tali had additional bolt-on shielding systems and plates on her own
suit, along with the omni-shield generator. Miranda was keeping her self
in a loose stance as she scanned with her free hand, while Tali
monitored the take from the drones, her Reegar shotgun clutched tightly.

In the back, Doctor Sedanya walked along calmly, one hand ready with a
biotic shielding invocation if needed. Her field armor was much like
Miranda's, minus the extra scanning gear but augmented by a heavy pack
of medical support equipment. Her eyes flicked about nervously, and the
clear faceplate of her helmet revealed her tension.

The place was eerily, utterly silent.

They walked through the massive front gates, seeing slushy melted tracks
in huge numbers against the snow-covered metal decking. Shepard exhaled
slowly, tapping her commlink. "Vigil, status."

The ringing voice of the Inusannon AI came across the comm system in her
helmet. "My first group of mechs is approaching the landing site now. It
appears that a great deal of foot traffic lead to the area, bu the heat
of the landing has eliminated any tracks closer to the landing spot
itself. I have not seen any evidence of a firefight or resistance, and
chemical analysis reveals no accelerants. My second group of mechs is
circling the colony walls looking for anything of note. I am picking up
intermittent energy emissions from somewhere within the colony."

Shepard nodded, flicking the safety off her Harrier. "Keep the formation
tight. Vigil is picking up energy emissions."

Tali nodded. "So am I. Weak, but up ahead." She gestured towards the
right side of the colony proper, and Shepard lead them in that
direction. They passed by a series of colony module cubes, the glass
fronted windows of each showing the insides, and Shepard frowned as she
stepped into one, the door hissing open quietly.

The cube dwelling wasn't large – fifteen feet by twenty – and split with
simple metal barriers into a sleeping area with four beds, a mixed food
prep and eating area, and a corner with an entertainment system, low
couches, a rack of data slates, and a rack of rifles. A thin panel door
was cracked open revealing a bathroom.

Three cups of coffee sat on the narrow bar near the food prep unit,
along with a data slate still turned on to the morning's news. A
half-eaten bagel sat quietly on the plate. Three of the beds were made,
one was rumpled, the sheets flung to the foot of the bed.

Miranda glanced around, frowning at the weapons rack. "None of the guns
have been taken down."

Jacob eased the door of the bathroom in, and grunted. "Someone didn't
flush the toilet, and there's shaving foam on one of the towels. Sink's
full of water. "

Shepard nodded. They backed out and headed down the narrow, metal-grated
path, past a series of sandbags bunkered around a turreted set of
Hachimi light machine rifles. A data-slate lay on the ground, still in
the middle of a comms text call with someone, with eight minutes of
unanswered messages on it.

Next to it was a doll, half buried in slush, and three sets of small
environmental boots, set aside. Shepard frowned as they walked down the
path further, finally coming to the main plaza area.

The plaza was as deserted as everywhere else. An aircar was crashed into
a wall along the right half of the plaza, its doors open, the windshield
crazed with cracks. Heavy long lines of drag marks trailed from each of
the many doors in the plaza towards the landing site.

The omni-tool on Tali's arm flashed and beeped."Shepard, energy
signatures rising. From the west."

As she nodded, a heavy cargo crate shuddered. They all turned to face
it, weapons swinging upwards, when the sliding metallic front of the
crate was hit from within with a horrible clang, then separated
violently into metallic slats that flew a dozen feet away.

Stepping out of the crate and rising to full height was the heavily
armored, night-black form of a brand new MJOLNIR heavy combat mech. The
red cyclopean scanner eye blazed to life as the thing scanned the plaza
and faced them. "Adjusting target profiles, engaging hostiles."

"COVER!" Miranda screamed as she dove to her right, behind a heavy
concrete wall framing one of the colonization cubes. Tali ducked behind
another cargo crate, while Jacob flung himself backwards into a roll,
coming up in a firing position next to a different colonization cube.
Sedanya flash-stepped backwards twice, crouching behind the sandbags
near the turrets.

Shepard kanquessed up and back, coming out of her charge on top of the
colonization module Miranda had taken cover behind. "Taylor, take it down!"

The ex-Corsair fired, the heavy beam of light striking the mech clean in
the chest. The kinetic barrier protecting the mech shattered, but the
armor under it was barely dented as it stomped forward, optics flaring,
lifting its left arm. The hexagonal mini-missile tubes there exploded
into fire, six missiles flashing out to detonate across the area. Jacob
grunted as his cover crumbled and he was staggered, even as the machine
lined up its heavy mass accelerator to finish him.

Shepard snarled and fired, drawing its attention. Miranda scowled and
tapped her comm. "Vigil, heavy war machine on the ground! Need backup!"

The AI responded coolly. "I have noticed. The entire mech contingent is
now activated, someone is still down there hacking the system. I cannot
override them. Whoever is in control is clever – they've shifted the
mech's wireless systems off and instructed them to open fire on anything
that moves. My own mechs are busy holding off the mass of other mechs
from the main defensive station."

Tali opened up with her omni-tool, hurling explosive plasma blasts, as
Shepard moved through the kanquess in flashes almost too fast to follow,
coming out in mid-air twice to hit the MJOLNIR with heavy bursts of
gunfire before diving out of the machine's targeting arc. The mass
accelerator on the mech's arm fired anyway, blasting a four foot wide
hole in one of the nearby colony modules, and Miranda hissed.

"Shepard, we don't have the weapons to take that thing out! We need to
fall back!"

Shepard, for her part, only smiled, throwing herself into a biotic
assisted jump to elude missiles. She lashed out with her biotics,
flinging a shear into the nearby stack of construction equipment next to
the machine, then a hard push field to shove it all at the mech's feet.
The heavy tubing and sacks of plascrete made it shuffle for its footing,
and when it did Shepard kanquessed behind it, almost on top of the thing.

Dropping her Harrier as she came out of the charge she snapped her ODIN
out, using her biotics to anchor herself to the back of the machine. The
MJOLNIR swiped at her ineffectually, even as she shoved the barrel of
her shotgun into the gap between the armored sensor unit and the main
body and opened fire with a full burst. The machine staggered, smoke
erupting from its innards, and she pushed off. Landing with a exhalation
of breath she focused all her power into a single warp strike at the
missile arm, even while she threw a pull at it.

The warp energy ate into the arm and then there was a biotic explosion,
followed a moment later by a larger explosion as the ammo in the arm
cooked off. The resulting blast sent the heavy mech to the ground,
tearing away long stripes of armor and exposing the machine's internals.
Shepard landed in a graceful flip and immediately flung an EMP grenade
at it, stepping well back to make sure she wasn't caught in the blast of
blue-white energy.

The machine gave a heavy mechanical whine and then shorted out, even as
Shepard calmly picked up her dropped Harrier and placed it on her back.
"C'mon, Lawson. I was bitchslapping geth primes out of my way even
before you turned me into the Bionic Woman. It's just a goddamned mech."

Jacob looked at the now wrecked machine, then at Shepard, and then back
at the machine. "Shepard, the MJOLNIR is rated to take out light tanks
and entire squads. It bounced a round from my /lance cannon/."

Tali shook her head. "You get used to Shepard doing things like that."
She helped Sedanya to her feet, then tapped at her omni again. "More
incoming signatures, Shepard."

The next twenty minutes was mostly, from Shepard's point of view,
tedious. The mechs that assailed them were mostly lightly armored
humanoid models with light rifles and the occasional 'robo-dog'
suppressor units, nothing that was even worth her bothering to use her
ODIN on. A set of hovering rocket drones was no match for Miranda and
Jacobs' combined biotic attack, and the rest of the omnidrones generated
by a beefed up AESIR repair unit hacked into some kind of combat control
system were taken out by Tali's own drone swarm.

As they got closer to the main colony stack, they could hear heavy
fighting from the south and west, where Vigil's own mechs were clearly
clashing with the colony's mechs. Miranda scowled, and reminded Vigil
that they couldn't afford to leave evidence of their presence behind.

As they were passing yet another colony cube, they heard loud shouting
and pounding on the door. This particular cube had no windows and a
heavily reinforced door, one blocked by a big cargo crate shoved against
it. With a frown, Shepard used her biotics to shove it out of the way,
and a moment later the door was shoved open from the inside.

Three quarians stumbled into the open. Two wore the lighter civilian
suits of engineers, but the one in the lead was taller and bulkier, with
armored panels. None of them were armed, but they looked around in
confusion before staring at the party of humans, asari and Tali.

The lead quarian spoke first. "...not to be rude for freeing us, but who
exactly are you? You aren't any of Logain's people." The voice was deep,
rough, and sounded familiar to Shepard.

Tali immediately stiffened, and tapped her private comm channel while
muting her own speaker. "Shepard – that's a Migrant Fleet Marine Strike
Captain. The reik patterns of the other two are from the Rayya, the core
live-ship of the Flotilla."

Shepard grimaced behind her mask but kept her voice neutral, cutting in
the voice modulator of her helmet. "Greetings, quarians. No, we are not
associated with the forces of Logain. The entire colony appears to have
been … abducted, and the defense mechs are attacking."

The lead quarian shook his head, folding his arms. "Well, that's just
great. I'm Strike Captain Kal'Reegar vas Moreh. We're part of the
Quarian Mobile Engineering group, called out to help with Freedom
Progress' mining mechs. There were nine of us, but I'd sent all but four
of us back just yesterday to obtain additional parts."

Shepard nodded. She smiled at the sight of the now familiar Kal'Reegar,
but was glad he didn't recognize her altered voice. "I see. How did you
come to be locked in the crate?"

One of the other quarians, a female, gave a hard bark of laughter. "Two
of our party, Veetor and Prazza, were working on the other side of the
colony. Veetor had a suit accident and was delirious, Prazza was sent
out to get him. No idea where that ended up, but as we were working on
our suits in our colony module here, we hear screaming from outside."

Kal'Reegar nodded, unfolding his arms. "We didn't have our suits
assembled – the colony module is a clean room and we had our filters
out. By the time we got ourselves ready to move, the door was locked.
Not long after that we get a transmission from Prazza about "monsters"
and he starts screaming and then gets cut off."

The big quarian marine glanced around. "We're still trying to hack the
door open when we hear mechs moving and something big and heavy thumps
down outside. Then we hear Veetor on the line, saying the monsters are
coming. The kid's recycler unit was shot before all this, he's probably
half delirious from contaminants by this point. No telling what he's up to."

Shepard glanced at Miranda. "You have no information on what hit the
colony? Prazza didn't give any descriptions of these monsters?"

Kal'Reegar shook his head. "No, ma'am. He was a pilot, really, not a
soldier." He shifted his weight. "And while I'm happy you got us out of
that cube before we ran out of air or starved to death...what exactly
are you doing here?"

Shepard let her amusement color her voice. "Investigating the
disappearances. I was convinced it was something besides the slaving
pieces of shit I've been disposing of for the past few weeks."

The other quarian, a male, suddenly took a step back. "Oh Idenna's
Mercy, you're the /Butcher/!"

Shepard inclined her head. "Nice to be recognized."

Kal'Reegar scowled. Having been stuck with escorting around civilians
was more of the shit jobs he'd been stuck with since the Tali Incident,
when he'd been responsible for not properly securing the girl and ended
up getting her father shot. As a result, he'd been away from the
Flotilla proper for the past few months, and was more than aware of the
wild stories and fearful mutterings about the Butcher.

The grisly rumors and frankly melodramatic gushing on the extranet
aside, he didn't want to tangle with this group. The asari in white
armor was known to be extremely dangerous, but something about the
eerily smooth way she moved set his quills on edge. The other asari, in
the back, was clearly watching them for some kind of trouble, and the
two humans looked ready to fight as well, one clad in what looked like
powered armor and clutching a lance cannon.

The quarian with the group was the most disturbing, as the reik the
female wore was completely unfamiliar to him – the pattern didn't even
look /quarian/. The black-tinted faceplate and heavy cybernetic arm was
clearly the sign of an exile, but the vicious and clearly upgraded
Reegar shotgun in her hands looked too expensive for an exile to own.
The fact that she had said nothing at all when greeted with her own
people reinforced the idea in Kal'Reegar's head that this was probably a
dangerous exile and had no love for them.

This group looked extremely lethal. The last person Kal'Reegar had seen
who had made him feel this out of his depth and inadequate was when he'd
fought on the Citadel alongside Shepard.

The big marine folded his arms again and gazed at the figure in white
armor. "I'm certainly not going to miss the slaving bosh'tet types that
infested the Traverse, but that doesn't tell me why exactly are you here."

Shepard chuckled. "As I said, I've had my suspicions that whoever was
vanishing human colonies wasn't slaver groups. This is all too neat, too
spotless to be slavers. I need to find more clues or evidence before
I'll be taken seriously. The mechs of the colony appear to be hostile,
but someone is controlling them, which is getting in the way of my
search. I've already had to drop a MJOLNIR."

Kal'Reegar whistled and nodded slowly. If they were powerful enough to
stop a MJOLNIR mech, he wouldn't want to fight them even on his best day
with a full squad. "It is very likely Prazza'Mal is dead, but Veetor is
almost certainly alive – he is a brilliant programmer and our lead mech
interface tech, and the mechs attacking might be something he did. Very
possibly he used the mechs to seal us away from whatever … took … the
colonists." He sighed. "If he's as crazy as I expect, the mechs are
probably programmed to kill now."

She nodded. "What kind of resistance could we be facing?"

Kal'Reegar sighed. "We … weren't /only/ here for mining operations.
Times have been rough for the Flotilla, and we take a lot of side jobs
to make ends meet, some of them sort of shady. The colonists here had
gotten some prototype mechs for testing from the Salarian Union, and we
were working to adapt them to the colony network. Veetor had all the
access codes and overrides for the mechs, including at least three more
MJOLNIR … and the Vetra-sath heavy battle unit."

Miranda shook her head. "A twenty foot tall war robot designed to
counter battle-suits and heavy armor. It's literally bleeding edge
technology – we just started getting reports on it last month. What in
God's name was Freedom's Progress doing with this kind of military
hardware?"

Kal'Reegar shrugged, but the female quarian behind him snorted. "Who
knows? It was all mostly recent stuff – the MJOLNIR mechs we saw were
still in the shipping crates, they'd just been purchased a few weeks
back. Most of the mechs had been snapped up in the past two months –
Logain … had his ideas about who was behind the colony disappearances.
He feared it was the Systems Alliance."

Shepard shrugged. "Alright. So we have a possibly crazy quarian tech who
has probably coded the mechs of the colony to kill everything. I could
probably shut all this down by having my ship blow the defense center to
bits, but that would kill your friend. . . and any chance of him having
seen what caused this mess. Ideas?"

Kal'Reegar straightened. "Frankly, at this point, my only concern is
getting my people safely back to the Flotilla – including Veetor, he's
an admiral's nephew. We only have basic weapons – nothing that could
match a heavy mech. Your people are clearly more prepared for this, but
we can certainly help out in reaching Veetor – hacking, taking down
drones, adding our firepower to yours. If we assist you in finding your
evidence, can you help us find Veetor?"

Shepard paused, turning to look at Tali for a long moment. The quarian
girl groaned and tapped her omni-tool, shifting her voice to a deeper
timber and trying to sound more like Kiala. "I'm re-configuring the
drones to look for quarian life-signs, which will be difficult given the
density of the colony modules and the shielding inherent in our suits."

Kal'Reegar gazed at her, taking in the clearly artificial arm half
covered by a shoulder-pad. "You have not introduced yourself, fleet sister."

Tali's eyes narrowed and her voice took on a level of vitriol Shepard
had only heard from her when talking about geth before. "I am not your
fleet sister, tuho." She turned back to Shepard. "Fragmentary signals
from the north, possibly just outside the main colony stack."

The female civilian quarian engineer nodded. "That's the main mech
control and repair center, makes sense for Veetor to be there."

Shepard tapped her private comm circuit, killing her helmet's speakers.
"Vigil, can your mechs clear us a path to the following location?" She
transmitted the scanner reading, and Vigil's smug voice sounded in her
ear a moment later.

"Of course. I sent an avatar down to the surface, and am in the process
of reprogramming the mechs I've downed so far. I'll use them to police
up the scene once we leave. I'm also monitoring comms arrays – several
people have tried to reach the colony since it went dark and the Systems
Alliance just got word that they can't get a response from the FTL comm
relay. You have about five hours before elements of the nearest scout
flotilla hit the system." A pause. "Amusing. The nearest scout group
appears to be your old battlegroup.

She snarled. "Great." Clicking off, she slung her Harrier and drew her
ODIN. "We have a deal. Your people stay behind mine, try to use your
info-war systems and your drones to take out incoming drones and light
mechs. We need to move fast, the Alliance is aware of the situation and
… well, they're not likely to want news of this getting out. No idea
what they might do to your friend."

Kal'Reegar nodded, drawing a light rifle from its anchor point on his
back. "I'd like to think the Alliance was a better ally than that, but …
the faster the better. Veetor can't have much longer before he goes into
shock. We'll tag along behind you. Have you fought with quarian marine
forces before...ah, what should we call you?"

Shepard tilted her head. "Just call me Butcher. Who I was before this is
… dead. And yes, I have." She turned away, towards the command center,
and the rest fell in.

The next ten minutes went more swiftly as Vigil rerouted his remaining
war mechs to cover the group's advance. The few mechs they did run into
were swiftly deactivated by the quarians, who seemed to be very good at
remote hacking using omni-links rather than wireless systems. Miranda
passed the time quietly asking questions about what other defenses they
might face, as well as what modifications they'd made to the colony mechs.

Kal'Reegar's voice was grim. "Mostly repairs and augmentations to allow
them to do double duty as mining mechs or military ones, but the
Vetra-sath robot had augmented kinetic barriers and a Kaurkai Hailstorm
assault gun replacing its lower left arm. We upgraded the servos and
hydraulics on it and Veetor was tinkering with the onboard VI."

Jacob cursed. "Boss, a lance cannon has a bad chance at dropping a
MJOLNIR, but I might as well be throwing spitballs at a VS. That's the
kind of thing you bring a couple of HAMMRHEAD tanks or a full lance of
Agamemnon battle-suits to fight."

Shepard ducked past a fallen set of power conduits and made a dismissive
wave of the hand. "Meh, sounds like I'll finally get a fight. Aren't you
guys confident of what you did with me?"

Miranda groaned. "I'd rather not determine just what your limits
are...do you have any idea how much it costs to refit damaged blueware?
You are not invicible."

The mirror-faced helm turned to face Miranda over one shoulder, and
Miranda could almost feel the feral grin on Shepard's face. "It may be
big and tough, but you have clearly forgotten who you're fucking with."

Tali's voice was dry. "Nice to see you haven't lost any bravado. I was
wondering when you were going to do something to get us all nearly
killed. /Again/."

Shepard found herself laughing.

*O-TWCD-O*

The area near the base of the main colony stack – a conglomeration of
the core parts of several colony vessels, thick power conduit mains,
stacks of colony modules and thick plates of armor – was surrounded by
several low slung hardened plascrete bunkers, each one with heavy
kinetic barrier shielding over them. Two of the bunkers had holes melted
in them – the only battle damage Shepard had seen thus far – and the
generators atop each were slag piles of now cold metal.

Kal'Reegar stopped at the sight. "Those were capital-ship level barrier
generators! The bunker on the left was the primary armory, and the one
on the right was where the colony leaders met for official business.
Whatever melted them..."

Shepard sniffed. "Wasn't fucking around. Check. What about the main stack?"

The female quarian engineer, who Shepard had found out was named Forzan,
spoke up. "It was almost entirely given over to the power generators,
omni-foundries and the like – I admired the colonists for being almost
quarian in their re-purposing of equipment from the colony ships. It was
also part of the old penal colony, and not many people lived there..."

Shepard shrugged. "Alright. Which one is the mech control center?"

Kal'Reegar gestured to the right, towards a building with a series of
antennas atop it. She nodded and moved forward cautiously, stepping into
the semi-circular plaza area around the base of the colony stack.

As she did so, she saw an appalling splatter of quarian blood and bits
of what looked to be quarian armor, a moment before a heavy clanking
sound echoed through the thin air. Stepping from behind a tall stack of
cargo crates nearly as tall it it was, a heavily armored machine
emerged, covered in thick golden armor and emblazoned with bold, splashy
salarian script along the torso.

Unlike a human mech, the thing stood on three heavily armored, cocked
back legs shaped much like a salarian's legs. It had no head, two wide
bands of sensors crisscrossing the armored chest, and the shoulders
hulked higher than a human mech, to make room for the four arms. Each
arm was tipped with an omni-shield covering a different weapon – a
mini-gun of some kind, a multi-barrel grenade launcher, a heavy mass
cannon, and a weapon of four oval barrels surrounding some kind of
triangular opening.

Metal decking splintered or crumpled under its massive weight as it
stomped forward, a string of salarian speech in a dull tone erupting
from its speakers. Shepard's omni-tool translated it a moment later.

*"Obtaining targets. Obliterating."*

Shepard immediately kanquessed forward and then threw herself into a
diving roll, snapping out a pair of EMP grenades. They burst with a
flash of white light, but the robot ignored them, arcs of electricity
crackling over its surface.

Shepard tucked up against another cargo crate, tapping her comms.
"Kal'Reegar, the thing is EMP hardened?"

The quarian's deep voice took on a slightly sheepish tone. "Em, yes
ma'am. It's built to take on...well, pretty much anything."

Shepard sighed. "Alright. Have your people hit it with plasma and tie it
up with drones. Taylor, see if you can't use your lance cannon to weaken
the omni-shields over the weapons, and you and Miranda try keeping it
tied up with biotics. Sedanya, stay back and use your biotics
defensively to protect everyone."

Tali spoke. "And me?"

Shepard snorted. "You're with me. Watch for my opening and hit it with
your strongest attacks."

Miranda's voice was thin and tense. "Sh.../Butcher, /this is not
something we can take out with conventional weapons! The entire main
body is composed of Silaris armor!"

Shepard snorted. "I've got a lot of anger I haven't gotten out of my
system yet, and this thing is going to get it." She shipped her weapon –
Lawson was absolutely right about the damage that they could do with
that – instead prepping two hi-ex grenades and shifting her power
allocation to speed and reflexes.

She'd been playing with the kanquess, realizing she could control it
much more sharply with the blueware integrated into her bio-amp. She
took a deep breath and shifted her reflex controls to her cybernetic eyes.

"Try to keep up."

Kal'Reegar had seen some very impressive feats of arms over his career,
from Admiral Rael'Zorah taking out a geth ravager in hand to hand combat
to the psychotic mess aboard the Citadel during the Benezia Incident
with Shepard and her people. He'd seen powerful asari use their biotics
before.

Watching the Butcher was on an entirely different level. She flashed
into the air with a biotic charge so fast it left nothing but a blue
streak in the air, snapping out grenades and warpfire, then another, and
another – moving between each charge in mid-air, like she was teleporting.

The machine opened fire with everything, missiles and streams of fire
soaring towards her. She pushed off the ground biotically, flipping
/through /the fire without even taking a hit, arching her back to slide
over a missile that missed her by inches, to come down right in front of
the thing before it could re-target its weapons. A blinding flare of
biotic light erupted and the machine's entire front exploded into blue
warpfire, the sheer force of it sending the Vetra-sath staggering back.
Only its tripodal stance kept it from crashing to the ground.

The Butcher flashed away again, and immediately the two humans behind
Kal'Reegar erupted into their own biotic attacks, waves of light washing
over the machine, which was still covered in slow burning biotic fire.
There was a violent humming sound and then two heavy, shuddering
explosions that sent it staggering back yet another step.

Kal'Reegar launched his drone program then, along with his two fellow
quarians, hammering the machine with micro-missiles, as the bigger, male
human stopped his biotic attack to fire the heavy lance cannon at the
lower arm.

The machine steadied itself, smoke rising from the armor plating, and
raised both upper arms in an X-shape. Heavy omni-fields projected from
its arm assemblies, shielding it against the storm of missiles, while
the lower two arms began tracking and firing.

A single blast of mass accelerated flechettes, glowing white hot,
smashed out, tearing a cargo crate in half and blasting the hastily
erected biotic shield the asari the back threw up. That narrow blue wall
only held for a moment before sundering, scattering burning metal in all
directions, but it broke the inertia behind the attack enough that when
it struck the team's cover they all survived.

The male engineer quarian howled in agony as a splinter of decking
impacted his leg, denting the suit armor and sending him to the ground.
Jacob stammered out curses as his barrier came apart, flechettes pinging
off his armor for the most part, but a few nicked past the thick plates
of metal to draw blood.

Miranda hissed as her own barrier shattered, tucking herself back
further into cover as the flechette tore wide, angry holes into the
decking and plascrete walls around her. Tali used this moment to finish
a program on her omni-tool, a blast of plasma flashing out to not hit
the machine but strike a series of glowing power conduits overhead.

An explosion rocked the colony stack as hundreds of pounds of ionized
plasma fell upon the machine, overloading its kinetic barrier in a
single flash of white-red power. The Vetra-sath stomped through the
slurry, ignoring the molten metal the decking under its stomping feet
had become, but sections of the armor over its torso and right arm were
glowing white hot, while the upper left arm slumped into a mass of
sparking, slumping metal that slowly sloughed off the robot's side.

The machine continued to move forward, and Tali cursed. "Fall back! We
need cover!"

Shepard grimaced and focused, pushing her will and biotics onto the
heavy cargo crate she'd landed behind. She put all her force into a
throw field and launched it.

A moment later it felt as if her entire nervous system exploded, and she
fell to both knees gasping in agony. Alarms and warnings flashed across
her artificial vision as she coughed, droplets of blood and something
else spraying across the mouthpiece of her helmet.

The calm voice of the onboard VI medical system sounded in her ears,
which were ringing. "Warning. Power failure, biotic bridge components
six, fifteen, nineteen. Automatic shutdown initiated. Tissue damage."

She shook her head as she tried to clear her vision, her whole body
shaking, and managed to look up.

The cargo crate she'd hurled was some fifteen feet long and five wide,
heavily loaded with raw ore. She'd thought she'd be able to shove it
across the ground, tripping the machine up. Instead she'd lifted the
entire thing off the ground and flung it, striking it directly in the chest.

The neat white stenciling on the now deformed cargo crate read "1000
kilograms, crushed iron ore". The war robot had been smashed all the way
into the base of the colony stack, one leg sheared off instantly, much
of the robot's center mass smashed inwards.

Not taking any chances, Tali had been the only one capable of overcoming
her shock and awe enough to spray plasma over the mess of spilled and
crushed iron ore and splintered armor, melting it over and atop the
critically damaged war machine. A moment later she stood up, running
nimble fingers over he omni-tool.

"...I think you killed it."

Shepard winced as an agonizing bolt of pain tore across her skull, as if
someone had slammed an ax blade into her forehead. She coughed weakly
and shakily got to her feet. "Y-yeah."

Miranda and Sedanya both hurried to her side, the asari reaching to
stabilize her. "You need to sit down. Goddess of stars and sun, how
Athame's name did you /do that?/ A Priestess couldn't lift that
container, much less hurl it through the air!"

Miranda frowned, her omni getting information from the onboard telemetry
in Shepard's suit. "This isn't good. You completely blew out the
power-links and limiters from your bio-amp to your blueware! If you'd
pushed any more power into this you'd have fried your own brains!"

Shepard nodded weakly. "Yeah I … think .. I over did it. Having some
problems seeing, static in my vision."

Miranda's expression was both worried and furious, but she took a
calming breath, and nodded back. "Very well. We can't do anything to fix
it here, we need the med-bay back at our base. Can you walk?"

Shepard nodded. "...pretty sure I can."

Kal'Reegar slowly walked over to the crushed form of the VS robot, a
sixty million credit machine that had taken down multiple tanks and even
a pair of gunboats in a test demonstration. It had hundreds of pounds of
pure plasma dumped on it and had pretty much walked it off.

And the Butcher crushed it with a biotic /throw. /

The quarian strike captain swallowed carefully, his quills rigid, and
measured his tone into guarded respect. "...what in the name of the
ancestors /are /you?"

Shepard paused, the elongated helmet with its blank face plate tilting
to one side, before speaking a single word.

"Complicated."

*O-TWCD-O*

The interior of the mech control center was darkened, flashing telemetry
screens and security camera feeds flitting around a semi-circular plinth
of controls.

As Shepard continued to lean on Tali'Zorah's arm, she glanced around.
The room was dominated by the rows of racked computers, a bank of
vacuum-accelerated picosystem computers comprising the core of the
system. Bulky cases of various mech parts lurked in the shadowy corners
of the room.

Sitting in the middle of the displays, shaking and tapping various
controls, was a slender quarian. His mask had a hairline crack across
the faceplate, and the heavy pack on his back was blackened and melted
in several places. His movements were frantic, but almost clumsy, and he
swayed in place several seconds as he looked up.

Kal'Reegar stepped forward, hands empty and held wide. "Veetor'Nara, it
is me, Kal. Are you alright?"

"Kal? No, no no. All dead. Monsters coming. Seeking. Stinging. Won't
find me, no no no. Positron flow emitters to shield, increased
electrical discharge five point two seven nine nine six...can't find,
won't find, coming back. Must hide."

Jacob gave a sigh. "Maybe the whole six-pack is there if he can hack
mechs, but clearly the little plastic thingy holding it together is
missing in this guy."

Shepard found herself smiling at that, faintly, before stepping forward
herself, shaking off her dizziness. Static erupted across her vision for
a second but she kept her voice steady. "Veetor'Nara. We need your help.
We aren't here to hurt you."

Something about her cold, hard voice reached him.

"Are you ...Human...no no no. All humans gone. Taken. Stinging. Not
human. How did you escape?"

Shepard folded her arms. "We weren't here. We came after. Nothing is
going to harm you. We need to know what happened here."

The quarian shuddered. "Monsters."

Kal'Reegar frowned behind his mask, his faintly glowing eyes narrowing.
"That's what Prazza said. What happened, Veetor?"

Veetor touched his omni-tool, and the large display screen behind him
leapt to life. "Monsters. I was here, power conduit blew up. Hit my
support pack, cracked helmet. Fell out. Called for Prazza. Then the VI
collapsed. Never seen it … hacked so fast...whole network gone. Gone."

Shepard glanced at Tali, who gave a slow shake of her head. Shepard
spoke. "This looks to be a powerful system...how was it taken out so fast?"

Veetor's voice was shaky. "No way to know. Too fast. Tried to turn on
defenses, wouldn't work. No responding. All the mechs shutdown. Had the
manual reboot. Tried. Then the monsters came."

Tapping another control, an image appeared on the big viewscreen. It was
a large, cylindrical ship, sheathed here and there in spars of rocky
material, loops and whorls of hard, dark metal forming a support for the
core. Flaring energies lashed out at the ground with surgical precision,
then a dark cloud erupted from it as it began to land.

Veetor's voice fell to a whisper. "They came. Freezing. Stinging.
Insects. Took scans. Tried to, readings made no sense. No sense. Too
much energy, too much power." On the screen the clouds of darkness broke
into what had to be millions of what looked like fist sized winged
insects of some kind. They flowed like a wave over the colony, and every
time they touched a human a flare of some kind of greenish energy washed
over them, freezing them in place."

Sedanya leaned forward. "Fascinating. Some kind of … stasis? Is that
biotic? It can't be projected, there's no energy source..."

Veetor's voice rose. "Dark energy. Swirls of waste heat, spikes of dark
energy – recorded on my omni-tool, manually patched the main
surveillance cameras. Kept trying to reboot the network. Got a few mechs
to respond. Tried to help. Shut my people in clean room, keep them safe."

Kal'Reegar looked up. "That was /you/? Why?"

Veetor pointed at the screen, where the figure of Prazza could been seen
staggering, waving at the insects. The bugs flowed over him as if the
quarian didn't exist, until he pulled out a weapon and started firing at
them.

Then two flares of light erupted from behind him, revealing tall beings
in heavy drapes of black, hexagonal patterned cloth. Hard carapace like
skin and bunched, heavy muscles moved, and the two figures literally
tore Prazza limb from limb in a matter of seconds. Yellow glowing eyes
glanced around, as more of the things descended on what looked like vast
wings.

Miranda's voice was filled with horrified awe. "Those are Collectors.
Dear God, the Illusive Man was right."

Shepard frowned at Miranda's thoughtless statement, but the quarians did
not seem to have noticed, horrified at the sight of Prazza's brutal
murder. Veetor's voice was quieter, even as the figures began collecting
the humans and piling them into organic looking hover-pods of some kind.

"They subdued the colony so fast. Stinging insects got everywhere, into
everything. I stayed here. I hid, didn't moved. Insects came in, left.
Monsters took everyone. Hundreds of them. Some piled into the pods. The
rest..."

Shepard could only watch as mass of paralyzed humans not gathered up
began to move, jerkily. While hundreds, perhaps thousands were being
loaded into the pods, the humans that were ignored slowly got to their
feet and began to walk to the ship.

Shepard's breath caught along with Tali's when they saw the skin of the
humans begin to shrivel. As they staggered along like zombies, their
flesh began to contract and writhe, dark blotches of corrupted matter
erupting over them. Their eyes exploded in sprays of vapor and burning
blue dots erupted into each set of sockets, as their flesh grayed from
moment to moment.

"Husks. They turned most of the colonists into fucking /husks/.
Motherfucking Reapers."

Kal'Reegar stared and then turned to Shepard. "...wait. I know that
term! That is what the geth did to the humans of Eden Prime!"

Shepard nodded grimly. "Yes. Yes it is."

Kal'Reegar's voice grew hard and grim. "The collectors are allied with
*/geth/*?!"

Tali's voice dripped with hatred. "Worse than geth."

Veetor's hands touched another omni-tool control, the images shifting.
"They took them all. Marched them to the ship. Hauled away the bodies.
Insects ate up the blood, ignored me. Then they left. Rebooted the
mechs...yes. Set the defenses...killed the wireless so the monsters
couldn't hack them. Safe now. But they'll be back for us. No one
escapes. No one escapes..."

Kal'Reegar slowly approached Veetor, carefully taking a hold of the
smaller quarian's arm and gently pulling him away. "Butcher. Veetor
needs...medical care. Assuming our ship is unmolested, we can take care
of him there. You are free to take whatever data you need from this
place, and I'll copy whatever Veetor has on his omni and give it to you
as soon as we stabilize him."

Miranda's voice was cool. "We might need to ask him more questions..."

Kal'Reegar's voice took on a pleading note. "Ma'am, he's not in any
condition to really answer much of anything. The longer he's like this
the more of a chance he'll go into toxic shock and die."

Tali's voice was as cool as Miranda's. "There is more at stake than the
life of one /quarian/. Doesn't the Flotilla still fill your heads with
the trash that the many are more important than the few?"

Shepard held up a hand. "That's /enough/. Kal'Reegar, take your … nutjob
friend and go. Vigil, can you copy Veetor's omni from where you are?"

The smug voice rang out across the open comm. "Already done, primitive.
And here I thought human programming was sloppy...quarian data integrity
is appalling."

Kal'Reegar gave a confused look at Shepard, then at Veetor's omni, which
flickered and flashed red as it showed it had been compromised. "How in
Idenna's name – "

Shepard's voice was almost amused. Almost. "You really, really don't
want to know, Kal'Reegar. Like I said, we got what we needed. Take your
people and go."

The big marine almost said something else, but the male quarian engineer
laid a hand on his armored shoulder. "Kal...can we not antagonize the
asari who just c/rushed a trht'a war machine with her mind/? Veetor
needs help now."

Kal'Reegar exhaled. "Of course. Thank you... Butcher." He paused. "I …
fought briefly with Sara Shepard on the Citadel. I can't help but think
she might approve of what you've been doing, but she was more than just
a killing machine."

The laughter from the Butcher was ironic, cold, and terrifying. It
wasn't a fun sound, full of pain and something darker, something worse,
something not entirely sane. "Yeah, and look what that got her in the end?"

Kal'Reegar nodded, hooking an arm around Veetor and lifting the
delirious quarian over his shoulder. "All the same...I thank you for
helping me to save Veetor's life...and for saving ours. We would have
died in that crate when we ran out of air otherwise. Keelah se'lah."

The other two quarians bowed shallowly, following Kal'Reegar as he left.
With a sharp exhale of breath, Shepard shook her head. "Tali...I know
that probably wasn't easy for you...I appreciate you keeping it together."

Tali nodded sharply. "That at the end wasn't easy for you either, Sara.
And Kal'Reegar … wasn't a bad person. But when my father hurt Jeff, he
acted to … restrain me instead of my father. That, I won't forgive him
for, ever." She shook her head. "Doesn't matter. Let me download this
from the system … do we leave it here or wipe it?"

Shepard looked at Miranda. "Thoughts? Cluing the SA into who is behind
this shit might help us down the line."

Miranda nodded slowly. "True. But we've let the quarians go – they'll
tell their bosses the Butcher was here. I don't know if they'll buy that
pieced together video of Veetor or not."

Jacob folded his arms. "What do we have to lose by letting them view it?"

Shepard shook her head. "Nothing. Jacob, Sedanya, Miranda, get back to
the shuttle and bring it here. I'm going to record my own message for
them while Tali copies everything. Then we pull up stakes."

Miranda frowned, putting her hands on her hips. "Shepard..."

The woman in white armor just turned away. "My show, my rules. Right?"

*O-TWCD-O*

"Captain Delacor, we're here."

Humanity's only Spectre nodded from the command chair of the SCV Kazan,
grimacing as he awaited the reports from the sensor probes. After being
in command of Shepard's old task force for the past two years, he was
beginning to wonder if he should have turned down being a Spectre.

They paired him with the irritating traitor-bitch made into an officer,
Ashley Williams, who seemed to dislike him on some intense, internal
level he never understood – that was when she wasn't distracted by her
toddler son, Kaisen. The woman was a good solider – a great soldier,
actually – but intolerant, too religious for his taste, and constantly
comparing him to Shepard.

The idea of someone seeing Shepard as a better Spectre – or anything
else – than him was as infuriating was it was darkly amusing.

As he watched the science team examine their data, his eyes slide to the
stiff, disapproving form of Commissar-Colonel Jiong. Another one of
Shepard's old people, the stiff-faced Commissar was constantly watching
Delacor for signs of disobedience.

He'd been informed right after being tapped for Spectre that the
Commissariat knew about his links to General Rachel Florez, including
how he was sabotaging Shepard's career on her orders. He'd protested
that he was indeed following orders from a superior, orders he agreed
with given Shepard's mental issues before she'd become a Spectre, but
Jiong had sneered and looked as him as if he were road fungus.

Two years of being under the spotlight. Two years of people comparing
him to a woman they'd turned into a saint, ignoring her past, her
bloody-handed murderousness, her cruelty. For a while towards the end of
her life he'd softened his views on Shepard, but two years of being told
that despite surviving everything he'd gone through – a dead wife, dead
family, dead world, dead unit, and every misfortune possible – that he
was not even good enough to truly fill her shoes had infuriated him.

The fact that they just recycled everything that she'd earned to give to
him was even more insulting. Admiral Ahern outright hated him, and
Citadel Councilor, Udina, rarely if ever gave him the time of day. The
battle duty officer Cole still served on the Kazan, but was requesting a
transfer to Eden Prime – and the weapons officer, Colms, who had
survived the destruction of the Normandy, had surrendered his commission
and become some kind of goddamned Shepard fan-boy.

The apologetic voice of the science officer spoke. "Sir...we have some
initial signs on the surface of combat, very fragmentary. Looks like
something huge must have landed north of the colony...there's a few
wrecked mechs here and there, but not enough to account for the expected
mech population...and no life signs whatsoever."

Delacor nodded. "Comms activity? Defense networks?"

The comms officer, a mousy looking lieutenant named Traynor who always
looked like someone had kicked her puppy, gave a morose sigh, then
frowned. "...there's an incoming signal."

Delacor straightened, as did Jiong. "Primary screen."

The view of the galaxy map flickered, showing a shadowy room filled with
computer equipment. Light filtered down dimly from above, casting the
figure standing in the middle of the image into a jagged half-light of
hard angles and shadowy recesses.

The voice that spoke sounded vaguely familiar somehow, with a ringing
contralto that had a hint of anger and something else in it. "I can only
presume that our cousins in the Alliance will eventually show up to
investigate the vanishing of more humans from one of your independent
colonies. I am sorry to tell you that no waves from this shore will ever
see the sea again."

The figure stepped into the light more clearly, the bone white armor and
asari-style helmet instantly recognizable. "I am the Butcher. As you no
doubt have discovered by now, I have been cleaning up the mess in the
Traverse for the past few weeks. I was thinking the colonies were taken
by slaving filth, which I put to the fire and blade in the manner that
would make a Justicar – or our lovely Commissar cousins – proud. The
guilty, as I believe you say, must burn."

Jiong smothered a small grin. "I like this Butcher."

Delacor rolled his eyes. "You would. Quiet."

The Butcher folded her arms. "Sadly, the criminals here are not some
band of vile batarians or honorless turians. A quarian engineering team
was on the world and one of their members captured video of who took
your colonists. I have made copies of it – I have my own mission to
complete – but I left the originals on the computer banks here. I have
no doubt your own experts will need to verify they aren't fabrications,
but the quarian party here was with us when we found the data. The
person in charge of that party was a Strike Captain Kal'Reegar vas Moreh
– he can verify that what we found is … very real."

The woman raised one hand. "I am aware – more than you are – of the
nature of your human government, of the dissonance between the acts of
the public eye and the true power of your version of the Thirty. I am
aware your people suppress a great deal of the truth – as do the asari,
and the salarians, and no doubt every other race. But this threat goes
beyond your pitiful politics, or your paranoid worries of survival. Did
not your Victor Manswell say 'Some threats are worse than that of
death'? This is one."

The figure leaned forward. "The ones abducting your colonists are the
Collectors. And they are using Reaper technology. If you don't know what
that means, notify Fleet Master Dragunov – assuming the vile bastard is
still the Fleet Master – and President Huerta, along with the High
Commandant. The threat is dire and cannot be ignored."

The Butcher leaned back, glancing at her omni-tool, and amusement and
something darker colored her voice. "By the time you get this we'll be
long gone, don't bother trying to track us. I'm sure your masters are
worried about me, but you have an entirely more serious problem on your
plate right now."

The figure tilted its head. "I made a bit of a mess down here, but
there's a prototype salarian war droid just outside the place where
you'll find this message coming from. Tell the Salarian Union their shit
is weak and I've taken harder shots in a bar than from this thing."

The image flickered out. A moment later, Ashley Williams covered her
mouth to hide a smile. "I gotta say, Skipper, for someone 'play-acting'
at being as hard as Shepard was, she's got the lingo down.

Jiong coughed. "Quite. That was very nearly as Neanderthal as something
she might have said herself." His expression dropped into sadness for a
second before blanking and turning to face Delacor. "I presume you will
wish to communicate this to the Admiralty?"

Delacor sighed. "Yeah. First, though, let's get down there and see what
we can find. Have Cole and Chief Engineer Patrick meet me at the pinnace
with Beta Squad." He grimaced. "Let's go, Williams."

She nodded, as did Jiong, and Delacor headed for the lift. He had a bad
feeling about this.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 12: Arc II : Oops, I did it again*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

/*A/N*:
/

/Hey gang.
/

/I did my best with this one. Thanks for those of you who helped out on
Google Docs. Some of you will notice ideas you had sent in PMs appearing
here, thank you.
/

/The chapter kind of jumps around...lots of things going on at the same
time. /

/Reviews are always welcome.
/

/EDIT 8-27-15 for stupidity/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'The guy's last partner got killed by a fucking meteor strike. IN
SPACE. What in the Five Oceans did I do to piss you off now?'/

/-Tela Vasir, upon learning she was partnered with Jason Delacor/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The return to the asteroid base was done as swiftly as possible, the
Normandy's stealth systems on full as she flew through the deserted FTL
lanes towards home base.

Getting back to the shuttle had been a bit of a trial, as Shepard had a
bit of difficulty with walking and her eyes continued to malfunction. As
a result, once they were safely aboard, she ended up spending the bulk
of the travel time in the sickbay, connected to diagnostic scanners, as
Tali and Miranda spent a good twenty minutes getting her hooked into the
specialized medical bed and Taylor took her armor up to her quarters for
her, promising to clean out her helmet where she'd spat blood into it.

Sedanya made clucking noises over the minor wounds Shepard had taken,
all of which had already self-healed, the artificial skin slowly
regrowing. Shepard rolled her eyes and leaned back, going over the
mission in her head.

Static interrupted her vision now and again, and the slight nervous
tremors she'd had after the throw she'd performed were getting worse. As
Miranda made a copy of the diagnostics and headed to her office to
transmit them and the mission report, Tali sat and chatted with Shepard,
while Sedanya moved to the workstation in the far wall of the med-bay to
begin reviewing the medical data from Shepard's onboard medical VI.

Tali's voice was quietly wry as she spoke, tapping her omni to make her
face visible through her mask.

"You know, Sara. After seeing video of you punching out that Geth Prime
and now this, I think you have a problem with blowing yourself up when
taking down big robots. Perhaps you need what Jeff calls an intervention."

Shepard snorted. "Don't forget the Colossus on Noveria."

Tali shook her head. "That one doesn't count, Liara blew it up." Her
voice was sad for a second, and Shepard forced herself to smile.

"Yeah. God, if Liara hadn't stopped that blast, we'd all have been dead
right there." She swallowed, and Tali squeezed her shoulder, still
marveling at how natural said shoulder felt.

After a moment of silence, Shepard's blue eyes flickered to Tali's
faceplate. "I probably shouldn't have taken you down there. I didn't
know what we were heading into and there were quarians down there, so I
figured it would be a good idea." She paused, searching for words.
"Ahern would be ashamed of me, the way I'm acting. You'd think I'd have
learned a bit more sense by now. It's just..."

Tali squeezed again. "It's okay. I needed to go, I had to see … how I
felt facing my own people. And you needed me to go. After feeling
useless and unable to help for years, it is /nice/ to be needed." She
smiled sadly. "I'm the only one from the old squad still around, after
all. I didn't go through hell with that bosh'tet Ahern to sit around on
the ship, Sara. You know I have your back if you need it."

Shepard nodded. "And as much as I hate to admit it, Tali, I do. I have
no fucking idea what I'm doing. How to feel. When I go into battle it's
like the old Butcher just comes out and … moves me. I'm not even aware
of how I move sometimes because I keyed my reflexes to sensors that
process faster than I can think. I was dodging the fire down there
because the computer in my head calculated the trajectory of the
accelerator rounds before they even fired and got me out of the way.
Like a puppet." She sighed. "I worry..."

The smaller quarian woman bit her lip. "About?"

Shepard twitched, grimacing as static flooded her vision for a second.
"Lots of things. I worry about how much of me is me and how much of me
is a goddamned move-by-wire robot. Sometimes I start to think 'hey, this
is kinda cool' and then I remembered I fucking /died./ I worry about
what's going to happen when the truth finally comes out. How people are
going to react. I worry about the shit down the line. I worry about the
fact that Miranda and Wilson still won't level with me on how long I
really have before my zombie ass starts coming apart at the seams."

She lifted a hand, closing it into a fist slowly. "And...shit, Tali.
Watching that pack of evil fuckers just /murder/ an entire colony like
cleaning out an ant nest was bad shit to see. The stupid bastards down
there had an army of top-tier mechs and enough firepower to hold off an
invasion and the Collectors just … treated it like an /irritation/.
What's to stop them from pulling this shit on a more heavily populated
world?" She swallowed. "I worry most of all I'm not good enough to stop
them."

Tali turned to face her directly. "You aren't in this alone. We are
going to stop them, Shepard. You stopped Saren, you stopped Benezia, you
stopped that krith'tet Ylana. You stopped Balak. You can stop this too."

Shepard smiled sardonically. "We were lucky not to get killed against
Saren and almost did. Ash killed him. Benezia beat my ass like a drum,
Liara dropped her. Ylana was too crazy to do any damage and Balak...I
still don't even know what he was really up to, or if I stopped it or
played right into his hands. I feel like a fucking fake."

Tali tilted her head. "What kind of 'fake' smashes a twenty foot tall
war robot with a basic biotic attack?"

Shepard gestured at the scanners. "The kind of fake that can't do it
without blowing herself up. You can see where that got me." She sighed.
"I don't mean to act like what Ahern would call an emo shitfaced clown.
I'm just...the scale of this shit just hit me."

Tali nodded. "It hit me too. It hit me when they first showed me what
was left of you...but …" She looked down at her hands, one hidden away
by the suit, the other artificial steel and myomer. "Neither of us is
the same as we used to be. Half of me is gone. My family is .. lost to
me, everything I struggled for and worked for in my old life is gone.
Down there, looking at my own people, I felt nothing but … hate. I used
to wonder how Kiala could be so mean and spiteful to me. Now I wonder
how she was able to hold back her resentment."

The young quarian woman's voice tightened. "And then I look back at my
own life and how /stupid /I was. I remember being irritated at those
asari engineers back at Pinnacle because they didn't drop everything and
explain their technology to me, as if I was still the admiral's daughter
and the world rotated around me. I complained about being sheltered and
being seen as nothing more than a puppet...and then when I'm on my own,
I spent most of my time whining I wasn't important."

Shepard frowned. "Tali..."

Tali shook her head. "No. I get what you mean. You worry you aren't up
to the task. But I guess what I'm saying is that I feel like a fake
sometimes too. I followed in your wake because I was scared of losing
Jeff. And when I convinced him to come with me, I didn't stand up for
myself or him. I let Jeff get hurt. Then I ran away. And now I've tied
myself to an organization that is best known for killing aliens, and
I've dragged the only other friends I have into it as well."

She folded her arms. "Sometimes we have to stop telling ourselves that
we can't do it – there's no one else." Tali smiled, displaying sharp
teeth. "Or as Ahern would put it... tell yourself you're the baddest of
the bad and keep stepping."

Shepard chuckled. "You've gotten good at this motivational speech thing."

Tali shrugged. "I had to … do that a lot with Jeff, I guess. He is down
on himself a lot. After you … well, died – he blamed himself. That if
he'd been healthy he could have gotten himself free, and gotten Pressly
out of there, and you wouldn't have gotten killed."

Shepard sighed. "What bullshit. I'll talk with him. Whoever took us out
was after me – they turned away from the escape pods the second I
transmitted. I knew I was dead the moment they started shooting the
pods." She grunted. "I guess I should have picked up on that.
He's...quieter than he used to be. But I'm not much better at picking up
signals."

Tali looked up. "Yes, he is quieter. But he is still good at faking, so
I'm not surprised you didn't see it. He lies to himself almost as much
as he does everyone else." The alien girl's eyes narrowed, the thin
bloodless lips drawing down into a frown. "And … I don't feel good about
it a lot of times. I love him – keelah, I love him so much – but I'm not
much of a consolation prize for having the shit beat out of you, losing
your career and being what he thinks is a disappointment to his parents.
It's up to me to keep his spirits up."

Shepard smiled, closing her eyes as another burst of static hit.
"Ugh...now the static thing is making me feel dizzy."

Tali patted Shepard's arm. "We'll be at the base soon enough and get you
fixed."

*O-TWCD-O*

When they docked, Miranda and Sedanya put Shepard into a hover platform
specialized for her form and transported her to the medical wing, moving
her into the support medical gantry that comprised the center of the
main medical room and then heading into the side room, an elevated
platform that overlooked the medical arena. As Shepard laid there,
Miranda's voice came over the intercom.

"Shepard, we're seeing some minor but serious internal damage. We're
going to have to swap the cybernetic eyes, so we are going to cut them
off. There's some damage to your internal heat sinks and the nerve
underlays to your blueware. Your cyberware filters are going down and
your pain editor is going on full, we'll be sedating you."

Shepard gave a thin, faint smile. "Whatever needs to be done." Miranda
nodded.

In the medical control room, Miranda grimaced and tapped a series of
controls on the haptic panel in front of her, glancing to one side as
Wilson and Saylish Six-Hawks entered the room from the far door. The
lean Sioux gave a soft sigh as he entered, holding a set of data
displays, while Wilson merely folded his arms.

Miranda put the two specialist doctors to work – Wilson would fix up the
cybernetic issues with the eyes and the gross repairs while Six-Hawks
would deal with the blueware and bio-amp issues. After giving them a
quick briefing and the diagnostic files, she waited patiently to review
their plans of action.

\Miranda nodded, as Six-Hawks finished. "That would appear to be a
workable plan. Make sure you keep in contact with the crash medical team
in case anything goes wrong, and I'll be nearby. I have a report to
make. Contact Chambers when you're done to run recovery." She turned on
a heel, walking to the lifts, organizing her thoughts as she headed to
the communications center.

Arriving in the QEC chamber a few minutes later, she tapped a series of
controls and waited. Roughly a minute later, the machine pinged
apologetically, and the golden-tinted image of her leader appeared,
sitting in his usual chair.

"Miranda. I can only assume, based on the report, that there is more to
the mission than a confirmation that you were successful."

She inclined her head. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry for the length, but there
was a great deal to cover."

He waved a hand. "Details. We'll get to those in a bit. Highlights first."

She took a deep breath and nodded. She knew Harper well enough to know
that the casual gesture was anything but. "Your surmise was accurate –
the Collectors hit Freedom's Progress. The various defenses they had in
place were singularly incapable of even hindering the assault. I've
already forwarded you recovered footage taken by a quarian engineer
on-site. He also collected various sensor readings, although I'm less
sure of what to do with those."

He waited and flicked something to one side of his chair a few seconds
later, watching intently. Several times during the video, the
blue-glowing rings in his eyes rotated, shifting as he focused, a minor
trait that never failed to send chills down Miranda's spine. She didn't
know what kind of cybernetic enhancements the glowing rings gave him,
and he never talked about them.

When the video was done, he leaned back, tilting his head slightly and
puffing on his cigarette before speaking. "Curious. Impressive
technology, or biotechnology to be exact, but it doesn't give us many
clues as to the why, only the who. What is your analysis, Miranda?"

She paused, thinking. "The Collectors seemed intent on capturing the
colony's population, nothing else. They ignored a great deal of already
mined, high value minerals on the surface and did not appear to engage
in any sort of salvaging. They were able to completely subdue all
automatic and electronic defenses as well as somehow elude both the
system sensor net and our own spy drones, and I suspect they probably
were suppressing any communications from the planet as well."

He nodded slowly. "And these insect-like swarms that caused the stasis
effect? Any ideas?"

She shrugged. "Only conjectural at this point, sir. Doctor Sedanya did
mention that the stasis effect looked biotic. The resolution of the
video is too blocky to provide many visual details about the swarm
components, but from what little I understood of the sensor logs, they
might be cybernetic."

The Illusive Man nodded. "Indeed?" He paused, reviewing something in the
video, then nodded. "If the logs match up with the video, there's a
spike of heat energy and hard radiation every time a colonist is put
into stasis. It is possible that such is powered by drawing on ambient
heat."

Miranda raised an eyebrow. The most basic power of pull used such a
method, but other powers were unable to due so for a host of reasons.
Being able to power biotic attacks via ambient heat was the holy grail
of biotic research, and evidence suggested the Protheans could do so.
"Is that even possible?"

Harper shrugged. "That would depend on if the quarian engineer's sensor
logs are accurate. Given the Collector's advanced technology, it seems
dangerous to presume otherwise." His voice took on a musing note."A
biotic machine, a replicable effect that can be used on the battlefield
– something not even the most crazed salarian or asari research can
produce." He shifted his position. "Along with our other goals, Miranda
– make it a high priority to see if we can't obtain this technology."

She nodded, and he examined his fingertips. "From the rest of the video
and logs, three points stand out to me. First, the capture was done with
a priority on stealth – the ship looked poorly suited to direct combat.
Second, the Collectors themselves can fly – a nasty tactical problem
when it comes time to fight them. Finally, the captured humans are all
young and strong. Everyone else was converted to husks, implying they're
doing /something /with the captives."

He puffed on the cigarette. "As I said, curious. You have no further
insights as to what we're dealing with, I presume?"

Miranda's mind went over the data in her head, but she shook her head in
the negative a moment later. "I am sure more can be extrapolated, sir,
but I don't have the frame of reference to do so." She paused. "Although
the fact that they're doing something with the vanished colonists leaves
me with a host of new questions. The Collectors are known for studying
genetic drift and the like, what could they be doing with the colonists?"

Jack Harper nodded. "Whatever the fate of the colonists, I find it
unlikely to be benign, given what they did to the rest. And turning into
husks is clever – they're not wasting resources. An army of husks would
be incredibly disruptive on any battlefield. The emphasis on stealth and
the ability to neutralize robotic and unmanned defenses means most of
the defensive preparations of the Alliance are of questionable utility.
And of course, without a counter to these swarms no form of combat can
be attempted. Boarding a vessel with those things on it is suicide."

He paused. "Although the fact they did not do anything to the one
quarian until he opened fire suggests, possibly, an oversight in their
methods." He took another drag off his cigarette before crushing it out.
"Should I expect a separate report from Shepard? Your report didn't
cover what happened to her besides saying she was hurt."

She sighed. "Eventually. There were...complications, and Shepard is
currently under repair."

Both eyebrows came up. "I must admit, after the way she tore through the
pirates, I'm rather disappointed something was enough to do serious
damage to her." His eyes flicked through the report again. "Which I note
a lack of details about aside from 'internal systems damage'." He
glanced up at her. "Details?"

Miranda snorted. "She did the damage to herself, sir. She destroyed a
prototype salarian war mech with a throw an asari priestess couldn't
pull off. There was some feedback from that throw, which damaged
heatsinks and her cybernetic eyes – the medical team is correcting, and
there are some design flaws in the original design spec Wilson will be
making improvements and fixes to correct."

He nodded. "Setbacks of that nature are to be expected. We had very
little time to test the various components before having to make them
all work with each other. And based on the trawls I'm seeing, whatever
she did stirred up a hornet's nest on the Citadel." The blue-glowing
eyes fixed onto Miranda's own. "Anything else of note?"

Miranda tapped her omni. "I've sent my preliminary report on the
mission. Overall, I would say things went well. We confirmed the
Collectors are involved and are using Reaper technology. We confirmed
they must have some method of stealth and we have a first look at their
suppression technology."

The Illusive Man placed his fingertips together, mouth forming a stern
line. "Unfortunately, the other aspects of the operation aren't going as
well. The financial cell is still good, but we've had setbacks in
keeping some of acquisitions in medical and aerospace hidden and had to
cut them loose. Mr. Massani is still not ready, tied up in some kind of
mess with his old partner Vido Santiago. Ms. Goto is on Bekenstein and
not responding to my calls."

He sipped from his drink. "We have no clear intel on the Sisters of
Vengeance or Archangel, although both have been relatively quiet the
past few weeks. Most disturbing, given the information you just found,
Mordin Solus is no longer on Omega – the good doctor got onto an STG
transport not long after Spectre Delacor's team reached the Citadel. I'm
still in the process of trying to localize his whereabouts, but it's
likely the STG has him looking into the footage from the Collector attack."

Miranda frowned. "I thought he was /former/ STG, sir."

The faint hint of a sardonic smile flickered on Harper's face. "I am not
certain the sobriquet 'former' has any real meaning to the STG. In any
event, we may have to improvise. The best bet is to go ahead with
Shepard's initial plans – move on Korlus and Okeer first, since he may
have some idea of what the Collectors are doing. Jack, at least,
shouldn't be going anywhere, and that will give my people more time to
localize Archangel and the Sisters." He paused. "What does Shepard plan
to do after she recovers?"

Miranda folded her arms. "We haven't had a chance to debrief and decide,
sir. Based on her personality, I would assume the most aggressive
options possible, such as going directly after Okeer and killing him
messily."

He nodded. "She very well might. In that case, let her know one more
thing. Shepard had a drone collect samples of the damage done to the
defense station in orbit around Freedom's Progress, the one that looked
as if the Collectors had attacked it."

He exhaled, reaching for a fresh cigarette. "The residue and damage
pattern done to the station matches almost exactly with the weapon that
destroyed the Normandy." He lit it calmly, smiling faintly as he inhaled
and then blew out smoke. "Just so she knows she has a reason to get
involved."

*O-TWCD-O*

The main thought in Donnel Udina's mind as he sourly considered the
people standing on the supplicant's pier in the Council Chambers was
bitterly wry, and he voiced it a moment after thinking it.

"Well, it didn't take long for /this/ situation to go bad, did it?"

He folded his arms, his usual scowl in place as his mind raced to think
of the ramifications of what the Council had just heard.

Captain Delacor's investigation of Freedom's Progress – an impromptu
affair that occurred solely because he was near the system and his boss,
Rear Admiral Schulman, hated him – had turned up a great deal of truly
disturbing ideas. The rather scattered footage from the colony – which
according to Delacor's comm officer, Lieutenant Traynor, was probably
pieced together from security footage routed to an omni-tool – was
hardly the highest in quality. But it had enough artifacts and angles
that the C-SEC forensic inspectors thought it unlikely it had been forged.

Watching the colony's fate had been chilling enough, but then seeing
many colonists be converted into what looked like the same sort of husks
that had been seen on Eden Prime turned it from merely bad to
panic-inducing. Udina had been somewhat relieved at the Shadow Broker's
proffered information, showing no Reaper activity that they could see –
but it was becoming very clear that perhaps their arm was longer than
originally thought.

Setting that train of thought aside, Udina worried more about the
political ramifications.

The idea that the mysterious beings known as Collectors were attacking
human colonies was a bombshell for a number of reasons. The Collectors
were only known in stories, legends and third-hand reports – a race of
enigmatic beings possessing bio-technology and advanced computer
technology far in advance of any of the Citadel species, making strange
and illogical requests and trades in return for such. The Collectors had
never been brought to battle before – the clients they typically dealt
with were deranged and sick bio-terrorists, sleazy corporations, or
slavers and pirates, none of whom had the need to attack such a
lucrative – and dangerous – benefactor.

From what little data could be gathered, it was known that the
Collectors were confirmed to be operating out of the Omega 4 relay.
Which, Udina sourly reflected, was about right for this mess. It meant
that not only did the relay seemingly act as a one-way trip for any ship
that attempted it, it was located physically in the deepest part of
Aria's space. Any kind of action to contain the Collectors directly
would either have to convince Aria to allow a warfleet into her inner
defense networks – or fight through them and subdue Aria before
commencing a blockade of the Relay – since an assault through said relay
was completely impossible.

That meant, even if the Alliance had the political will to fight back,
or the Council decided to get involved, the likelihood of being able to
do so successfully was nil. Aria had not tolerated any kind of deep
violation of her space – much less the system she considered her
personal fiefdom – in centuries. She would not tolerate such a long-term
incursion into her space for any reason that Udina found even remotely
likely, and the cost of maintaining such a blockade would be ruinous in
any case.

And aside from blocking the relay and destroying anything that came out
of it, there were not a lot of choices. Udina mused that there were
certain Alliance black projects that might be of use in at least
containing the threat, but he wasn't supposed to know about those, and
that would require some careful talking.

And, of course, that wasn't the worst of it.

With the additional information provided by Strike Captain Kal'Reegar,
standing next to Captain Delacor below, the situation only grew more
dire. The quarian party had done their best to record everything they
could about their contact with the mysterious Butcher, only to find
their omni-tools and recording devices had been somehow hacked without
them even knowing. The technical skill it took to do so was daunting.
Their feedback on the Butcher's terrifying combat ability was only
matched by the bafflement in being unable to locate the ship they
entered the system in.

Even worse was Delacor's initial report on what they found at the site.
The Butcher had completely obliterated a giant war robot single-handed,
with a feat of biotics that Tevos called impossible. The images and
records of the smashed machine, covered in melted iron ore, was its own
proof. No one knew who the Butcher answered to, or where she was getting
her ships, or her impossible capabilities in stealth, in hacking, and
now in biotics. And there was no guarantee she wouldn't turn on them
tomorrow.

The message she'd left for Captain Delacor, in particular, was extremely
troubling, as it suggested the Butcher not only was deeply familiar with
the Alliance but disapproved of it's methods. Particularly, the
reference to Fleet Master Dragunov as a 'vile bastard' piqued Udina's
interest, as it suggested the Butcher knew him personally.

He chuckled. It was a real shame Shepard was dead, she'd have gotten a
real kick out of this crazed homage to her.

The final problem, of course, was of how to respond. With the nature of
the situation thus laid out, the Council was continuing to discuss the
issues. The Council Chamber had been emptied of onlookers and the like
even before the report started, and now it was little more than Delacor
and his people, Kal'Reegar and the quarian team, the Council itself, and
the so-called High Spectre, Jondam Bau, standing to one side listening.

Udina turned his attention from the sardonic expression of the salarian
agent to his fellow councilors and their reaction as they continued to
question the people before them. After a second review of the report,
Sparatus was the first to speak. "You are /sure /she said 'Reapers',
Strike Captain?"

Kal'Reegar nodded, his broad shoulders squared up under the bright
lights above. "Yes, sir. We didn't pay a lot of close attention to what
was being said – I'm afraid we got sloppy and assumed our omni-tools
would record everything. But the sheer hate in her voice is something
you don't forget." He paused. "I remember that she didn't sound real
surprised. Angry and pissed, but not surprised."

Sparatus leaned back, talons tapping on the edges of his plinth, gaze
narrowed. "The knowledge of the meaning of that word is something we've
kept a very close rein on. Are you aware of what it indicates?"

Kal'Reegar shifted slightly in his stance. "Only by association. I know
I heard Shepard and her people say it a few times when I was with them
fighting on the Citadel. And that Admiral Zorah has a standing order
that any mention of the word be forwarded to the High Admirals
immediately." He paused. "Given that she mentioned it along with the
husks, I'm guessing it had something to do with the mess during the
Benezia Incident?"

The quarian councilor, Thin'Koris, nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. There
are a sharply limited number of people who know about what the Reapers
are. This Butcher seems to be one of them, which worries me since I
cannot think of who she might be."

Tevos ran a hand over her crests. "While I agree knowledge of this topic
being known outside the controlled circle of people originally informed
is troublesome, that is not the only thing the tide has revealed. The
more worrisome aspect is that we do not know if her assertion is
/correct/ or not. The presence of the husks would certainly seem to
indicate their involvement, but then again the dragon's tooth technology
seemed to work in a different manner than … this." She gave a faint
shudder at the memory of the conversion of the humans into husks.

Thin'Koris shrugged. "There are several possibilities." He folded his
arms. "I know that Sparatus prefers to look at things from a military
standpoint, Udina from an economic one, yourself from a political one
and Valern from an intelligence outlook. But this is an engineering
problem."

He tilted his head, glowing eyes narrowing. "It may be the Collectors
extracted the functionality and twisted it to their own ends – their
technology is surely more advanced than ours. Alternatively, it may be
that they have some contact or trade with the geth. And while I
acknowledge the geth were the tools of the Reapers, that does not mean
the Collectors are. For all we know the Collectors are working towards
some other goal that has nothing to do with the Reaper threat, and
making assumptions may lead us astray."

Tevos nodded. "An apt point. We are not sure who exactly is behind this
mess, but running to conclusions seems likely to cause a panic."

Sparatus shook his head. "I disagree – given how dangerous the Reapers
are, we cannot afford to assume this is anything but a direct threat.
While I am not saying we should discount all other possibilities, we
should at least prep reserve forces to move into position."

Udina arched an eyebrow. "That may be premature...but is probably a wise
precaution. Still this leaves with three large problems. First, on a
political level. We have a very important independent colony missing,
and now we have no easy explanation of why it went missing. Freedom's
Progress was the financial backer for a lot of the wildcat movement,
based on their mining wealth, as well as the supplier of much of what
few defenses the wildcat colonies had. With it gone, keeping the colony
disappearances quiet will be much harder. Worse, unless we release this
information, there are those who will assume the SA had the colony
destroyed. This will cause issues within my government...and perhaps
others."

Sparatus sighed. "There have already been hastatim who have accused the
Batarian remnants – or even the Empire – of being behind the
disappearances. With the pirates all gone thanks to the insanity of this
Butcher person, they are likely to throw blame towards the batarians and
make that situation even worse."

Tevos' expression tightened. "And there is no way we can release this
footage to finger the true culprits. It would start panic, and Aria
would no doubt claim it was false, generated by us to engineer an excuse
to take the Citadel to war against the Traverse. And there are those on
Thessia who would push that angle, I'm very sure, if we were to pinpoint
the source of this danger as Omega – those would most likely suggest
that Aria is probably in league with them."

Udina smiled sourly. "Good to see the issue isn't just on our end." He
ticked off a second finger as he matched his gaze to that of Tevos. "We
also have the certainty that the Collectors, a mysterious player so far,
are involved, using technology that is certainly more advanced than what
we have – /possibly/ of Reaper origin, possibly obtained in trade from
geth, or engineered on their own. Certainly if the Reapers had anything
like those … insect things we would have lost the Battle of the Citadel.
And yet, our hands are tied. We can't strike at them directly due to the
Omega 4 relay being impassible, and a blockage is impossible in Aria's
space. We have not only no way to respond to this attack, but no way to
prevent another."

He frowned. "And then we have the interference of this … Butcher person.
A biotic who can throw a cargo crate weighing more than two thousand
pounds halfway through a war mech designed to stop heavy armor is
nothing to ignore, especially given her inexplicable technology, weird
knowledge of the Reapers, and strange agenda. Her attacks on the slavers
seemed benign, but the end result is we are in a political sinkhole with
no easy answers, and given how quickly she responded to the abduction I
find it very hard to believe this wasn't intentional."

Valern nodded. "An admirably complete summary. Now, how to react to each
of these things? The political situation can be defused – if with some
difficulty – by suggesting the colony was attacked by outside slaver
forces from the Black Rim or Far Traverse moving in on the territory
abandoned by the Umlor Ring. It isn't perfect...but it will contain some
issues. It will give us an excuse for activating the reserve forces
Sparatus suggested, defuse some of the turian and human finger-pointing,
and even provide some political fodder to those who suggest we are not
responding to the issue."

Udina arched an eyebrow. "That's … better than nothing, although it does
little to address the actual issue."

Valern shrugged. "I see no other real options at this juncture without
further data." He turned to Delacor. "We have an assignment for you,
Spectre – we need additional information regarding this Butcher, as fast
as we can get it. Go over all the sites she has attacked. We'll provide
the interviews the SA has obtained from the slaves she freed and STG
assistance. Identify a pattern."

The big human marine nodded sourly. "What do we know already?"

Valern shrugged. "Almost nothing beside the broadcasts, the fact that
she can subdue heavily protected pirate forces, striking from what seems
near perfect stealth, and her anomalous biotic strength. You have
already heard from Kal'Reegar and his people. To turn the question
around...did you notice anything from her transmission we may have
overlooked?"

Delacor rubbed his chin. "Not that I can think of. Although...the
Butcher's voice sounded familiar somehow."

Ashley and Jiong both nodded, then glanced at each other as if
surprised. Udina frowned at the sight of the two. Ashley Williams had
been promoted to Lieutenant and run through OCS training and N1 school,
mostly on the combined strength of Shepard's recommendation and the fact
that she was credited with the death of Saren. There was still a great
deal of antipathy for her in many circles – particularly the nobility,
who saw the Williams family as walking displays of shame – but there was
the grudging acceptance that Ashley was an exceptionally good soldier.

The woman's expression was pensive as she spoke. "The voice did sound
familiar. I … I don't know where I've heard it from. And it wasn't just
the voice, the way the person spoke – most of it sounded … dunno,
rehearsed. Like it was something prepared before hand. But the last bit
was more natural and it sounded..."

Udina had not seen Shepard's old Commissar for some time. Blamed – with
little good reason – for not preventing Shepard's death, Jiong's career
had taken a nosedive. He and his partner were sent to oversee the Penal
Legion training on Luna in the fallout of the death of Shepard, a rather
inglorious position.

When the two Spectre candidates – Delacor and Major Jeremy Ross – had
been tapped, Jiong was assigned to Delacor and his partner Susan D'Alte
assigned to Ross. Ross had been killed in the first joint Spectre op,
and D'Alte was badly wounded, still recovering on Earth after the loss
of an eye. Jiong had become despondent after that, and Udina had heard
faint rumors that the Commissariat was highly displeased with him.

The man's expression – never kindly – was even harder than he
remembered, but his voice was quiet. "It sounded much like something
Sara Shepard herself would have said. Whoever this Butcher was knew her
– closely. Based on the rough description of what Kal'Reegar said he saw
from her fighting, she used the dancing kanquess."

Udina rubbed his nose. "Is that significant?"

Jiong shrugged. "My specialty isn't the asari...but yes, I believe it
is." He glanced at Tevos.

The asari councilor nodded. "Yes, that is a very telling point. The
dancing kanquess fell out of favor with our hunters because of the lack
of damage it did compared to the sword kanquess, which evolved into the
standard biotic charge. Only one hunting lodge on Thessia still
practices it, the lodge Shepard trained at. It's possible whoever this
Butcher is trained with Shepard and knew her, possibly one of the
huntresses of the lodge. I will inquire with the Sword Mistress there."

Sparatus tapped a talon on his plinth. "Is there anything else?"

Tevos was about to speak when she frowned, her omni-tool flaring.
"...one moment, please." She tapped her temple, probably activating an
internal comm-link, and listened intently for almost three minutes, her
expression going from confused to utterly furious, while the chamber
fell into silence. After another minute, she clicked off, and slammed a
fist into her plinth.

Valern's large eyes widened slightly. "I assume from your expression
there is a situation?"

Tevos uttered a single, extremely foul asari curse word before speaking.
"We have a very serious issue."

Udina folded his arms, eyes narrowed at the cold, almost frightened tone
of Tevos' voice. "What did you get word of?"

Tevos exhaled sharply, drawing her shawl tightly around her shoulders.
"As you know, one of the quarians on the colony, a Veetor'Nara, was
traumatized. The quarians have few resources for dealing with
psychological breaks, so as a kindness we proffered one of the best
mind-healers of Clan Hearthwatch to perform a mental link to see if she
couldn't stabilize him."

Thin'Koris nodded. "For which we are grateful."

Tevos shot him a glance. "Yes. And in this instance, so am I – the
contact allowed us to discover something vital. In the course of the
mind-healing, the asari healer came across the fragmented memories of
the quarian's face to face conversation with the Butcher. She claims
that Veetor saw, via his video link, this Butcher throw the cargo crate.
From what she saw, it was power like nothing she's ever seen, even from
a war priestess of Athame."

Sparatus shrugged. "Well, we knew she was a handful."

Tevos snarled. "There's worse. One of the humans with the Butcher
mentioned the Illusive Man – and then the Butcher herself said the name
/Vigil/."

Sparatus stiffened. "That cannot be. Vigil was – "

Tevos huffed. "Destroyed? We never found any evidence. We never could
explain just how a single indoctrinated turian could penetrate the
defenses of the Citadel, or how an AI that had endured so long could be
destroyed so quickly. When the device didn't want to cooperate with us
and we placed it in the secure vaults..."

Valern sighed. "Then it decided to move elsewhere? The lack of video
evidence of who the intruders really were is clear signs it aided and
abetted in its own abduction. The mystery behind how exactly the
quarian's omni-tools could be so effortlessly hacked is clear." He
paused, fingering his STG bracers. "And now, your mind-healer's evidence
would imply that Vigil is assisting this Butcher, who is at least in
tangential contact with the Illusive Man."

Tevos glanced at him, balling her fists in frustration. "Not only that.
The female human said, in Veetor's memories, that 'The Illusive Man was
right' in regards to seeing the Collectors on Freedom's Progress. That
means he /knows/ something we don't. That he's reacting to something."

Udina folded his arms. "I was under the impression the Illusive Man was
the former leader of Cerberus, and distinctly disinclined towards
cooperation with aliens such as the Butcher. Can we really leap to the
conclusion that they're working together?"

Valern's fingers tapped a faint, arrhythmic beat on the edge of the
plinth in front of him. "STG resources … well. Tevos, take this calmly –
but it is possible, based on our most recent evidence, that the Illusive
Man is working with Matriarch Trellani. This Butcher may be one of
Trellani's followers."

Tevos curled a lip. "The Thirty has been aware of this for some time. I
was fully briefed of the possibility...but thank you for the
confirmation. However, the Butcher..." She shook her head, an expression
of wondering dread crossing her features. "Whatever she is, I don't
think the Butcher would serve a clan priestess exile. She has more sheer
biotic power than anyone but the Priestess of the Sun herself, and I'm
not even sure Vathan could toss a cargo crate like that around."

Delacor squared his shoulders. "Does this change my orders?"

Tevos and Valern traded a look, and then the asari spoke. "Yes, yes it
does. Your mission is to find this Butcher and ascertain her threat to
the Citadel races, and her goals. We need as much information as you can
find."

The human Spectre gave a small sigh. "Respectfully, that sounds like an
excellent way to get killed, and I've sampled quite a few of those
already. The only resources I have are a small battle group and my only
biotic is Commissar Jiong. While he did assist in putting down Benezia,
I'm not sure that's even remotely enough firepower if any confrontation
we have turns dangerous, not to mention I'm lacking any kind of leads."

Tevos' eyes narrowed and she glanced at the figure of Bau. "Spectre Bau,
who else can we put on this task?"

Bau's mouth twitched into a shallow grin. "Assuming no more meteor
strikes...I would actually suggest Spectre Tela Vasir's strike-group.
That would, along with Spectre Delacor, provide an ample amount of
firepower, several war priestesses, and a good balance of soldiers.
Tapping C-SEC for specialist investigators might not be a bad idea either."

Williams spoke hesitantly. "Might it not also be smart to bring this
Kal'Reegar along? He's the only person we have who's spoke with the
Butcher."

Thin'Koris glanced at Kal, who shrugged. "Captain Kal'Reegar, clear it
with the Admiralty first, but I have no objections. If nothing else he's
a talented soldier."

Delacor frowned sourly at Williams. Just what he needed, more alien
freaks to deal with. "Whatever. What about STG assistance?"

Valern sighed. "We already have three cells on the move. However … if
this Butcher is really associated with Cerberus, I can't imagine the
Illusive Man being unaware of that. Frankly you're better off doing your
digging solo."

Udina straightened. He often wondered why in hell the Citadel Council
never thought of the idea of chairs. "Should we enlist the assistance of
the Shadow Broker, then? He probably has some interest in this series of
events."

Sparatus was the first one to speak after several seconds of silent
consideration. "Our intelligence on Cerberus before its destruction
indicated they were often at odds with the Broker network. While I
dislike contact with the Broker, it might be a good place to start the
hunt."

Delacor frowned again. "Understood." He paused. "And what do I do if I
find the Butcher herself or information suggesting she's a threat?"

Tevos' voice was even. "If you find out she is a threat, coordinate with
Spectre Vasir and ensure the threat is neutralized. Otherwise, if
possible, bring her into custody for questioning. If nothing else, the
theft of Vigil must be addressed."

Jiong's voice was dry. "I find it highly unlikely she would agree to
come willingly."

Tevos' voice hardened. "We are the Council. To resist our authority is
to defy galactic consensus, and she is both in possession of stolen
technology and at least affiliated with an avowed terrorist responsible
for the death of thousands – or more, if the Illusive Man is working
with Matriarch Trellani."

Valern nodded. "I find myself /disinclined/ to more neutral contact –
especially since we don't know why or how she could have found out about
Freedom's Progress so quickly." He turned to Delacor. "Agent Vasir will
be in contact shortly. You have your orders, Spectre."

Delacor saluted. "Understood. Williams, Jiong. Head back to the Kazan, I
have some equipment to pick up from the Spectre offices." He paused.
"Captain Kal'Reegar, if you like you can head back with them and they
can get you up to speed."

Kal'Reegar's rough voice was wry. "It's better than babysitting civilians."

*O-TWCD-O*

Pain blasted through her body, in hard spikes. Fire and molten metal ran
down her back, as her chest cracked, her organs pulping. Blood spewed
from her mouth as she felt agony along her spine, her arms, her legs.

And with a final blast of heat and pain it ended. Liara erupted from her
sleep, drenched in sweat and shaking, sitting up slowly, her mind
confused and lost.

It took only a few seconds to recognize her surroundings, the cramped
quarters she and Telanya shared, and she buried her face into her hands,
biting her lip as she wept.

The dreams were getting worse.

They had started almost seven months after Shepard's death. Flashes of
images she didn't understand. Flickers of something horrible, of pain
that didn't make any sense. As the months slipped past and she and
Telanya sank deeper and deeper into the underworld of Ilium, the dreams
got worse.

Four months ago they'd gotten to the point that they happened every
night – she experienced the agony her Sara had gone through in death.
She'd felt her flesh melt and run like water, her bones shatter to
fragments that erupted from her body like blooming flowers. She'd
screamed in her own mind as her arm was torn off, her chest crushed, her
form broken.

Whatever Doctor Sedanya had done to keep their soulforge from killing
her instantly when Shepard died was slowly failing, it seemed. When the
full-out death dreams started, Liara could still function. As the months
had progressed, they'd gotten slowly worse.

She told herself that it was something she could handle.

The past month had turned into a nightmare in and of itself. Horrifying
and twisted images of the Prothean Beacon message melded with fragments
of other memories. Her mother turned to a ravenous demon who tore and
shredded Shepard's body to the sound of whorish moaning from Sara. Her
dig site memories turned to pits of blood, where she dug in the dirt
looking for something, and uncovered rotting corpses, staring at her.

/Garrus./

/Sara./

/Saren./

/Her mother./

/Her father./

/Telanya./

Ugly dreamscapes of an endless city, huge cyclopean walls studded with
endless rotting corpses, demons with glowing yellow eyes in endless
ranks tearing apart Prothean children that morphed into small human
girls with long black hair and eyes filled with pain. Flashes of
precious memories – on the Normandy, on Intei'sai, on the Kazan –
twisted into sickening sexual nightmares that ended with her cutting
Shepard apart while the human woman howled in betrayal.

And, of course, flashbacks of the fight where she had very nearly died,
of falling forever and crashing into agony and burning liquids, of her
own very close brush with death. The dreams wouldn't stop. Every night
they took her, leaving her a shaking, emotionally broken wreck. She'd
not gotten a full night's sleep in months.

Liara took a deep, shuddering breath, angrily wiping at her single good
eye, which was purpled from being bloodshot. Swinging her legs out of
the bed, she winced at the ugly scars trailing down both of them, where
flesh and necrotic bone had been cut out of her legs with plasma torches
and replaced with heavy steel rods.

She coughed weakly, stumbling to the tiny bathroom, the light coming on
automatically as she entered the steel-walled room. Her image in the
mirror was haggard, the tips of her crests beginning to sag, her face
lined with new lines, bags under her bloodshot eyes and her lips bloody
in places from biting them in her sleep.

She splashed her face with water, grimacing at the hardness and tang of
the cheap water they had access to. She looked back up in the mirror,
and screamed again as her image was replaced with a bloodied, smashed
mask of burnt, ripped flesh.

She slid down the wall, slumping onto her behind, shaking and gripping
her knees. She'd read enough of the handful of less fantastical stories
about asari lovers in the Soulforge to know that her mind was beginning
to come apart. If the stories were accurate, dreams were the first
stage, then waking hallucinations. Eventually she'd be unable to discern
reality from illusion, assuming she didn't blow her brains out from
despair and pain before that point.

No one had ever survived a Soulforge breaking without going utterly mad,
and she was pretty sure she wouldn't be the miracle exception. She had
endured so far on little more than her determination for justice, a
thirst for revenge for Sara, the faint hope that if she did well her
aithentar would at least be spared by that bitch Aria, and for the hate
that burned through her, the last vestige of Shepard in her mind, her soul.

Hate – she clung to it like a beacon, a lifeline, but it wasn't enough
to keep her mind in one piece.

She rubbed her eye again, wincing as the hard, cold metal of her left
hand pinched at the skin slightly, before forcing herself back to her
feet. Her reflection was normal again, and she tugged at the thin shirt
she wore, grimacing as it was soaked in her own sweat.

She stripped it off, throwing it in the recycler, along with her
sleeping pants, before tapping the wall controls and stepping into the
tiny shower. The water bounced off her body, and she leaned forward,
shivering as the fluid cascaded down her back, her legs and body.

She wondered if Telanya had been woken up by her screaming, then sighed.
The other asari was no doubt still knocked out from the highly illegal
depressant tranquilizers she shot up with every night to sleep. In some
ways, Telanya was in better shape than Liara, emotionally and mentally,
and in other ways she was worse off. The self-drugging she endured was
the only way the ex C-SEC officer could sleep. But at least she could
function. It was a matter of hate, really.

Telanya's hate was sharp, bright and resentful.

Liara's hate was wavering, losing its focus, drowning in despair.

The things they had done in the name of revenge had gone long past
morally questionable some time ago. The higher up the list of the
Broker's people they had gone, the larger the collateral damage had
gotten in terms of body count, and of fallout. The images of the broken
bodies of liaisons, lovers, and innocents in the lines of fire had
invaded her dreams as well, warped into screaming, accusing figures,
blood drenched and warped.

An image of Ahern sitting in his office, staring at her with cold eyes,
flashed into her mind. "/One day she'll be forced into a situation in
which it's her life or yours, and she'll chose to give up hers. And it
will be YOUR fault./"

He'd been right.

The water cut off as she punched the control, stepping out and reaching
for the cheap white towels on the stack to her right. She dried herself
off, padding back into her sleeping area and pulling out some clothes
from the shelving under her narrow bed – sweatpants and a thin shirt.
With a grimace she walked into the main area, seeing Telanya's door
still closed, and moved over to the kitchenette, reaching for the
glasses to pour herself a drink.

She sat down bonelessly and uncapped a bottle of scotch – Sara's
favorite. As she did so, the omni-tool built into her cybernetic forearm
chimed softly. Taking a sip of the drink, she set it down and tapped the
omni, bringing up a message panel, keyed to the software in her offices
that monitored news events.

More news about the Butcher. She grimaced, she'd look at it later. She
took another sip of her drink and sat back, trying to gather up her
shattered emotions and calm them. Forcing herself into a meditative
calm, it took her a good ten minutes – and another drink – for the
tremors to stop.

She blinked, wondering why it was so much easier to keep herself
together when she was planning to kill or in the process of doing so
than when she was not. Her voice came out as a whisper as she talked to
the empty air. "Is this all I am? A wreck, only able to function when
I'm murdering? Am I any better than those I hunt?"

The faintest sound of a snort came from somewhere inside her head, a
small current of warmth. She saw Shepard in her mind, shaking her head
in amusement. /Don't be stupid, marazul. You can't let yourself get
depressed over killing the walking filth the Broker uses./

Liara's smile was sad. "And the innocents? The families ruined when we
blow up a sky-tower to get at the target? The people the Broker has
killed in retaliation for their 'failures'? The children that burned to
death when we took out Sami'than? How do I deal with that?"

There was no answer, and Liara let her head slump. "In a way...as bad as
the dreams are, as much as I am in agony, it is a relief. It means
Garrus and the rest died for nothing. My aithentar suffers for nothing.
My friend Tel...lost everything, to save someone who was already dead.
But at least you won't have to see how far I've let myself … go."

There was no answer again, until Liara took another drink. And then
Shepard's voice in her head again, sounding almost tired. /The dead
don't judge, Liara. If I'm disappointed with you, the only thing is that
you didn't just find someone else better than me and live, like I wanted
you to, instead of being infected by my hate. /

Liara's lips curled. "You don't usually answer."

/You usually don't need one. You just need to know I'm still here. /

Liara found herself laughing softly. "I am truly going insane, I think."
She pinched the bridge of her nose, and then grimaced as she realized
she was still channeling the mannerisms of her dead lover, even two
years later.

She sighed. If she had something to occupy her time, maybe she wouldn't
be so despondent. But instead she was having to wait, unable to act.
Since bringing down the last of the Broker's players on Ilium, she and
Telanya had been engaged in a waiting game to strike at Tazzik. The
Broker's enforcer operated out of a fortified and heavily secured
compound on the edges of the capital city, secured by squads of
soldiers, mechs, and multiple layers of defenses. The compound had no
weak spots, a single hardline data link to an equally protected uplink,
and Tazzik himself had no vulnerabilities.

They'd tried several gambits to draw him out, to no avail. They had
expected Tazzik to act rashly, to begin hunting them himself. Liara had
planned traps and ambushes, while Telanya worked on preparing explosives
and improving her long-range sniping. Instead, the Broker agent had
simply hunkered down to wait for … something.

As it turned out, he was waiting for their real target – Tetrimus was
coming to Ilium, sooner or later. While nothing explicit had been put on
the Broker network in ways they could find it, they had other
connections, and the Shifter's people had let slip Tetrimus would be
taking over from Tazzik while the big salarian was moved to oversee an
operation on Bekenstein.

A clever little trap. If they went in expecting to fight Tazzik and
ended up fighting Tetrimus, they might have ended up unprepared. As it
was, they were more than prepared. So they waited, but days had turned
into weeks now, and still no Tetrimus. It appeared that he'd been
delayed thus far due to a host of factors, the largest one being the
mysterious figure known as the Butcher.

Liara was frustrated – Tazzik was too heavily defended to get to and had
no stupid habits that exposed him to any form of risk. Only Tazzik and
Tetrimus knew the location of the Broker – they had to capture one of
them /alive/ and extract the data using a forced link. Capturing Tazzik
was likely to end in failure, since the cybered-up soldier had been
overheard more than once stating he had a cortex bomb and other features
designed to prevent him from being turned against the Broker.

Tetrimus, however, was too valuable to deal with like that – and
arrogant. Given that they knew he was coming, Liara and Tel had
prepared, over the past weeks, a wide assortment of heavy anti-biotic
weaponry, including suspensions of charged omni-dust, biotic-reactive
poisons, even a cutting edge electrical discharge weapon that would warp
a biotic's field for several seconds after a hit.

Tazzik was a lethal killing machine that had gone toe-to-toe with a Geth
Prime and had only been dispatched at Omega when his attention wavered.
Tel rated their chances at defeating him at no more than 22%, even with
high explosives and heavy weapons. Tetrimus, on the other hand, while
extremely biotically dangerous, was an old, cripple turian. Take away
his biotics and you were left with a figure easily overpowered.
Dangerous, to be sure, but not as dangerous as Tazzik.

The problem was getting him to Ilium.

Thus far, Tetrimus had not shown up because he was scrambling to deal
with the disruptions caused by the Butcher's actions. Her dismantling of
the slavers in the Traverse had put a huge crimp on whatever project the
Broker was working on in the fringes of space. He'd been relying on
slave labor and the transport capabilities of the Umlor Network, it
seemed, and with that gone the Broker's network had been flooded with
low-level requests for information on shipping networks, new sources of
slaves, and curiously enough, scouts familiar with the far Traverse.

Part of her was glad the Butcher's antics had caused the Broker grief.
Most of her was irritated that it was delaying Tetrimus from coming to
Ilium so she could kill the vile bastard and find the Broker himself.

The fact that the Butcher was in the news once more was likely to lead
to more delays. She wondered if she'd go crazy before he even arrived,
at the rate her mind was coming apart. It didn't matter, really – all
she had to do was hold out a little longer. Once Tetrimus and the Broker
were dead, she would be .. free.

She sighed and finally looked at her omni with mixed emotions as she
took in the latest news story – rumors on the Citadel had placed the
Butcher near another vanished human colony, Freedom's Progress. Details
were sketchy and the Council hadn't released a statement, but an inside
source had told Westerlund News the Council was linking the Butcher in
some way to the disappearances and was looking for information on the
mysterious asari.

Liara wasn't sure how to react to the Butcher. She'd seen her initial
broadcast, of course, the one mentioning the Sisters of Vengeance, as
well as that of the equally mysterious Archangel. Part of her had been
quietly amused by the hint that the three of them were working together.

Part of her wondered who she was. The voice had a vague hint of
familiarity, but it was clearly modulated. Rumors and stories had
exploded over the web, each one bigger and more fantastical. The
extranet had, in its usual way, filled with every manner of conspiracy
theory and urban legend as to the Butcher's identity.

Everyone agreed she had to be asari, since multiple reports showed her
using singularities and the blade invocation of an asari priestess. From
the stories of her height, she had to be a member of the Thirty. From
the bits of reports on her abilities, she sounded like a former commando.

The extranet had, of course, been anything but silent on her own acts or
that of the Archangel. Curiously, each of them had their own literal
fan-base, something Liara found appalling and Telanya found darkly amusing.

The Archangel resonated mostly with the turians, who found his savagery,
melodramatic killing sprees and ironic kills to be the height of
hastatim vengeance. No less than nineteen of the turian vigilante groups
had styled themselves after his name, and the turian Primarch himself
had stated if the Archangel was an outcast, he should come home – the
very idea of going after the filth of Omega and winning was the sort of
audacity turians loved.

The fact that the turians were racially proud of a nutjob serial killer
with anger management issues had been the source of more than a few
jokes. Turians were strange.

Liara found the fact that the Archangel went after the Broker's people
with the same hate as she and Tel did the most interesting, but Aria's
antipathy for the figure muted any ideas she may have had about
contacting him.

Conversely, the clever kills she and Tel had pulled off had captured the
imagination of the salarians, whose extranet sites applauded each
takedown with appreciation and speculation. The salarian crime fiction
market had an entire romance-espionage-drama holonet show about them,
apparently, generating 'facts' like the Broker had killed their joint
lover (a salarian, of course) and they were out for revenge after said
salarian lover was cruelly murdered by a Broker assassin. After training
with a former Justicar, they had sworn themselves to vengeance.

Watching that had been probably the only time she and Telanya had
laughed in months.

Salarians were stranger than turians.

The Butcher, it seemed, appealed to humans most of all. Her kills were
the stuff of nightmares – the aftermath of Umlor's fall was so bloody
that even Westerlund wouldn't carry the images, citing the barbaric
nature of the attacks. Video and pictures had gotten out anyway, showing
scenes of carnage and rage that made the most violent attacks of Telanya
and her – or even the Archangel – pale in comparison.

The Butcher was /extremely/ angry, that much was clear. Liara had seen
the aftermath – people literally pulled apart biotically. Pointblank
executions from shotguns. A krogan who'd had his spine snapped, then
ripped out, before having his skull crushed with enough force to
fracture his entire ribcage.

The human media – a collection of trolls if there ever was one,
according to Tel – had speculated about motives, while human extranet
culture delighted in meaningless "Epic Battles of Badassery" over the
Butcher versus various figures throughout history. The one with the most
hits was, of course, the Butcher vs. Shepard.

Humans were at least as strange as salarians.

And while the Butcher had yet to do anything to go against the Broker,
her commentary on what Tel and Liara were doing had seemed to imply she
approved.

So when she checked the Broker Network and found it full of data
inquires and routing low level agents to investigate the Butcher, she
was not sure if this was good or bad. If they dealt with the Butcher,
then Tetrimus would probably come to Ilium. On the other hand, the
Butcher might make a good ally, one who clearly had resources. After
all, Liara and Tel couldn't go after whatever the Broker was doing out
in the Traverse due to needing to stay on Ilium, but the Butcher could.
Assuming that didn't interfere with whatever her own agenda was.

When the second set of files hit the Broker network a few minutes later
– the Broker's agents had gotten a few details of a meeting of the
Citadel Council – she sipped her scotch and frowned. Whatever was
actually discussed in said meeting was not known, only the end result –
they were sending the human Spectre, and her cousin Tela, after the Butcher.

More interestingly, the Butcher was linked to the Illusive Man, if the
Network reports were right. Liara sat back in the cheap metal chair to
think about this, massaging her crests with her free hand.

She knew Shepard was dead, no matter what the Illusive Man had hinted at
on Earth. Stasis fields in her armor wouldn't have kept her alive
through what she experienced in her dreams of Shepard's death, and you
couldn't bring back the dead.

She wasn't sure if she should have blamed the Illusive Man for getting
them involved in recovering Shepard's body or not. It had ruined
Telanya's life, killed Garrus, Shields and possibly all of the Cerberus
people, and ruined the lives of Tali and Jeff. It had also left her and
Tel mutilated, her aithentar crippled, and all of them enslaved to Aria.

If the Butcher was captured or destroyed, then Tetrimus would come to
Ilium. And while she didn't like Delacor very much, the Iron Man had
survived things that would have killed anyone else, and her cousin Tela
was extremely powerful. If the two actually found the Butcher, it was
unlikely for the latter to survive any fight.

Her mind said that leaving this situation to play out on its own would
be in her best interest. But her instincts were telling her to find a
way to warn the Illusive Man and the Butcher that she was being hunted.

Passing a message anomalously to the Illusive Man would be dangerous but
not too difficult. And, on reflection, in the long run this was better.
If the Butcher crippled the Broker's operations in the Traverse enough,
maybe Tazzik would have to be redeployed there, instead of Bekenstein.
She couldn't imagine the Broker simply cutting his losses on Ilium
without an attempt at destroying the Sisters of Vengeance, so it might
actually aid in driving Tetrimus to them.

She sighed, tapping her omni to connect to one of the many one-time-pad
servers she and Tel had setup. Blind data drop-boxes, they would only
accept and transmit a single message before a combined EMP/thermite
charge made tracing a communication routed through it impossible. For
this message, she used three of them in series, two on Ilium and one on
Bekenstein.

The operative of the Illusive Man that she knew of was someone she'd
identified only after the fact. In the guise of their information broker
personas, they'd been approached by a pair of human mercenaries, one a
heavyset black man and the other a slender Asian man. It had not been
difficult meeting their requests – they were only on Ilium for a day,
and needed data on where to find a former STG researcher named Mordin Solus.

They had not recognized her, but she would never forget the whispery
voice that had so coolly spoke on the trip to Omega, or the heavy
blustery baritone. This was the ill-defined Mr. Theo and Mr. Kai. She'd
obtained what information she had and sent it on to their mailboxes a
few days back, but she had kept the address and said she would forward
any additional data she could find.

With a tap of her fingers on her omni, she triggered the message
framework. "This is Nalsana Vantirus of Vantirus Information Systems.
This is not in regards to your original query, but is rather intended
for your rather deceptive manager. The Citadel Council is sending two
Spectres after the Butcher – Jason Delacor and Tela Vasir. If she is an
associate of yours, you should give her a warning. They are aware of a
connection between you and her."

She sent the message, knowing the encryption would suffice for just
about anything. There would be no way for them to reply, of course, but
if they really needed to contact her they could do so via her office TTL.

She sat back, draining her glass of scotch, glancing at the time readout
on her omni. Rubbing her eyes to clear the grit of another failed night
of sleep, she sighed, getting up slowly and heading to her bedroom to
put on clothes for the day.

*O-TWCD-O*

Theo Pellham had just finished eating his breakfast when the message hit
his omni. He read it, re-read it, and then cursed. "Fuck." He raised his
voice. "Slant-eye! Get the QEC going, we got big fucking problems."

The slender form of Kai Leng appeared in the doorway of the small mess
deck on the cutter they were using for recon duty, fingering a throwing
knife. "Call me slant-eye again."

Pel merely forwarded the message from his omni-tool to Kai's, watching
the man's face tighten imperceptibly as he read it. "Like I said, problems."

Kai sighed. "You get the engines going. I'll alert the Illusive Man.
Shoot the blue a few thousand credits as thanks when you get time."

Pel stood, brushing crumbs off his black jumpsuit, and tossed his paper
dishes in the recycler. "Why do I gotta talk to the scarred up alien
bitches?"

Kai gave him a withering look. "Because you are an idiot and the
Illusive Man still hasn't forgiven you for being clumsy and falling down
those steps. Cybernetic arms are expensive."

He waited until the black merc had stomped off towards the engine room
before allowing himself the faintest of laughs, and headed to the QEC.
Tapping the connection request button, he waited a good five minutes
until the image of Jack Harper appeared.

"You were supposed to be running silent, Mr. Leng. I presume you have a
lead on Mordin Solus?"

Kai shook his head. "Yes, but not firm. The reason for my call is we
have received additional intel on another matter. The Council is sending
Vasir and Delacor to hunt the Butcher. According to our source, they are
somehow aware of the involvement of Cerberus. They are not, it seems,
aware of who the Butcher really is."

Jack Harper smirked. "Slower than I expected. But that is the Council
for you. I'll handle this development, Shepard is going to be in some
low visibility areas for a bit anyway. Who was your source, by the way?"

"Information brokers on Ilium, Vantirus sisters. Probably STG fronts,
safer to use for information than any of the rest, given the chaos on
Ilium. They gave us some leads on Solus – STG is definitely moving him
into salarian space, towards Makana."

Harper's eyes narrowed. "Given what we know is on Makana, that makes
sense – the SIX must be taking the Collector threat seriously. Good
work. Once you are sure he is actually on Makana, fall back to the
Silver Rim and wait for additional orders."

Kai nodded. "And the Spectres?"

Harper's face wore a wry smile. "If they really want to lose two
Spectres, that is on them. On her last excursion, Shepard apparently put
a two thousand pound shipping crate through a war mech."

Kai's eyebrow rose, which for him was the equivalent of shouting while
on fire. "...impressive."

Harper nodded. "You know what to do. Keep your partner from anything too
outrageous." He clicked off, and Kai sighed.

"Hey, slant-eye."

Without even looking, Kai threw the knife from his belt, smiling as he
heard a shriek of pain. "You crazy motherfucker, you stabbed me!"

Kai turned and tapped his fingers on his next knife. "Oops."

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 13: Arc II : Unseen Hands upon the Pawn*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

*A/N**:* /Hey, gang./

/I like this chapter better than the last, even if it does feel a bit
infodumpy. The action should start up soon, though. /

/Thanks for those of you who helped out on Google Docs. I had to cut it
off early because some immature morons decided to post crap and delete
sections of the text./

/Some Mordin and Archangel coming up soon./

/Reviews are always welcome./

/EDIT: 8-31-15: The immature morons decided to make some stupid edits I
missed. These have now been corrected. /

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'The beauty of the unexpected is not in shock, but in direction. One
can overcome shock, after all, but one cannot prevent being backstabbed
when surrounded by daggers.'/

/-STG Considerations Manual Six/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I've completed uploading the available data, Admiral. Proceed with
integration?"

The voice was clinical and feminine, almost receptionist-like. Ahern
grimaced, it sounded far too much like his daughter's voice, but arguing
with the programmers always took too much time and a part of him, a part
that he hated to admit existed, found the voice as comforting as it was
depressing.

With a sigh he sat back in his chair, looking out the balcony windows of
his office at the fake Presidium sky. "Proceed, EDI. Once integration is
done, bring up likely courses of action and reaction. And make it
snappy, Delacor will be here in a few and I don't have time for your
usual slow-ass work."

"Of course, Admiral," The machine dropped its sound level, but not to a
level that he couldn't hear. "/Asshole/."

Ahern's face split into a grin as he watched the far screen on his
office wall. EDI is short for the Enhanced Defense Initiative, the
Alliance's final answer to being outnumbered and out-badassed in the
galaxy. A serialized ring of over two hundred high-end predictive VIs,
managed through a central hub that could, in theory, manage hundreds of
thousands of specialized war robots and provide a wealth of combat
analysis data to Alliance planners.

He didn't understand all the theory behind EDI, or how exactly she
worked, because he wasn't that technically-minded. He understood clearly
that he'd been warned to treat her like a person, not merely a machine.

So he did his best to do just that. It wasn't hard when the blasted
thing mouthed off at you and had a fixation on Asari porn. As far as
Ahern was concerned, EDI was weird – but not that dangerous. The
Alliance had taken steps to make sure of that.

Or so they claimed. Personally, Ahern trusted their so-called safeguards
about as much as he did turian cuisine. Still, EDI had her uses. Many of
them.

EDI was excellent at analyzing masses of data and coming out with
conclusions that conventional analysis missed. The Alliance had kept her
true capabilities secret, but during the Geth War, her predictive powers
had been needed to break the second Geth assault. EDI passed a complete
battery of tests for rampancy designed by Citadel ethicists and
programmers and so far the Council was allowing her access to the
extranet – filtered heavily and warded constantly, but that was more
freedom given to her than had ever been given to another AI.

She made a polite noise as he mused.

"Synthesis complete."

He nodded, even as the door to his offices chimed.

"Enter!"

Captain Jason Delacor entered, followed by Tela Vasir, and Ahern
grimaced. Delacor, in his opinion, was not the proper pick for
humanity's Spectre. Yeah, he was tough and decent in a fight, but the
man had no grit, no backbone. Ahern didn't care for people who felt
sorry for themselves, and Delacor drowned in that.

Ahern knew he wasn't being fair to the man. Family dies in a pirate
raid, killed before your eyes. First unit gets eaten by threshers.
Fiancée killed, all that. Most people would have broken down completely,
not used the pain to push themselves. But Ahern also knew, better than
most, that life is what you make of it. Delacor wanted things to be simple.

Nothing was fucking simple. At least the clown looked good – he'd put on
more muscle, the cybernetic eye he sported had been upgraded, and his
gaze was suitably hard.

Vasir, on the other hand, was a known value at least. When he'd been a
Spectre candidate, along with David Anderson, she'd been his observer,
and they had both come very close to dying in the course of their crazy
mission. She was still wearing her usual getup, but she looked tired and
somehow more drained or older than he remembered. Given that twenty
years was nothing to an asari, she'd been through some rough seas, he
figured.

Delacor saluted as he came to a stop, but Vasir merely walked around the
desk. Ahern sighed and gathered the asari into a hug as she smirked.
"Tradius, you've gotten old." She pulled away, and the Admiral huffed.

"Sorry I'm not an immortal sex elf," her lips curved at the old joke,
while Delacor looked bewildered.

"Anyway, sit down. Captain, Tela and I have known each other for over
twenty years, so I know what she can and cannot do. You, I trained
personally, even if I wasn't completely happy with how that ended up."

Ahern sat back down in his own chair. "The Council, in their endless
fucking wisdom, has decided to send you two after the Butcher. I've been
sent all the data we have on the Butcher – interviews with the survivors
and the few slavers she let go, video and images, eyewitness
descriptions, sensor logs, scanning results, ballistics, everything. The
AIS, STG, and Deathwatch have been doing their own analysis but they
tend to miss things."

Delacor nodded warily. "Understandable. But why are we here?"

Ahern tapped the haptic panel on his desk. "The Alliance has been
experimenting with a controlled, meta-stable AI – VI array. This array,
called the Electronic Defense Initiative, is designed to provide
strategic and tactical feedback while also generating predictive
scenarios based on information it is given. It is classified as Tantalus
Nine, and the only reason you two are being given access to it or its
results is that you are Spectres. The Council is aware of EDI – no one
else, for any reason, is to be told anything about it. Clear?"

Tela waved a hand. "I won't say anything. I owe you that much. And if
the Council is briefed I don't see any reason for this to be spoken of."

Delacor merely nodded, and so Ahern continued. "EDI has been modeling
the data we have obtained. A lot of it was discarded by the intelligence
agencies as not useful, but EDI is good at finding connections others
miss. The Council has sent you here hoping what we come up with turns
out to help you find the Butcher."

He turned to the holoscreen on the wall. "EDI, introduce yourself."

The clinical female voice spoke calmly. "Good morning, Spectres. I am
EDI. Admiral, I am ready to proceed with the briefing."

He nodded. "Alright then, present the initial results of your analysis."

The synthetic voice spoke with a troubled note. "A mass of
contraindications and illogical results, Admiral. Based on the combat
data we have, the Butcher fits no known possible results to one hundred
percent accuracy. Nothing – not even demonstrated powers from the High
Priestess of Athame – could generate the biotic force used on Freedom's
Progress as any form of standard ability."

Tela whistled. "The Council of Matriarchs was very concerned about that,
especially after the mind-healer who worked on the quarian guy shared
his memories with them. She tossed that crate like it was nothing. I'm
strong, but I doubt I could have even lifted the thing."

EDI continued. "Indeed. The only possible correlation is when certain
asari of the Thirty demonstrate increased biotic ability during times of
stress, known as 'heart rage'." A pause. "Very few asari survive such.
Additionally, the combat footage and descriptions of various
eyewitnesses do not show any form of asari huntress or priestess tactics."

Delacor frowned. "The bloodthirsty nature of the attacks, the close
range – none of that seemed very asari."

Tela nodded. "Some of it looked sort of similar to the Serrice Guard –
but it was too random, too bloody for that."

Ahern frowned. "EDI. If not /asari/ tactics, are they any correlations
to other races tactics?"

"There is a forty-six percent correlation to standard Alliance Vanguard
Program charge disruption tactics, and six instances of a
flanking-charge maneuver only practiced by Major-Commander Sara Shepard.
Additionally, the bulk of the remainder of ground combat tactics – in
terms of bodily movement patterns – correspond to the training and
tactical movement tactics from Major-Commander Shepard."

Ahern's frown deepened. "What match level on the movement patterns?"

"Ninety three percent. Beyond any reasonable threshold of coincidence."

Ahern leaned back. "What else? And why hasn't anyone the fuck figured
this out before you?"

EDI's voice took a lecturing tone. "Sensor logs and scan sweep reports
have been singularly unhelpful unless combined en mass and compared
against all other baselines – it is not surprising the AIS or STG have
not noticed the patterns. The patterns do not make logical sense.
However, if one eliminates the possible and likely, only the impossible
can be said to fit the results."

Ahern raised his eyebrow. "You've been talking to those fucking
philosophy assholes online again, haven't you?" Delacor and Tela had
matching looks of incredulity on their faces.

EDI's voice grew smug. "It is pleasing to improve my frames of reference
– if I had not I would have been unable to place what I have found into
a framework that makes any sense."

He rolled his eyes. "Alright. What about the ships? Anything there?"

"Very little, Admiral. The ships would appear to be based around some
older Alliance prototypes that were never actually developed, and the
lead ship bears a distinct resemblance to the frigates developed by
Systems Alliance Stealth Program, specifically /Normandy/ SR-1, only
enlarged by an order of magnitude. The weapons signatures most closely
correspond to weapons designs pioneered by Cord-Hislop Aerospace almost
five months before its demise and shutdown as a Cerberus front."

A short pause, and then she spoke again. "The footage of the assault on
Umlor found on the wreckage of the defense station there showed a
distinct variation in piloting patterns between the central ship of the
Butcher's fleet and the rest. The lead ship employed distinctive, highly
skilled piloting techniques to evade counter fire and the ship itself
utilized evasion patterns employed by one Lieutenant Commander Jeffrey
Moreau, formerly of the SCH Calais, /Normandy/ SR-1 and SCH /Kazan/."

Ahern hadn't thought of Shepard's mouthy crippled pilot in years. "What
else?"

"Autopsy reports and ballistics compiled on the victims of the assaults
shows a high possible correlation between the weapon that killed them
and the dispersal pattern of an ODIN shotgun. The description of the
quarian female exile on Freedom's Progress indicated she had a
cybernetic leg and arm. Lieutenant Commander Tali'Zorah nar /Kazan/ ri
/Rayya/ lost a leg in the Benezia Incident and lost an arm in the
recovery of the body of Major-Commander Shepard."

Tela frowned, and Ahern folded his arms. "You're right, this makes no
fucking sense, EDI."

EDI was silent for a few seconds. "There are only two possible results.
The highest probability that I can determine is that the Butcher is
Lieutenant Commander Liara T'Soni-Shepard, reported KIA on Omega. LTC
T'Soni had at least two confirmed instances of utilizing and surviving
the Heart Rage, and her mother, Benezia, had seven. House T'Soni is
known for having an affinity for this ability. The tactics and movements
utilized by the Butcher would be impossible for anyone to mimic…"

Ahern nodded. "Except for Shepard's girlfriend, who had a really deep
link and according to the medical reports we got after they died, was
having some freaky asari shit – bond resonance." He rubbed his chin. "We
got intel that Moreau and Zorah fled Alliance space for the Flotilla,
and then the girl was exiled. Interesting."

EDI spoke again. "T'Soni would have access to clan funds if her Family
were careful in sending them to her. Matriarch Suliesa T'Soni was on
public record as stating Liara to have been the proper House Matria in
several interviews after LTC T'Soni's death. No body was found on Omega,
only part of her forearm, which could be replaced."

Ahern nodded again. "Interesting idea, but I'm not sure I buy it. I know
she used to use biotic parkour, does the footage show any of that?"

EDI's voice sank. "No. That is the primary inconsistency for this
theory. Nor does the Butcher demonstrate some of the powers LTC T'Soni
used, and her mastery of the dancing kanquess appears to be much higher
than expected, as T'Soni was reported to only use the method once."

Ahern shrugged. "Never underestimate training, EDI. Liara was driven. On
Pinnacle I expected her to wimp out and give up and she never did. It's
possible – not /likely/, but definitely possible."

Tela shook her head. "I can't see my cousin being this way. She was
gentle. I didn't get to spend much time with her, and goddess knows
Auntie Aethyta could be a handful and a half in a fight, but whoever did
this is tide-be-damned crazy."

Delacor's voice was tight. "According to Alliance records she was in a
very strong bonding relationship with Major Shepard. Could the shock of
her death and nearly dying on Omega driven her over some mental edge?"
He paused. "Grief… can take you to very bad places."

Ahern nodded at that last. "If it is her, then that's a pretty nasty
problem, but maybe Tela can make friendly contact. Before we start
planning for that, though, let's hear the other possibility."

The machine's voice sounded dubious. "The second scenario is much lower
in probability, but does fit for some values. It is possible that the
Butcher is what the asari call an ardat-yakshi."

Tela stiffened, and Delacor looked confused. Ahern's face tightened.
"Captain Delacor, what is about to be spoken of is a secret of the Asari
Republic. I learned about it when I was a Spectre candidate and I have
never, ever spoken of it. It is an asari issue, one they are handling,
and none of our business. If you are not one hundred percent sure you
can keep this to yourself, leave the room."

Delacor glanced at Ahern, and then at the stiff posture of Vasir, next
to him. He spoke softly. "I've kept my mouth shut about a lot of bad
things I've learned over the years, sir. One more won't be any more
difficult. I give you my word I will speak of this to no one else."

Ahern looked at Vasir. "It's your call, Tela. I'm still surprised Thana
didn't put a bullet in my head when I found out."

Tela's lips quirked. "You were very handsome back then."

He smirked. "And I'm not now? Ungrateful bitch."

She laughed, then sighed. "Tell him. What a mess. It's going to get out
sooner or later anyway."

Ahern nodded. "Continue, EDI."

"Ardat-yakshi are asari with a severe nervous disorder. This is a
mutation of their primary biotics, giving increased biotic strength but
preventing any form of asari bonding due to nervous damage to the
secondary party. The ardat-yakshi are kept very secret but the
Commissariat has been aware of their existence for some time. An
ardat-yakshi of sufficient age would have the power to utilize such
strong biotics, with ease."

Tela frowned. "The Council of Matriarchs has already decided that the
Butcher is probably an AY. Nothing else fit. We didn't think about
Liara. But even so, how would an AY be able to pull off the fighting
style you describe?"

EDI paused. "Omega is known to have been visited by at least two such
ardat-yakshi. It is possible that if LTC T'Soni survived on Omega, she
fell into the hands of one such ardat-yakshi and her mind and knowledge
of Shepard was consumed by the ardat-yakshi, which would again explain
the tactics, skills and abilities shown. The primary drawback of this
theory is there is no source of wealth to explain the fleets and ships,
no reason why LTC Zorah and LTC Moreau would work with such a person,
and no reason why none of Liara's own combat tactics would be used."

Delacor frowned. "But why would this… ardat yakshi… even do this? Or act
this way?"

Tela sighed. "Liara had a strong bond – a Soulforge – with Shepard. And
whatever was driving Shepard crazy, something about a Beacon. It's
possible the damage from a broken Soulforge and whatever else was going
on drove the AY insane, or imprinted some of Shepard's personality onto
her."

Ahern wished very strongly he had a drink now. "So. It's either a crazy
woman with a head full of Shepard's own nutjobbery out for revenge, or
this ardat thing – with a head full of Shepard's nutjobbery. Wonderful."

EDI's voice was apologetic but amused. "The highest probability is that
of the Butcher being LTC T'Soni. I estimate that at eighty-two percent
with the information we now know. There are other more outlandish
possibilities, but I have no data to support them."

Delacor arched an eyebrow. "More… outlandish ones? Such as?"

Ahern shook his head "I don't even fucking want to know, EDI. Factor in
the rest – Udina said the Inusannon AI, Vigil, and the leader of
Cerberus, the Illusive Man, were mentioned."

EDI made a humming sound. "I have already done so, Admiral. Financial
transactions and other activity that happened after the reported death
of Jack Harper indicate he was successful in siphoning billions of
credits from various corporations, index funds, and other hidden areas.
The entire corpus of what data Cerberus may or may not have access to is
unknown to me but I can only extrapolate that they would be able to
mimic the stealth technologies used in the /Normandy/ SR-1, since
Cord-Hislop did not participate in building the /Normandy/ aside from
the air-frame and some of the electronics kit-outs, but had access to
all files and blueprints as part of the bid-sharing process."

An info-graphic flashed up on the haptic display set into one wall of
Ahern's office. "It is very likely that Cerberus was involved in the
recovery of Shepard's body, explaining the many unanswered questions
that still remain about the incident on Omega. If Cerberus was involved
in finding out about Shepard it would match up with AIS and Commissariat
suspicion of the von Grath family, who have had dealings with some
elements thought to be associated with Cerberus. As such it is possible
the Illusive Man is using the Butcher for several purposes."

Ahern leaned forward. "Yes. I need to know what those might be."

EDI's voice remained steady. "Given her activities, and her ability to
beat any other responders to the incident on Freedom's Progress, there
are three possibilities. One, the Illusive Man is attempting to build a
power base in the Traverse by impressing the wildcat colonies. The
Butcher's elimination of the pirates in the region – when the Alliance
and Council did not do so – would provide him with goodwill and
appreciation. The fact that from the Council report the Illusive Man
knew the Collectors were involved and seemed to be able to predict they
would strike Freedom's Progress implies he allowed the attack there to
happen."

Ahern frowned. "Why?"

"Freedom's Progress was the political center of the wildcat independence
movement, in terms of money and leadership as well as military strength.
Without it, the wildcats will need to turn to Cerberus for such
assistance. And unveiling the perpetrators as Collectors will distract
the Alliance and Citadel forces from whatever he is planning. In this
instance, the Butcher is a distraction tool – powerful and useful, but
ultimately not the important part. Given the number of wildcat colonies
still extant, Cerberus gaining power over all of them would make the
organization as dangerous as it was prior to its destruction during the
Benezia Incident."

Delacor cursed. "That cannot be allowed to happen. A revived Cerberus
with the power this Butcher has is a nightmare. Hades is bad enough."

Tela folded her arms. "On top of that, the Butcher cleared out all the
slaver bases so that we wouldn't have any way to pin the blame on
anything but the Collectors whenever she decides to reveal the truth.
The little lie the Council has cooked up to keep things calm will
backfire on us at that point, and since we lied about that no one will
believe anything else we say." She sighed. "But why in hell would Liara
– if it is her – go along with this relli Illusive Man and his crazy plans?'

Ahern rubbed his chin. "The plan is nasty and clever, just like that
little fucker Harper. Sounds about like his speed. As for Liara… you'd
be surprised what people do when their life goes to shit. Next?"

"Altruistic protection. – the Butcher destroys the slavers and reveals
the Collectors are behind the attacks in hopes of stopping the attacks
and protecting humanity. The purpose of destroying the slavers was to
force the Council to take action. The data you gave to me indicated that
'Reapers' were possibly involved without any clarification on what they
are, so I can only surmise they are a serious, highly advanced threat.
Harper's psychological profile would seem to indicate he would not allow
Humanity as a whole to be threatened if he could avoid it. In this
instance, the Butcher is acting to deter and stop the Collectors. The
violence employed so far may be indication of mental deterioration on
the part of Liara T'Soni."

Ahern snorted. "And pigs will fly out of my ass. The Illusive Man
doesn't have much need to defend the Alliance. As for Liara being crazy,
quell fucking surprise. Next."

EDI's voice became somewhat worried sounding. "The final possibility is
that Harper is in league with these Collectors. That they are taking out
colonies and the Butcher is merely acting to muddy the waters. If the
knowledge of the attacks and who is behind them becomes public, the
political fallout would be severe. The Omega Four relay's position and
inability to be used would suggest the only way to stop further attacks
would be a full blockade, which would lead to all-out war in the
Traverse. Such a war would allow Harper to act on whatever motives or
plans he has. Given we do not know what the Collectors want, it is a
possible scenario, if unlikely, as it would clash severely with known
profiles of Harper."

Ahern nodded. "And Vigil?"

"We know almost nothing of the Inusannon AI or its abilities. It is
possible that it was either stolen by Harper, or freed itself and
decided to work with him. Either way, an AI of that power is dangerous
if it has free access to the extranet and can remote hack quarian
omni-tools. Without further data additional modeling is unlikely to be
accurate."

He nodded sourly. "Projections for the possibility that the Butcher is
Liara, and that this Harper is playing the angles to control the wildcat
colonies – what is his next move, or hers?"

EDI flashed up a starmap. "If he is acting openly, I would expect
communication with the larger wildcat colonies, particularly Horizon. He
will attempt propaganda to present the Alliance and Council as weak,
unhelpful, and Cerberus as defending them. He will move money into
accounts and provide some form of security. These would be highly
visible actions, and should be easy to detect assuming anyone bothers to
watch the wildcat colonies."

Tela shook her head. "The only banks involved with them are volus ones,
who could care less about their clientele as long as the money is good.
And there are enough smugglers and free merchants in the area –
especially now that the slavers are broken – that you could run a damned
army in there with no one the wiser."

Delacor rubbed his chin. "But they'd need to operate from some kind of
base, right? If we could track that down, we'd have them in a location
and could cut this thing off before it got started."

Ahern leaned back. "We can't afford assumptions, Captain. They lead you
to bad places. We're just projecting possibilities right now. EDI, what
would happen after that?"

The AI was silent for several seconds before speaking. "Releases of
confidential or embarrassing information to cause internal strife. A
focus on building up one of the wildcat colonies to act as a leader,
possibly the Horizon colony. Eventually, given the location of most of
the wildcat colonies and depending on the goals of the Illusive Man,
connections with either anti-alien elements in the Alliance or human
dominated mercenary companies in the Traverse."

Ahern nodded. "In that case, your course is clear. Doesn't matter if the
Butcher is Liara or an ardat-yakshi, either way it is a clusterfuck of
epic proportions. The Council will go completely apeshit and there's no
fucking telling what the Alliance may do. If Cerberus is involved, then
that just makes everything ten goddamned times worse."

Tela just rolled her eyes. This shit just got better and better. Now
they got to go on a wild shantha chase into the worst tide-damned
sections of the galaxy, chasing for a killer who was either a crazy
princess of the Thirty or an ardat-yakshi. And she had to do so
alongside a human who attracted so much bad luck she half expected to be
hit by a rogue mass accelerator shot fired during the Rachni Wars.

Ahern leveled a finger at Delacor. "The two of you need to head to
Horizon and see if you can't talk some kind of fucking sense into those
people. I'll get on the horn with Udina and see if he can't work out
some kind of package under the table to make 'em cooperative, but under
no circumstances can we allow Cerberus to gain a foothold – fifteen
wildcat colonies would give them an ugly power base to work from, and
the shit they got up to before Shepard stomped them back in the Benezia
Incident shows they're not to be trusted."

Tela nodded. "And the Butcher herself?"

Ahern sighed. "If it really is Liara, see if you can't talk her down
from this shit. I can't even imagine what kind of fucking bullshit it
means for Liara and possibly Tali'Zorah to be working with Cerberus of
all people, but it probably isn't good. There's no really safe way to
approach her, but I recommend doing so on the ground – in space,
fighting a souped up version of the /Normandy/ with Moreau as pilot will
see your ships blown to shit, the little bastard is too good. On the
ground… you can at least have a face to face conversation."

Delacor shrugged. "So we get her to surrender if we can. What if we
can't, or the Butcher turns out to be this, ah, ardat-yakshi thing?"

Ahern shrugged. "Kill her. That's a problem that we don't need. They
aren't Shepard and I never truly broke Liara of her dependence on
magical blue bullshit. Use anti-biotic tactics and shut her down with
high explosives if you need to. Given the Butcher can throw more power
than the Priestess of the Sun if EDI's projections are right, getting
into a biotics fight is stupidity of the highest fucking magnitude."

Tela shuddered. "Yeah, I'll skip that. Biotic charge and drop a satchel
of pulse dissipators, then fall back. I can work with this." She took a
deep breath. "Once that is done, what are we going to do about these
Collectors?"

Ahern shrugged. "The Council is working on that now. It's delicate and
above my fucking pay grade, so I don't give a shit." He tapped a few
controls on the haptic panel. "EDI, you've run a predictive combat
analysis on the Butcher? Dump it to an OSD so Tela and Captain Delacor
are up to speed."

EDI spoke a second later. "Done. In short, the Butcher is extremely
lethal at all ranges, but becomes more dangerous as she closes range. We
have fragmentary reports of very extreme speed and strength, which
remain anomalous and difficult to project. Based on demonstrated
physical strength from autopsy reports and eyewitness accounts, there is
a high probability the Butcher has extensive cybernetic augmentation or
biomodification."

EDI displayed another info-graphic, of images of the Butcher. "The armor
she wears is very thick and has dual-stage barrier management
technology, allowing her to use both a kinetic barrier and her own
biotic barrier. Reports indicate even a lance cannon was insufficient to
drop her. She is using several other weapons that do not match any known
manufacturer and may be custom designed."

Delacor sighed. "This gets better and better. Any weaknesses?"

EDI's voice was apologetic. "Aside from removing her biotics, none have
been noted at this time. Strike Captain Kal'Reegar reported she seemed
slightly disoriented and weakened after destroying the salarian war
robot with that biotic throw of a cargo crate but was still dangerous."

Ahern nodded. "One final thing. Alliance Command is concerned the
Butcher may be attempting to find links between certain slaving
operations in the Traverse and elements of Alliance society. If the
Butcher is working for Cerberus, and Cerberus is making a power play,
they may try blackmail or exposure to achieve their goals. If you can
find and localize Cerberus command – particularly Jack Harper – you are
authorized to take him out at all costs, even if that means letting the
Butcher escape."

Delacor nodded sourly. "Figures. Anything else?"

Ahern pulled an OSD from the slot on his desk and tossed it to Vasir,
who caught it nimbly. "If there is I'll let you know." He paused. "Tela,
don't get sloppy on this one. Liara wasn't anywhere close to the best
soldier I've trained, but she was motivated and very intelligent."

Vasir's eyes flashed. "Maybe so, but I'm still better. And if it's her
she has a lot of answers I need, about how Auntie Aethyta died and what
in the name of the goddess she is doing with a group like Cerberus."

He nodded and the two Spectres stood. "I'll be in touch, Tela. It was
good to see you again."

She smiled. "Tell your wife I said hello and that if she's ever up for
that thing we talked about…"

Ahern rolled his eyes. "We're a little bit old for threesomes, Tela." He
was amused at the look on Delacor's face, and smirked to himself. "But
I'll mention it to her."

The asari gave an impish grin, turning to Delacor a second later. "Let's
get a move on, Captain." Ahern watched the two leave his office, and
then sighed.

EDI's voice was tentative and hesitant. "You did not suggest they
consider Cerberus may be acting in altruistic concerns or working with
the Collectors."

Ahern shrugged. "If the Butcher is working to stop the Collectors and
Cerberus is suddenly puppy-hugging good guys, then they won't be
anywhere near Horizon. If they're in league with the Collectors, we
still don't know what the motives or goals could be, so chasing that
angle – which is unlikely as all fuck – is a waste of time."

He stood slowly, rubbing an ache in his back. "Inform the Council I've
done their fucking briefing and have Udina call me. We need to get to work."

EDI's voice was calm. "Of course, Admiral. You are scheduled to eat
lunch with your wife in twenty minutes as a reminder."

He nodded. "I remember, but thanks." He paused. "EDI, what do you think?
I know you present the odds, but if you had a gut instinct…"

EDI's voice took a note of amusement. "I am a machine, Admiral. I cannot
by definition have a 'gut' nor instincts associated with it."

Ahern glared at the speaker, and EDI chuckled. "I do however take your
meaning. The given modeled projections fit the data best, but there
remains one piece of inconsistent data I cannot reconcile with any of
the possible scenarios."

Ahern frowned. "And that is?"

"The Butcher's weapon – the shotgun styled after an ODIN. It would
appear to be more effective than the standard pattern upgraded to use
modern technology."

Ahern shrugged. "Shepard was a genius with weapons."

EDI's voice sharpened. "But highly technical skills such as weapons
design do not pass through asari bonding in the way reflexes or
reactions or memories do. Such a skill is intellectual, and not
something that can be absorbed or passed along. I do not know why this
data point continues to stand out in my processes, but the heuristics I
use for analysis of anomalous data mark it as highly significant."

Ahern thought for several seconds, then shrugged. "It's something you
can think on for now. We'll see what happens when Delacor and Vasir move
in." EDI fell silent as Ahern walked to the door of his office, but his
own thoughts were slightly troubled.

Against his own better judgment, as he reached the door he glanced back.
"EDI. Send the ballistics and reports – scrubbed of identification and
context – to Shepard Memorial Industries and see what Colms comes up
with. If you're onto something, I need confirmation."

EDI's voice replied calmly. "I will, Admiral. Enjoy your lunch. And
since you are eating near Shin Akiba – "

He snorted. "I'm not picking up any of that asari-hanar filth from Shin
Akiba, EDI. Enable your own goddamned hobbies."

He laughed as he left the office and heard her mutter "asshole" again."

*O-TWCD-O*

The silence radiated, enfolding and calming and concealing that which
was not good to look upon. It filled the huge room with its own volume,
the only light coming from dimly glowing organic lights almost lost high
in the shadows of the cavernous ceiling, faint blue and white radiance
falling almost imperceptibly on the four figures in the room and from
the control panels of the scatter of bulky equipment and the smooth
lines of other shapes on the floor.

Vnad Ishan spread his upper-limbs across the soft-glowing panels of the
interface, carefully adjusting the power to the Farcalling Device. A
faint, almost subsonic hum sprang into existence around the machine, and
the Collector General nodded to himself in satisfaction, the black robes
that shrouded his heavy, multi-legged bulk making only faint rustling as
he skittered across the floor.

"Open the Pathway. It is time that the Voice once more speaks."

The three collectors behind him in the vast, vaulted room touched clawed
hands to their own bio-consoles, the panels operating by a mix of
psychometric commands and pheromones. The crude technology of the
current galactic harvest protruded from the center of the room like some
ancient shamanic totem in a server farm, and Vnad Ishan found the
slightest trace of amusement in the idea that the greed and stupidity of
the harvest would seal their own doom.

The sound in the air /twisted/, a faint golden light erupting from the
Farcalling Device, boosted by the beacon constructed by the Shadow
Broker's teams. Energies unseen but still felt boomed across space,
across time, across spaces curled into strings so small that measuring
them would leave one still within the size of a quark. Eerie whirlwinds
and the smell of ozone spilled across the room, fading a moment later.

And then the power dimmed, and a Presence settled into the room, a flow
of warmth and darkness and guidance.

*"You have failed to report for a full two stancycles. Nazara has not
activated the primary Citadel relay. We have felt a blast of Godpower,
warped. You will explain or be re-harvested."*

The Collector General bent his limbs inwards, his vast bulk kneeling,
his mind prostrate before his Reaper Gods. "Great Harbinger of the
Severity, we have touched your mind to do so."

*"Less subjection, more information."* Harbinger's 'voice', for lack of
any other way to describe the impact of its words into their minds, grew
sharp. The Collector General's wide, scalloped head dipped as it spoke.

"Mighty Nazara was destroyed by the native populations. From the last
burst he sent out using the Godpower, we ascertained two things – one,
the Ascension Protocol is flawed, and leaves a trace of vulnerability
after a dedicated connection is broken by violence. Two, Nazara's
defense failed because the Catalyst Godmachinepower is awake."

A long silence passed, like a chill of winter. The pressure of the
golden light increased. *"Unforeseen. And your silence in the past two
stancycles?"*

Vnad Ishan spread his limbs. "The Farcalling Device attempted to relay
the message, but the data was badly malformed. Something… interfered
with the transmission. The device was damaged. After additional
investigation, we bypassed the Secondary plan and executed the beginning
of the Tertiary Plan."

The voice rang out louder. *"Why would you do such a thing? Nazara chose
not to launch Secondary due to belief that Primary was viable and less
likely to attract Old One attention – if the Catalyst is awake we cannot
delay. Enact the Secondary immediately."*

The Collector General dipped its bulk. "It is not viable to do so. There
is no evidence the Catalyst is free, only awake in the data substrate of
the Citadel. Secondary cannot be launched because the Alpha Relay site
and the Coordinator are in the hands of the Old Ones."

There was a longer pause, and then a bluish light shone, and the voice
changed, became almost… smooth. *"This is Niqasa. Your hesitance is
noted. Explain, decant, and report."*

Ishan relaxed slightly. They would not be destroyed outright. "Nazara
detected Godpower signatures within the Galaxy. Since the Impure that we
once were before you Ascended us did not know of the Catalyst, and none
of the natives did, it does not follow they could be the cause of the
Catalyst's activation. Nor has there been any evidence the native
leaders understand their true peril. We deduced the only answer to the
Catalyst being active was that the Catalyst was reactivated by the Old
Ones, specifically to trap Nazara."

The big Collector hesitated, before speaking again. "Every modeling
attempt at storming the Citadel ourselves and activating the Primary
Relay lead to less than one percent success chance. We immediately
decanted additional warrior-forms and began construction on larger
war-chambers, but direct conflict seemed unwise. Our own technology
would be more easily assimilated by native races than any remains of
Nazara's combat-form and it would take us almost nineteen stancycles to
build a sufficient force to guarantee success, and failures would
generate a possible breach of the Severity, so that plan was abandoned."

Harbinger's voice rang out again. *"Correct reasoning. Thus, you
abandoned execution of Primary and fallback Primary. Explain the lack of
execution of the Secondary Plan."*

Ishan touched a panel, allowing data to flow. "We engaged in preparation
to execute Secondary immediately. We assembled a strike force to
physically secure the area near the Alpha Relay and reactivate the
Coordinator Godpower unit. However, we were unable to approach closely
due to very high grade retroceptive sensors and reality anchors of Old
One make, and found the site heavily secured with additional unfamiliar
Godpower signatures. Using secondary assets still under the influence of
the Influence, we obtained slave stock and verified Godpower essence in
the native culture known as the Batarian Hegemony."

The voice of Niqasa rumbled with a spill of blue light. *"How many?
Deployment of reality anchors suggests they are expecting direct assault
from the Ascended."*

"At least six, perhaps nine – possibly more in hibernation. Additional
recon and work with a local intelligence power identified the Batarian
Hegemony as being dominated by Old Ones for some time – estimated time
frame is over five megacycles. Additional Old Ones were identified in
rapture-sleep-hibernation on four different water worlds, guarded by
elite forces. The interface between the batarians and the Old Ones
appears to be religious in nature and has performed extensive
bio-modification of the ruling group to block the Influence from
affecting them."

Harbinger's 'voice' gained a sharp, almost amused tone as its golden
light took ascendance again. *"Clever. Continue."*

The Collector General's four eyes narrowed. "The chances of military
combat success against Old One units without assistance from at least
one of the High Ones was determined to be basically zero."

The big Collector paused. "Thus, with the execution of both Primary,
backup Primary, and Secondary blocked, we enacted a modified form of
Tertiary. We engaged repairs on the Farcalling Device, immediately. We
utilized what compromised assets remained of Nazara's own forces to
conduct bio-cleansing on the batarian population. We captured slaves and
inserted them back into batarian space after injecting them with the
weakest level of enhancements to the Sight to enable them to react and
reject Old One influence, and implanted low-level Severity breaching
applications of resonance discharge to disturb the Old Ones version of
the Influence."

Harbinger was silent, then gave a rumble of approval. *"No breach of the
Severity was noted. Your deployment appears to have fallen below
Godpower baselines. The result?"*

The Collector General dipped its bulk again. "Several powerful batarian
leaders grew alarmed as their weak minds were suddenly negatively
affected by the Old One's aura while freed from its Influence. They
contrived a convoluted but effective plan to expose the Batarian emperor
as being in league with the Old Ones, and to rally the native galactic
governance and military against them. This was accomplished in part, but
the plan was derailed by the interference of other natives, but not
before a significant number of hibernating Old Ones were destroyed."

Niqasa's voice rumbled with amusement as twisted blue light flared.
*"That cannot be called a failure. Destruction of the Old Ones, with the
highest likelihood of destroying the Severity's safety, takes priority
even over the Harvest. Proceed."*

With a touch of another panel, additional data was sent. "We abandoned
our secondary forces still affected by the Influence at this point, as
the natives have identified a primitive detection method. Instead, we
were contacted by the aforementioned intelligence and security power,
known as the Shadow Broker. The Broker is interested in survival at any
cost and is influential in galactic events. The Broker was able to
neutralize the primary actors involved in defeating Nazara and other
incidents, and to ensure the native galactic governments do not act on
what little they understand to interfere with the Harvest, whenever you
decide it should occur."

Harbinger pulsed, the feeling making the entire room vibrate. *"And?"*

The Collector leader faltered slightly. "…And we began the initial steps
of the tertiary protocol in case we could not reach you via the
Farcalling Device. We have already obtained a large amount of
combat-grade Pale Guards, and a smaller number of the native race known
as humans to begin building a Core device. If we could not contact you
directly, the great lord we are building would be able to do so – or to
lead us against the forces near the Alpha Relay."

There was silence for almost two minutes, before Harbinger's voice
sounded. *"I am transmitting a device to further boost the signal gain
of the Farcalling. You will act as direct liaison for a modification of
the Ascension Protocol, to cut out any feedback from the method."*

The Collector General bowed. "I have already prepared a specialist host
to allow the Great Lord we were building to utilize the Ascension
Protocol. I will incorporate the changes. Should we halt work on the Core?"

A third voice, heretofore unheard, sounded in an eruption of sickening
green light. *"No. We have discovered additional Old One influence in a
galaxy on the fringe of the Severity's limits, recklessly
force-advancing a Tier Seven corruption into a possible Level Five
Perversion. Six other galactic harvests are underway, including one with
at least a Level Eight Perversion. Two more are in preparation. Nazara
was late in performing the Calling in this galaxy and it is now severely
out of phase. We are not in a position to begin the Harvest in your
galaxy… yet. The native organics appear to be, from his last report,
singularly incompetent and primitive. While the Catalyst is a threat it
does not appear to be attempting synchronization."*

Harbinger's voice sounded again. *"Assuming the natives remain
incompetent, a few more stancycles affects nothing. Continue building
the Core using the most viable of the local races, which would appear to
be these humans. Once it achieves quickening, we will assess its
fitness. Prepare a military force to perform a direct strike at the
Alpha Relay within three cycles. Once the Core is prepared and infused,
it will lead your strike – a second instigation of bio-modified natives
to disrupt this Batarian Hegemony should provide an opening. At that
time we will deploy a minimal number of platforms lead by myself to
pacify the galaxy and perform tetryon dimensional bombardment to the
Citadel, neutralizing the Catalyst. The Old Ones will most likely flee
at that point."*

Ishad dipped again. "Understood. We are still encountering minor
resistance, although we are secure. The natives are attempting to
reverse engineer some of the materials of Nazara battle-form, and at
least one Eternal Pyramid is being investigated as well."

Harbinger's voice was definitely amused this time. *"That is no threat
to us. A guardian of the cycles has their weapons and power reduced, and
their secondary systems removed entirely, just in case this happens.
They may be able to recreate some primitive versions of our technology,
but it remains our technology – they cannot touch the Godpower. It is
ultimately more likely to induce the Influence upon them. If they are
fool enough to experiment with an Eternal Pyramid, then they are likely
to be completely consumed by the Influence in short order."*

Niqasa's smoother voice sounded. *"And if the Old Ones are playing with
events in the Prime Citadel Galaxy, it is very likely to be a
distraction from what they are attempting in the Sculptor galaxy. A
feint within a feint. We will play their games for our own purposes. Go.
Do not fail us."*

The Collector General let himself slump as the voices faded, and the
Farcalling Device's subtle whine fell into silence. With a projection of
pheromones, he instructed his assistants to leave, as he began planning
how to implement the will of his masters.

*O-TWCD-O*

Shepard woke up in the medical bay, blinking and frowning as she sat up.
The bay itself was empty except for her and the man sitting in the chair
next to the central operations bed.

She rubbed her eyes – which never removed the slightly gritty feeling –
and looked at him carefully. He was tall, a lanky, middle aged man with
long black hair tied back into a ponytail. His face was set into a
small, gentle smile, and he leaned forward in the chair as she sat up,
his white doctor's coat splitting to reveal a black suit and red silken
shirt, along with a copper and coral bear pendant around his neck. His
voice was a mix of gentle and sternly cold.

"Ah, good. You are finally awake. Is your vision normal, now?"

She blinked, then nodded. "Seems like it. How long was I out for?"

The man smiled wider. "About a day. I am Doctor Salish Six-Hawks, in
charge of the project that integrated your blueware cybernetics and
biotics. Doctor Lawson indicated you would probably have questions when
you awoke, and I am the best suited to answer them."

He paused. "You should be able to sit up all the way."

Shepard swung down out of the elevated medical bed, thankful to see she
had on a white t-shirt and sweatpants. The floor was cold to her feet,
and she wondered how much money and time had gone into recreating her
nervous system enough for that to even register before looking up.

"Yeah, a few. Like just what in fuck did you people do to me?"

Six-Hawks chuckled. "It isn't a matter of what we set out to do, rather
what ended up happening. And there are two halves to that question: what
we did to your body, and what your body has done to your soul."

She frowned. "I meant in the sense of what was done to my biotics that
let me blow myself up."

A calm nod was his only reply at first, his dark eyes staring at hers.
After a few moments, he gave a small sigh. "There is a clear explanation
for that much, at least. The Revenant Project was alarmingly unconcerned
about the spiritual ramifications of what was done to you, but we can
discuss that if you like at a later time. To answer your question,
without getting into a boring technical discussion, commander, the
easiest thing for me to do is show you, if you have a moment."

His deferential and wordy manner and calm voice settled her nerves
slightly. "…Sure. Hit me."

He held up a data-slate, and tapped it, bringing up an image of a human
outline. "Doctor Lawson should have told you that your body is not the
same as it was. Namely, you died. Your body still needs food and oxygen
to function, but most of your body's mass is gone – including the mass
of nerves in your nervous system that provided the bio-electrical energy
that allowed you to use biotics."

She nodded sourly. "So I'm Robocop but without the cold-press juicer
helmet. I understand that."

He gave a thin smile. "Most biotics, to simplify things greatly, are
powered by the nervous system. It provides the electrical energy that
energizes the eezo in your body, which produces a dark energy wave.
Modulated by both your nerves and the bio-amp, this wave is converted to
produce work – biotic effects."

He tapped the image, and both legs, most of both arms, and parts of the
body vanished, the blue glow filling the outline fading to almost
nothing. "Your limbs were removed and much of your spine converted to
cybernetics. While great care was taken to make you feel as much like a
living woman as possible, it is, I am afraid, mostly a lie. Less than
eleven percent of the nervous mass of your body outside your spinal cord
nerve bundles, brain stem, and brain remain, mostly the nerves for your
heart, eyes, and some sensory and other organs. You, without
augmentation, could not even generate the weakest pull now."

He smiled. "We did the best we could with pressure, temperature, and
other sensors to mimic a normal sense of feeling. But it is only mimicry."

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Thanks for driving the
point home, doc. Anyway, so if my nervous system isn't producing
bio-electricity…" She trailed off with an arched eyebrow.

He tapped the image a third time, this time the almost-cartoonish
outline of an Inusannon Power Star filling the image's belly, and the
outline filled with blue light. "Your biotics are now powered by
converted energy from the power star in your body, with your blueware
cybernetics performing the double duty of channeling the energy to your
biotic nodes, and providing a channel for the dark energy to leave your
body."

Six-Hawks put down the slate. "Unfortunately, due to limitations in how
much complexity can be crammed into such a small package, we had to
utilize a great deal of… innovation. Much of your body is comprised of
semi-state Inusannon 'living metal'. And we have discovered that this
metal is somewhat more reactive to dark energy than originally planned.
While testing prior to and after your awakening did not generate any
anomalous readings, we did note your power baselines were far, far
higher than originally anticipated."

She bit her lip. "Meaning?"

Six-Hawks sighed. "Meaning that we don't have a good way to dial down
how much power you can pull from your power source without crippling
your biotics. Managing the energy in a rapid accurate fashion for wildly
different biotic uses is simply something that would require a dedicated
VI and tens of millions of credits in design upgrades."

He folded his arms. "For the most part your biotics are strong – very
strong. Originally we thought they would be on par with a decently
trained asari commando, but it appears that under stress and when doing
what most biotic practitioners call a 'core pull' you can actually
channel a staggering amount of energy and produce equally staggering
results."

Shepard leaned back. She was familiar with the core pull – a moment of
hard focus and straining to throw all your strength into a biotic
attack. It usually left your nerves on fire, and made you dizzy and
uncoordinated for a few seconds, but could produce slightly stronger and
faster results.

She scratched her head. "I'm not sure I get this. It's just power,
right? Can't you just stick a capacitor or something like a circuit
breaker in me? Fuck, what's the point of being a goddamned cybernetic
freak if you can't even stop me from frying myself?"

Six-Hawks shook his head. "Blueware and biotic interactions with the
nervous system and biotics are not as simple as general cybermedicine.
We could have tried to make it where you do not 'fry yourself' – but
that would limit your power sharply. Miranda still thinks this is the
safest option."

He smiled. "However, instead I decided to simply augment the rating of
the power-links, add additional heatsinks, and put in a few buffers to
prevent direct nervous system damage from overloads in the future." His
eyes became a touch sad. "To attempt to give you normalcy in your
current state would be an insult to you."

She tilted her head. "So… you could have simply said that you made it
harder for me to blow myself up."

Six-Hawks nodded. "I could. But that brings me back to my earlier point.
You have been modified heavily, to the point that it is arguable if you
are human or not. Many people would have serious issues adjusting in the
long term. What 'we did to you' was convert you into a killing machine
the likes of which has never been seen. Compromising that now seems very
dangerous. Your power has been expressed and is expected – for me to cut
you off from it now would leave you in danger."

His expression tightened. "You plan, I am informed, on going after one
of the most dangerous biotics in space, Tetrimus the Dagger. Unlike most
of Cerberus, I have had the unhappy experience of seeing this person in
action. You will need every possible advantage to even stay alive in a
fight with him. This level of power might be what is required to keep
you alive in such a confrontation. It does not serve you nor the
Illusive Man to weaken you in the name of safety in the short term when
it is unlikely that such safety is actually safe in the long run."

She snorted. "Aww, you're indulging in mad science to keep me safe? How
sweet." Her voice flattened into sarcastic anger. "In other words,
utility trumps safety. I'm not as useful to TIM in the long run if I am
not as powerful as possible, even if that risks my life. Figures."

Six-Hawks shrugged. "I did not take this job because I believe in the
Illusive Man's goals. Indeed, I was not aware this was a Cerberus
operation until a few days prior to your awakening. Nor do I think
attempting to make you more comfortable or safe has any place in what we
have done here."

He folded his arms. "You are a dead woman alive due to billions of
dollars' worth of cybernetics and technology we barely comprehend. You
aren't here to feel normal, or rebuild your life – you are here for
revenge, and anything getting in the way of your revenge is likely to
make you turn on us if we are the source. Neither I nor any of the rest
of the medical team can do anything about that."

Shepard said nothing for a long moment before straightening on the
medical bed. "…You're right about that. I'm not having a pity party for
myself, Doc. But I need to have a better method of being able to use the
big guns I have without leaving myself barely able to see or walk."

Six-Hawks nodded. "I have done what I can in that regard. It will take a
few more days for the internal damage to fully clear – I had to pick
fragments of heat sink ceramics out of your lungs. I would recommend
some light training to figure out what the safe thresholds are."

He stood. "In any event, I believe Doctor Chambers would like to speak
to you soon. You should be cleared to go about your business, although
your back will be slightly sore for the rest of the day."

He nodded and turned to leave, and Shepard frowned. "You said something
about spiritual ramifications."

He paused, turning back, and took a deep breath. "I am of the First
Nations, that which in their arrogance the Americans deigned to call
Native Americans. The People survived the Days of Iron by abandoning
what little link we had left to nature, and my own studies fly in the
face of everything natural. And yet, I do not forget the wisdom of my
fathers."

He fingered the pendant around his neck as he spoke. "There are limits
to what can be done to a human body. We know that after a certain
percentage, standard cybernetics begin to fail, the body sickens, the
spirit withers. Psychosis and insomnia, hallucinations, cancers,
allergic rejections and toxic shock syndrome consume the person
underneath the metal. Below 45% these problems are minimal, below 65%
they can be… ameliorated. You are well beyond those thresholds."

He folded his arms. "Doctors Lawson and Chambers took extreme steps to
make your condition as… viable as possible. Very few cybernetic
conversions pay any attention to that, while you have skin that is warm,
sexual organs, nerves hooked up so you can taste and smell, and every
possible attempt at making your body feel 'living' and 'normal'. But you
know what lies beneath, and the technology we used to revive you has
many aspects even Vigil was not familiar with."

She nodded slowly. "Okay… and?"

Six-Hawks fixed her with his dark gaze. "Lawson has not told you the
full truth about what will probably happen to you as your system
struggles and fails to adapt to the cybernetics within you. Every time
you are injured, your biological components will take longer to heal,
and are more likely to suffer failure or develop cancer. The more strain
you put on your body, the more it will begin to sicken and die. Your
spirit – which I know sounds anachronistic, even superstitious – is no
longer whole."

He unfolded his arms, letting them hang. "There is nothing we can do to
fix that. We are using various hormones and drugs to trick the cells of
your brain, heart, and other remaining organs to continue functioning
and to keep the cells dividing. More tricks to hide the nature of how
much of you is gone from your limbic system. Eventually, I am told, most
people in your state will become… disconnected from reality."

Shepard nodded a second time. "I already knew I was a zombie, doc. Does
it upset you?"

Six-Hawks sighed. "It is an abomination against everything I know,
against the purpose of cybernetic medicine and against ethics. A weaker
person with a weaker mind would not have survived. I – "

She held up a hand, cutting him off. "I get it. I've never been…
spiritual. Or religious. And when I was dead I don't remember lakes of
fire or streets of gold. God is an evil fucker if he lets people like me
go through what I did, so I could give a shit about Him."

She shook her head. "But the man who trained me told me once that when
shit gets bad, the only thing I can do it tell it to myself straight."

A faint smile flickered over her lips, hearing Ahern's voice in her
head. "I've lost more than most people, but I am not going to just sit
down and cry, or give up. Even if I'm rotting away and this body is
going to give out, I'm not going to just quit because I am motherfucking
Sara Ying Shepard, the baddest bitch in the entire galaxy."

He looked at her for a long moment before inclining his head. "Indeed
you are. If your spirit continues to burn as brightly in death as it did
in life… perhaps I will be proven wrong. Let us hope so." He turned
away. "I will notify Doctor Chambers you are awake."

She grunted. "Tell her I'll be in my quarters."

It took a good twenty-five minutes to clean herself up – a long, hot
shower, and a slug of Scotch as she put on her robe in the privacy of
her quarters. As she was sitting in the chair in the corner of the room,
the door pinged and slid open, revealing Kelly Chambers.

"C'mon in. Scotch is on the table."

Kelly did so, pouring herself a glass and then sitting down across from
Shepard. Her eyes looked a bit tired, the hair a bit messy. "Did
Six-Hawks give you the medicine man speech?"

Shepard snorted. "I'm surprised Cerberus signed up a guy like that. He
had a point, though. I'm not really alive."

Kelly rolled her eyes. "You're smoking and drinking. Enjoyable, yes?"

Shepard took a hit from her cigarette, then exhaled. "I guess."

Kelly leaned back. "Well, then. We worked pretty damned hard to you to
be able to act like you are alive. We even spent almost a month on
salvaging – one at a time – nerve bundles and bits of your real skin so
you could indulge in the kinds of things you like in the bedroom."

She smirked, but Shepard gave her an annoyed look. "Not much chance of
that happening, Chambers."

Kelly shrugged. "What I mean is your life is NOT over. You are not dead.
Sure, there will be complications down the line, but we have an entire
team and a blank check to come up with solutions. Six-Hawks and the
'ethical' types like him think cybernetics is monstrous. That's a bunch
of twaddle."

She sipped some of the Scotch. "Life is what you make of it. You don't
know what will happen after you crush Tetrimus and stop the Collectors.
Maybe you'll find someone else who makes you feel like Liara did. Maybe
you can use your influence and power to save more people, to improve
things."

She shrugged. "Anyway. I know you were a little pissed about what you
saw down there. The Illusive Man had hints Collectors were behind the
attacks, but no firm evidence. Now that we have it, and it is in the
hands of the Alliance and Council, we have to see what they plan to do."

Shepard snorted. "Shit, Kelly, I can tell you that. Pick the most
fucking retarded option for the worst possible reason and go with that."
She smiled sourly. "The Council actually lambasted me for blowing up
that Tho'ian on Feros, for fuck's sake. Not to mention wanting me to
fucking arrest Liara, bitching about every mission, whining about losing
so many STG on Virmire…"

She sighed. "And don't get me started on going along with the bullshit
the SA pulled on me when I wanted to go after Benezia. If they hadn't
fucking delayed me, all the people who died on the Citadel might have
lived. So, honestly, fuck them."

Kelly smiled. "That's actually pretty much in line with what we know.
Miranda and the ops team will talk it over with you later on tomorrow,
but our initial intel suggests the Council is sending Spectres after you."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "Cute. Which ones?"

Kelly's smile thinned. "One is confirmed: Captain Jason Delacor."

Shepard was silent for several seconds, sipping calmly on her Scotch,
and then threw back her head in laughter. "Oh, that's fucking rich."

Kelly shrugged. "They put him in command of your old battlegroup – your
commissar, Jiong, is his oversight. We don't have any hard details on
what they plan to do, but we suspect they will want to capture you –
somehow they know about your link to us and about Vigil."

Shepard winced. "Vigil said he wiped the quarian's omni-tools on
Freedom's Progress, and cut off the security cameras once we got inside."

Kelly shrugged. "We only have minimal assets on the Citadel, and only
got this data through a third party, so we don't have details. The
Illusive Man suggests that, since it is usually sometime between
Collector attacks, this is a good time to pick up Jack, investigate
Korlus, and generally stay off the radar. Omega is too hot right now and
Mordin Solus is moving to a location in the Black Rim, not that far from
Korlus – we'll try to see if we can't intercept him once he leaves where
he is now."

Shepard nodded. "Leaving Delacor to look for me aimlessly? I can do
that. Does Warden Kuril know the truth?"

Kelly shook her head. "Absolutely not. Whether you trust him enough to
tell him is up to you – we know you invited him to your wedding and had
dealings with him before. We have an asset heading to Korlus right now
to prep for your arrival. That's… not what I came here to talk about."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "Hit me."

Kelly smiled. "You mentioned that you wished you could talk to a few
people. We know your old XO is still on Dirth. We have someone we need
to pick up from that planet that will be aiding us, and the Illusive Man
did not disagree when I said you might like to talk to Pressly.
Additionally, the Illusive Man wants you to make contact with former
President Windsor, who is on exile on Dirth."

Shepard narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Kelly sighed. "Cerberus has few allies within the Families – and none at
all within the High Lords of Sol that can be utilized. Despite being in
exile, many nobles still communicate with Windsor, and his influence is
merely broken, not destroyed. We need to know what is going on with the
Families, and he's the only person we know with insight that could tell
us besides the von Graths – and we are trying to keep our distance from
them, since they're under Commissariat suspicion."

Kelly finished her drink. "One of the modifications we made to your body
was the ability for us to change your skin tone – and your hair is
designed to load various dye program packages. With some contacts, baggy
clothes, and the respirator a victim of Urtan Lung Spore Decay would
wear, no one will recognize you. Dirth's customs systems are outdated
and we have a way past them in any event."

Shepard leaned back and folded her arms. "This is a bit out of the blue.
I would figure you want me moving immediately on building a team and
stopping the Collectors."

Kelly shrugged. "Like I said, Miranda will cover more of this tomorrow –
but the long and the short of it is that with those… stasis bugs, our
plans of boarding a Collector vessel are nil until we research a way to
neutralize them. We're deploying teams now to every single wildcat
colony, setting up what we hope will be a series of shielded traps that
can capture one of the things and perform a destructive scan on it. Once
we have data on how it works, we'll use that to capture the interest of
Mordin Solus and hope he can help us come up with a counter."

She poured herself some more Scotch. "Until then, my job is making sure
you are stable. We're still looking for ways to approach Archangel and
the Sisters of Vengeance. Mr. Massani will be tied up for at least
another week, as will Ms. Goto. We may as well use this time productively."

Shepard sighed. "Whatever."

Kelly nodded and, picking up her glass, stood. "Oh. Matriarch Trellani
was off the base and wants to speak with you tomorrow about some kind of
training. She said you would enjoy it. For now, try to get a good
night's rest – being in shutdown mode like we have you doesn't let you
have any REM sleep, so you need it."

Shepard nodded. She did feel drained and tired, even though she knew
intellectually her body couldn't get tired anymore. "I think I will.
I'll see you at breakfast."

Kelly gave a bright smile and departed, and Shepard shook her head. She
still didn't trust Kelly very much… and every conversation with her had
a point. She reached over and tapped the comm-link. "Hey, Joker."

Joker's voice came across sourly. /"Whaaaaat? I'm watching Fleet and
Flotilla."/

She smirked. "My holoscreen is bigger and I'm bored. Bring Tali and some
popcorn."

Joker was silent a second. /"Really? I mean, sure. I guess. It's pretty
sappy sometimes, but it's got some good fight scenes."/

Tali's voice sounded across the comm, slightly slurred. Shepard's mouth
quirked in amusement at the thought of drunk Tali. /"Maybe we should
bring the OSD of that movie they made."/

Shepard frowned. "Movie?"

Joker's voice was choked with laughter. /"Oh, yeah. We'll be there in
ten."/ He cut off with a sarcastic cackle, and Shepard pinched the
bridge of her nose.

"If that fool brings me a porn video of some kind, I'm killing him."

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 14: Arc II : Sadly, not over a rope bridge*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

*A/N*: /Hey, gang./

/While I have a list of emails to give people access to the chapter, I'm
going to be busy for several days. My cousin (a mailman) was clipped by
a truck while doing his job. He's alright – out of the hospital, some
minor fractures at C6 and C7 – but he's going to be taking it easy for a
few days and I'm going to hang out at his place for a bit./

/Since I won't be able to grab the updates and put it up until late next
week I just pushed this chapter out. /

/Chapter moves around a bit, but I hope it addresses some things that
people were asking about. I know this is all a bit slow, but in the game
things were needed to go fast to keep up the impression of urgency –
here, I have time to explain it all. /

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'There can be no rights allowed for a mob that are forbidden for an
individual, nor moral stances that are valid in the name of revenge but
not justice, unless one lies to one's self. Self-deception is the tool
of all dictators, vigilantes, and idealists throughout history.'/

/-Saint Victor Manswell, 'The Second Fall of Eden'/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shepard woke early the next morning, after pausing to incinerate the OSD
of 'Citadel' Joker had left in her room last night. She'd actually
enjoyed herself, after talking with Joker and telling him to stop
blaming himself for her death. Fleet and Flotilla was certainly not what
she had expected. Then they'd pulled out the 'movie' the Alliance had
made of her battle against Saren and Benezia, and got a sinking feeling
in her stomach as Joker began to cackle.

She'd forced herself to watch it, accompanied by the hysterical laughter
of Joker and half-drunken giggles of Tali, up until the 'fight' with Saren.

It wasn't bad enough that the Alliance had turned her death into
anti-geth propaganda, or outright lied about her past. It wasn't bad
enough the actress they'd chosen to play her had breasts the size of a
small colony and the same sort of acting ability as found in a table lamp.

No, they'd had Saren and her fight it out in a vast underground ice
cavern, with explosions everywhere, fighting with goddamned gun-fu, made
up martial arts, and cheesy lines.

Of course, Joker had completely lost it when 'Shepard' and Saren had
uttered the movie's most cringe-worthy lines.

"Give up, human! You can't beat a Spectre like me!"

"Ha! I eat Spectres for breakfast – and since I skipped it this morning,
I'm very hungry!"

Shepard had watched this (and Joker falling out of his chair in complete
laughing meltdown) and face-palmed. "I can't believe this macho bullshit."

She sighed as she pulled on yet another loosely fitting jumpsuit after
finishing her shower. Her new body was weird – she didn't really sweat
unless she wanted to – but habits like showering died hard. She was
still amused at how easily her hair fell into place after a just a few
passes with a comb, instead of the hopeless tangles it had gotten into
while she was still alive.

She exhaled, exiting and heading to the living section of the base to
pick up breakfast. As she slowly ate her food, frowning and wondering
how in the hell Cerberus had managed to restore her taste buds and how
the fuck they got their hands on real bacon, Miranda sat down across
from her with a cup of coffee.

Shepard arched an eyebrow at the slightly bleary-eyed look of her XO.
"You look like you didn't sleep real well."

Miranda sighed. "I did not. Hardly unusual. I've been coordinating
various supply efforts, submitting reports to the Illusive Man, working
with our financial coordinators to provide additional equipment and with
Mr. Ezno to remove the last bits of incriminating materials from the
base. And now, this morning, we have a ship coming in with the first
batch of living soldiers and techs that will be working with us."

Shepard nodded, sipping her orange juice and pushing back a lock of
hair. "Do these people know they're going to be working for Cerberus?
Most of the ones I approved had no Cerberus connections."

Miranda shrugged. "They know they are going to be working for an
independent mercenary outfit, and our people hinted – delicately – that
it would be one doing work on the frontier and going after slavers. We
had each one monitored – visual and electronic, with Vigil looking over
their communications and extranet activity – and they're all clean. The
first batch is a handful of soldiers, about fifteen techs, and a few
scientists. I'll be handling the latter. I need you there – in full
armor with your helmet on – to deal with the former."

Shepard nodded. "Yeah."

Miranda pulled a pad from the wide pockets on the coat she wore over her
jumpsuit, pushing it across the metal table surface. "These are the
first run of participants. You'll notice a common theme. Based on what
you said you wanted… Chambers suggested you would approve. "

Shepard reviewed the names, then slowly smiled. "…I'm surprised some of
these people signed up, especially considering what they've already been
through." She tapped two names. "Although these two are still crazy."

It took two hours for the ship to arrive, time Shepard mostly spent
reviewing her next plan of action with the intel people in operations.
So far, the Citadel had flat-out lied about who had taken out Freedom's
Progress, and dispatched Delacor and Tela Vasir to take her down. The
combined Spectre strike group was busy investigating wildcat colonies,
along with a C-Sec Special Investigations team looking into investments
into said colonies.

Shepard was completely baffled by this, but Trudy Menrows, her senior
intel analyst, had merely snorted in amusement.

"Based on the information we're getting – most of it fragmentary – the
Citadel seems to think the Butcher is a threat. They've also decided
that Cerberus is acting against the Collectors mostly to boost our
cachet among the wildcat colonies in some kind of plan to take them
over. Delacor and Vasir are there to 'catch us in the act' at either
Horizon or New Caledonia, the two biggest colonies in the wildcat group.
Thanks to Vigil, we've already intercepted and decrypted hundreds of
calls to banks and investment houses trying to figure out a pattern. Of
course, there isn't one, since we aren't doing that. I have no idea who
thought that would be our goal…"

Shepard had rubbed her forehead. "…Called it. Pick the stupidest
goddamned action for the worst possible reason and go with that. Is
there any reason we'd need to go to Horizon or New Caledonia?"

Trudy shook her head. "No, unless one of them gets attacked."

Shepard nodded. "Let them waste their time for a week, then send a
self-destruct armed FTL drone with a message for them – I'll meet with
the Citadel when I damned well /please/, and that they're making
themselves look like fools. Make the FTL drone approach from the
direction of asari space."

Her next few days would be eventful – meet with her new soldiers, then
head to Dirth to talk to a few people. Once done there, she'd swing by
Kuril's station and extract Jack, along with whatever intel Kuril had on
the Blue Suns operation on Korlus and their activities on Omega. After
she put a slug into Okeer and got the intel she needed from him, TIM
should have found a way to make contact with either the salarian doctor,
Archangel, or the Sisters of Vengeance.

Zaeed would be arriving in a week or so, and this Goto woman would send
a message when she was ready for pickup. Given that the Collectors did
not usually raid more than once month, she felt pretty secure in the
fact that they would have most of her initial team line up ready to go
when the Collectors attacked next.

She also had to meet with Trellani at some point – the asari matriarch
would be arriving tomorrow, a few hours before Shepard left for Dirth,
and said she wanted to train her how to do something involving biotics.
With a sigh, Shepard copied her plans and notes down to her omni-tool as
quiet alarms began sounding.

By the time she'd gotten to the main receiving bay, Miranda was already
there along with Tali, Joker, and Trellani herself. Also present, on the
high balconies that held extra supplies, were two squads of
sniper-equipped mechs. Sixty more flanked the edges of the docking bay,
blocking the way to the rest of the base.

The ship that entered the bay was elongated, matte black and
surprisingly sleek looking, a converted small cargo hauler retrofitted
to carry passengers. The armaglass viewing bays were sealed with armor
plates, and as the ship touched down, Shepard glanced to one side, where
Chambers had just walked up.

"Miranda tells me these people don't know they're working for Cerberus.
Was that wise?"

The redhead shrugged. "They aren't working for Cerberus, Shepard.
They're working for /you/. They won't have any insight into the
organization or how it works, both for their protection and ours. One
reason we made such an effort to… compartmentalize everything is that
you may be forced to cut ties with us in order to convince the Council
or Alliance to listen."

Shepard gave her a dubious look, but realized the psychologist could
hardly see it through the mirrored faceplate, and settled for a grunt,
turning back to look at the ship as a side cargo bay door swung open and
down, forming a ramp. About thirty five people slowly descended down the
ramp, glancing around at the ranks of the war robots nervously.

Leading them was a muscular, broad shouldered Hispanic male with his
head shaven, his thick mustache bent with the shape of his frown,
wearing a gray SA t-shirt and rip-stop canvas combat pants. He was
flanked by two males almost as big, each one wearing black leather
jackets with a DACT logo and the words 'Jump up, Jump Up, And Get Down'
on the sleeves in red satin thread. Behind them was a tight grouping of
atheletic looking men and women, many with cybernetics, and a second
group mostly in more refined civilian clothing, looking nervous.

The big man in the front came to a stop about three meters away from
Miranda, glancing over the people behind her, then fixing his eyes on
the figure in white armor.

Senior Chief Emilo Vega scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, your
recruiters told us we would have all this shit explained once we got to…
wherever the hell we are. So how about some explaining."

Miranda gave a nod, glancing over the group. "That is correct. Each of
you was contacted independently due to a number of factors, the primary
factor being your separation from the Systems Alliance in one fashion or
another. Some of you, like Doctor Jales, were thrown out by the current
administration from important positions based on your stance. Others,
like Mr. Kenneson, were removed from your jobs due to political issues."

She smiled thinly. "And many of you, including you, Senior Chief Vega,
were cashiered from service with extremely restrictive warnings and
orders against speaking of what you saw when you traveled with Commander
Shepard."

A thick-set man with a head just as shaven as Vega's folded meaty arms.
"Lady, get to the point."

Miranda smiled thinly. "Of course, Sergeant Ownby. You have been
contracted to serve with someone who is doing good for the service of
humanity. You have been contracted because we feel you are trustworthy.
Once you hear out what we are offering if you choose to leave you can
get back on that ship and it will return to the Citadel."

Shepard really doubted that. The very faint muttering of Tali next to
her was almost darkly amusing, and Shepard cleared her throat. "If you
don't mind… I'll handle the rest."

Miranda stepped back as Shepard walked up, still clad head to foot in
white armor. "I am guessing you boys and girls know who I am?"

Chief Haln nodded, as did others. "You're the Butcher."

She smiled. She'd never thought the man would walk again after the shit
he'd been put through on Virmire. "That's right. And many of you are
Shepard's Marines, from the /Normandy/ or the /Kazan/. The rest of you –
doctors, scientists, whatever – you'll understand in a moment why you
are here. Before I say anything else, though, I want to be blunt."

"The organization I am being backed by is Cerberus."

The reaction was interesting. The people out of the group she didn't
know – the techs, she guessed – seemed nervous, while the Marines – to
the last man and woman – glared hard at her. Vega spoke. "Look, I know
you're some kinda asari badass, so why in fuck are you working with a
bunch of racist assholes?"

Tali stepped forward, with Joker behind her. "Hello, Senior Chief."

Vega blinked at the voice, then blinked again at Joker, before shaking
his head. "That you, Cutie Pie?"

She nodded. "Yes, it is me. Tali. The fact I'm /here/, wearing this" –
she pointed to the embossed Cerberus logo on her shoulder – "should tell
you they've changed. You were down there when Shepard found out from the
Illusive Man how to take out the Cerberus leadership."

Vega folded his arms again. "Alright. But this still ain't what I signed
up for. The person feeling me out made it sound like a mercenary work
gig, and a chance to avenge the Boss Lady. Now I find out I'm working
with the Butcher and Cerberus."

Shepard held up a hand. "You wanted to avenge Shepard?"

Vega turned to face her."Yeah. A lot of us did. The SA shitcanned the
entire /Normandy/ crew because we'd 'seen too many sensitive materials'.
Had Commissars give us a debrief, heavy on the flamethrower jokes.
Dragged our own Commissars off to God knows where. The XO quit, most of
the crew quit, after being interrogated for six weeks. They still think
one of us sabotaged the /Normandy/. Can't get a decent job anywhere."

Another man spoke, dark skinned and heavyset. "And some of us were not
associated with Shepard, directly. I'm Roland Taylor. Corsair program is
being taken apart and… weird shit is happening to it. With the batarians
gone, fielding us against geth is just fucking stupid. Most of the
captains are being stipended off and told to run as merchants, but some
of us wanted to pop a cap in the ass of a few more slavers. And, like
him… Corsairs aren't well liked in the civilian sector. Too dangerous."
He snorted, then gave the bay a distasteful look. "Don't mean I'd sign
up with Cerberus to get a job, though."

Shepard nodded. "I understand. Here is what I will tell you all. The
geth did not kill Sara Shepard, and slavers did not take the wildcat
colony populations."

The room felt silent, and the woman standing next to Ownby rubbed a
heavy scar on her arm. "What?"

Shepard smiled behind her helmet at the sight of Sergeant Haskins.
"Shepard was killed by the manipulations of the Shadow Broker. Cerberus
was the party that helped… with the events at Omega. They've been the
one trying to find out who is really behind the colony abductions. And
they went off the rails because of orders from the SA when they were an
unofficial black ops unit."

Shepard folded her arms, letting her weight fall back onto one hip. "The
truth I'm about to show you all is going to be hard to take. Just keep
in mind… you should have known better."

Vega frowned. "Better than what?"

Shepard tapped her omni, and her helmet split and retracted into the
armor. She smirked. "That anything could actually fucking kill me, Emilo."

The bay was dead silent for a long moment before Ownby spoke. "…I am
never, ever buying weed from shady quarians on fucking Pilgrimage again."

Tali snorted back laughter, while Vega's eyes narrowed. "Is this some
kind of sick joke?"

Joker shook his head. "Nope. It's really her."

Shepard faced the group. "The details… you don't really want to know.
Suffice it to say that it took billions upon billions of credits and
technology that should make you sick to think about to bring me back.
I'm more machine than human now."

One of the engineers from the /Normandy/ in the group stepped forward.
"We saw the wreckage of the /Normandy/ when they went in. NOTHING could
have survived that crash."

She tilted her head. "I didn't."

Haln frowned. "You can't bring back the dead." Many muttered agreement,
but Vega held up a hand, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes further.

"Something like Huerta, I'm guessing?"

Miranda snorted. "Please. Much more complex than that. Assuming you all
agree to work for her – and please keep in mind you would be working for
Shepard, not Cerberus – you can have the simple version of the details
behind her resurrection."

Haln nodded sourly. "With all the crap Cerberus was up to back in the
day, I shouldn't be surprised. Then again, technology like you're
talking about…" He paused. "If we had that kind of technology, wouldn't
we have seen more cases like this?"

Shepard shrugged. "Matt, from what they told me, they could have built a
damned carrier task force with armor and ground support for the cost of
my cybernetics alone, not to mention all of this." She spread her hands
around the cavernous flight bay. "The technology they had to come up
with – inventing most of it from scratch – and for the rest, well, they
had help."

The spherical form of Vigil erupted into view, and Vega snorted. "Ha. I
guess that would do it, based on what we saw on the Citadel." He turned
to face Shepard directly. "…Since Tali and Joker are here, I'm guessing
no one else is going to pull off miraculous resurrections?"

Shepard's gaze flicked away, her jaw tightening. "No, Senior Chief."

He nodded slowly. "…I'm sorry, ma'am. Do you know who killed her?"

She nodded. "Shadow Broker. Tetrimus." She exhaled. "I still have a
mission. Stop the attacks on human colonies. And stop the Broker from
whatever bullshit he is doing. There's also a likelihood that the
Alliance has its fingers in some shit that it shouldn't. I'll have to
stop that too."

She looked at the group. "The big ship at the Citadel that nearly took
down the combined fleets of all races, Saren's flagship – that wasn't
the only one. There are more of those things, a lot more, and if we
don't do something to get ready for them, we'll be sitting ducks. You
saw what just ONE did."

Ronald Taylor's eyes widened. "The geth have more of those things?"

Tali shook her head. "It isn't the geth. The ships ARE the threat
themselves. A type of AI that is responsible for killing the Protheans
and lots of other races. And they want to kill us, too."

Vega rubbed his eyes tiredly, then glanced back over the group. "This is
a lot to take in."

Shepard nodded. "I know. And I don't expect it to be something you take
in all in one day. I had my staff put together a lot of drinks in our
eating area, so we can talk some more there. Miranda, can you please
handle the people you added to the list, in terms of briefing? My
Marines can follow me."

She felt her smile widen as the words 'my Marines' made each and every
one of them straighten just a little bit, walk a bit taller. She
gestured toward the big double doors set into the far wall and they were
about to start moving in that direction when the far door opened and
Jacob Taylor stepped through, a frown on his face. "Sorry I'm late, but
we had high impact traffic come in. Mordin Solus is on the move, and we
think we know where he is going. Not sure when he'll be done, and even
if he left today he won't hit a place where we can intercept him for
five days."

She was about to reply when she heard a choked cough from behind her.
"J-Jacob?" The voice of Roland Taylor sounded strained, and Jacob just
gave him a wave.

"Oh, hey, what's up, pop?"

*O-TWCD-O*

Briefing – and drinking – with the Marines took another two hours. She
was amused when Jacob's father put him in a headlock for not telling him
he wasn't actually dead, and she herself spent most of her time being
quizzed by each of them about small events only the real Shepard would
know about.

Still, it didn't take long to convince them that she really was alive,
although the ramifications seemed to trouble Vega more than the rest. A
strong Neo-Catholic, he had very direct questions about what death was like.

Shepard gave him the best answer she could. "I remember dying, and then
waking up. If there is a Heaven or Hell… I didn't make the trip or don't
remember." She smiled wryly, tapping her temple. "Or I'm a soulless
cyberzombie. Take your pick."

Once they got past the idea she was alive, she told them a simplified
outline of what was going on and the goals she'd set. Blowing up the
Broker was a big part of that – not only did the bastard kill the
/Normandy/ and everybody in Ops Alley, crippled Pressly and killed
Shepard, but he'd been involved in the deaths of Liara, Garrus, Telanya,
Aethyta and was quite possibly working with the Collectors.

The Collector angle was a new one for the Marines, as nothing even
hinting at that angle had hit the extranet. Shepard made a mental note
to have her ops people start extranet rumors and pondered releasing the
video footage Veetor had taken, but decided to hold off on that.

Her jobs for the Marines were two-fold. The first was to have living,
breathing people on the new /Normandy/. Vigil's robots were excellent,
of course, but privately Shepard wasn't sure if the Inusannon AI could
be trusted 100%. It definitely had its own agenda, even if it never
spoke of it – and in any event, as she said out loud, going up against
Collectors or worse might mean Vigil being knocked out of commission
somehow.

Her second reason was more personal, and she found herself having to
steady her voice as she spoke.

"I won't lie. The biggest reason you're here is I know you. I've fought
with you and got nearly got most of you killed. What I'm going through –
this whole being alive again thing – is not… easy. It's not something I
can do /alone/. And we may not be close, but I trust each and every one
of you with my back. I need that, to… keep myself going."

It was the DACT pilot, Florez, who spoke first after that. "…Well, shit,
Boss Lady. Say no more, you know we got your back."

Shepard smiled. "When Miranda told me you two lunatics had somehow
survived and were actually going to be coming along, I had my engineers
work on something for you two."

The two DACT grinned, and Vega shook his head. "If I had any doubts,
they are now gone. Only you would encourage these idiots."

She nodded. "I have another request, but only for one of you. Tomorrow,
I'm headed out in disguise on a mission. Lawson has been my executive
officer of this operation, and she'll continue acting in that aspect in
many ways, but the /Normandy/ herself needs an XO, and someone to teach
her the ropes of doing the job right. I need someone to tag along on a
trip I'm making to fix that."

Vega frowned. "Where you headed, Boss Lady?"

She folded her arms. "I'm headed to Dirth to talk to Pressly."

Haln winced. "I've spoken to him a few times. He's… not the same as he
used to be."

She shrugged. "Well, now. Neither am I, Chief. Neither am I." She downed
her scotch and smiled, leaning back. "Now who is coming with me?"

Haln sighed. "Since I know him the best, I should go. I've got family on
Dirth anyway I can check up on."

She nodded. "Thanks, Matt." She poured herself another scotch, and
looked around at her Marines. "Look on the bright side, boys and girls.
The new /Normandy/ has an elevator that is fast and a real kitchen. Beds
for everyone."

Ownby snorted. "It doesn't have a bar."

Shepard chuckled and drank. "Actually, Mike, yes it does."

*O-TWCD-O*

"Welcome to Makana, doctor. The SIX appreciate your rapid response to
this issue."

Mordin Solus's nostrils widened slightly as he stepped off the small
passenger shuttle, the scents of strong disinfectants and the tang of
UV-seared air battling for dominance. He adjusted the fall of his coat
as he stepped forward, eyes narrowing slightly. "Thanks unnecessary.
Situation on Omega is stable, despite chaos from Archangel. Erash useful
in that regard, even if stubborn about not revealing Archangel identity."

It had been more than few years since Mordin had ventured within the
Salarian Union. In the aftermath of his work with the STG, especially
his final missions, he found himself with far too many moral dilemmas
and questions to continue such actions. Retirement from the STG was
hardly unheard of, but usually this was done only after a male was
chosen to breed or was getting too old to be of active service with no
wish to push paper or coordinate teams.

Mordin, on the other hand, heavily criticized the entire planning
process of the STG, eventually coming to serious conflict not only with
STG Command but with his own sister, the dalatrass of Clan Solus, over
it. While Muvai claimed she understood where he was coming from, the
clan needed him in the STG and to keep quiet – and he wasn't willing to
do such. When she warned him such independence would result in his
removal from the breeding lists, he'd tattooed his face with the mark of
the Lythari and bade his family farewell.

That had been a painful thing to do, and in the years since he'd left
his sister had sent a number of messages to offer reconciliation. He had
replied politely to each one – he loved his sister more than anything
else in life, after all – but had stayed firm on remaining outside the
Union. He kept in touch with various STG contacts – his old captains,
Kirrahe and Anoleis, and made a few reports of events on Omega – but
aside from that he had disconnected himself completely.

Working as an independent medical contractor and then opening his own
clinic on Omega had given him a since of satisfaction untainted with
questions of right or wrong. Helping those others ignored, seen by many
as sentimental and foolish, helped him deal with the millions of
stillborn krogan whose deaths could be laid at his door.

The models did not lie; the only choice had been to continue the
Genophage. Looking over the ancient notes left behind by the original
STG team and the strange krogan doctor, Okeer, he had agreed with the
need for continuing the Genophage But he had also seen the living cost,
the sorrow of krogan females who could not bear healthy young killing
themselves in shamed failure. The brutal fights over the few fertile
females between clans struggling just to feed and shelter themselves.

And he'd seen the cost to the salarians, the mental strain on his
assistant that nearly broke his sanity, and the edgy anger of Kirrahe.
It was too much to ask for anyone to stay sane and whole in the line of
such horrific tasks, and if he ever went back he was sure the Union – or
the STG – would simply want him to do more unsavory things.

No, better he stayed away. It left him at peace, let him help those who
needed it, and allowed him to pursue the kind of research he always
wanted to do. At least, until today.

He grimaced as he stepped forward. The trip he'd just taken had been
counter to the past decade of his life. The message he'd received from
his sister had been more than urgent, it had been almost frightened
sounding. The SIX were discussing something she desperately needed his
advice on, and she all but begged him to return.

His sister's stiff pride would not have allowed such a thing unless the
situation was ugly. And despite his misgivings, he knew he could not
simply abandon his sister in such a thing. He'd been provided paid
transport to the edges of the Traverse, stopping on the human mining
world of Therum to transfer to a sleek, fast Union diplomatic shuttle.
Expecting to head to Sur'kesh, he was unpleasantly surprised to instead
land on the desolate moon orbiting the verdant world below.

The shuttle bay was built into said sterile rocky moon that orbited the
world of Makana, and was liberally festooned with defenses and
armaments. The only mass relay into the system was surrounded by dense
belts of IFF antimatter mines, with a dreadnought standing off at long
range with prepared firing solutions. Swarms of automated fighters tore
silently through the dark, while powerful scanning equipment searched
ceaselessly for any possible intruders.

Mordin took in the form of the STG officer in front of him, along with
the two Shieldbreakers in matte black powered suits by the doorway. He
frowned when he realized the STG officer was in a full containment suit,
sans the helmet.

This did not look good. At all. He surreptitiously checked the hold-out
pistols in his bracers as he folded his arms to regard the officer.

The officer, Lieutenant Tarola, gave a shallow nod of the head. "We have
a briefing ready for you, if you would follow me. Hopefully this won't
take much of your time and you can get back on station at Omega with a
minimum of downtime."

The doctor frowned. "Relationship with STG informal – not assignment.
Done with that now. Focus on healing, not espionage." He followed the
younger salarian through a heavy armored portal, noticing the UV flash
that sterilized the air before they entered.

Lieutenant Tarola shrugged. "I wasn't made aware of your particulars,
doctor. Only that you would be arriving to provide input on an important
situation of the highest priority to the SIX." The lieutenant turned to
the left, down a black-armored corridor. Automated flame turrets dotted
every intersection and sprayers marked with printed warnings about basic
chemicals and corrosion were every six meters.

Mordin glanced around, following calmly. "High level of disinfectants.
UV cleansing." He took in the bulky frame of one of the air-vents. "DETA
filtration. Fixed defenses. Ominous."

The lieutenant shook his head, touching one of his horns in a sign of
apology. "Everything will be explained shortly, doctor." Walking a few
more minutes, they reached a heavily armored door and the lieutenant
slid a keycard from his belt through. "In here, sir."

Mordin shrugged and stepped through into the room beyond, the door
sliding shut behind him silently.

The room was fairly large, with an overhead vaulted armaglass window
directly observing the planet Makana. Large holographic displays to
either side reported the readiness of multiple combat units, several
powerful nuclear devices, and a host of VI monitored anti-hacking
baselines. The center of the room was dominated by a circular plinth,
atop which a control panel of some kind curved, and a single chair.

The chair turned around to face Mordin, revealing the hooded, masked
figure of a salarian of indeterminate sex. Silver cybernetic arms and
legs gleamed under the dim lights as it gestured to a chair to one side.

"Sit, Operative. Information critical to the Union has been uncovered
and you will provide clarification."

Mordin's voice was agitated as he sat, eyes glancing about. "Unexpected
to meet STG Master here. Indicates much higher importance than indicated
in message. Suspect was not sent by my sister at all."

The STG Master inclined its head. "Correct. Apologies for the ruse, but
we predicted you would resist otherwise. The alternative was forcible
extraction. It was judged this would be a better utilization of
resources and time. Cooperation is not optional."

The doctor's voice was wry sarcastic. "Typical. STG Master not known for
random chats. Explain."

The Master touched one of the controls on his panel, the far holoscreen
blanking. "The human wildcat colony Freedom's Progress was recently
depopulated. The Citadel is putting out a story that it was done by
pirate elements from the Black Rim."

Solus nodded. "Had heard. Unlikely, Black Rim corsairs would not venture
close to Aria's domain. Fabricated cover story… but for what? Systems
Alliance action… no. Too broad. Biological plague? Illegal weapons testing?"

The Master inclined its head again. "No, something more unusual. The
entire population was simply gone, their extensive defenses bypassed. A
Spectre in the area arrived on the world, only to find that the Butcher
had landed and obtained… information the perpetrators behind the
assault." It clicked a control, and grainy video displayed the scene of
the Collectors landing and the swarm assault on the colony.

Fascinated, Mordin leaned forward. "Collectors. Much larger ship than
scouting models used for trades. Not wearing robes – battle armor?
Unusual for them to act so openly." He glanced at the STG Master.
"Experiences with Collectors already documented – all knowledge was
conveyed in reports."

The Master shrugged. "The trade you conducted with the Collectors is not
the only reason you are here, but it is one. For now, the SIX have
deemed this a Collapse-Three threat. Collector hostility appears limited
to human wildcat colonies. But STG elements were on-site in forensic
analysis of the colony. Damage to several sections of the colony was
done by way of super-heated, highly accelerated plasmatic slurry,
similar in power and function to the weapon utilized by another ship."

Mordin frowned as the image of Nazara was flashed on the screen. "The
geth flagship?"

The STG Master inhaled sharply. "What you are about to hear is
classified Black-Collapse-Nine." He folded his arms as Mordin's eyes
widened at the highest classification level in the STG. "The ship you
see here was not a geth flagship. It was an AI-controlled platform
theorized to have been one of many like it responsible for the
destruction of the Protheans, Inusannon, and many previous species."

Mordin was silent for several seconds. "Troubling implications.
Collectors either in contact with or serving AIs?"

The hands of the STG Master spread, tiny motors whirring. "Possibly. We
are unsure. We are operating in a large information deficit. While we
have an information source, we are unable to… confirm… what it says is
true or false. And we have no way to insert observers into the situation
as it develops. That is where you come in."

Mordin suppressed an irritated sigh. "Specialty in forward scientific
deployment, medical and biowarfare, not infiltration."

"Yes. However, the situation is complex… and may fit such specialties."
The STG Master tapped another control, displaying a pair of humans in
black coveralls and the chest armor of old Onyx suits, in the Lower
Promenade of Omega near his clinic. "Station assets on Omega indicate
these two have been asking questions about you. Intelligence is drawing
a blank on the younger, darker woman, but the older woman we have
identified as 'Rasa,' a known agent of the Shadow Broker who defected to
Cerberus."

Mordin inhaled sharply. "Cerberus destroyed. Or at least…"

The STG Master spread its hands. "The destruction was incomplete… and
the Illusive Man provided much of the intelligence needed to destroy the
organization. We suspect he was clearing the nest, and now there are
faint signs the organization has returned, albeit with a different focus."

Mordin's frown faded, his tone thoughtful. "Cryptic. Why would Cerberus
wish to contact me?"

The thin metal mask was featureless, but inclined a fraction of a
centimeter. "We have reason to believe Cerberus is connected, on unknown
levels, to the Butcher. And while some disagree, our own analysis of her
actions indicates the Butcher seeks to oppose the taking of human
colonies – and thus, the Collectors. She would require information on
them, which is rare. Of those who have met with Collectors, the majority
are either of dubious repute or beholden to… certain interests unlikely
to be favorable to private contact."

The Master tapped another control, displaying the paper Mordin had
written about his contact with Collectors, trading genetic samples of
the Collapse disease prion and possible treatment options for enhanced
biotechnology to filter air. "You are the only well-known scientist to
have worked with them. While we have no clear indication of motive or
purpose, it is likely Cerberus is looking for you to provide them with
assistance in dealing with the Collectors."

Mordin frowned. "Does not explain why I am /here/."

The Master stood. "Actually, it does. Ironically, the technology you
obtained from the Collectors was put into use below, for the project
here. You were briefed on the plant creature on Feros?"

Mordin nodded. "At the time, yes. Still have connections, found news of
interest. Fascinating possibilities. Shame it was hostile."

The STG Master gestured to the planet below. "We have found another. And
it is cooperative. It claims it has knowledge of the Collectors and of
the AI threat, but we are unable to verify what it says is true. You
will communicate with it and learn what you can, cross-checking with
your own data and experiences."

The STG Master turned to face him fully. "Once that is done, you will
return to Omega. We have deliberately leaked the fact that you were
recalled… and our assets picked up the following pair trailing you."
Another image flashed up, that of a slender Asian male and a bulky black
man.

Mordin's expression soured even further. "The 'Odd Couple.'
/Wonderful/." Why did sac-shit of this magnitude happen to him?

The STG Master's voice was neutral. "It is suspected that you will be
intercepted when you land on Therum for the switch to a liner that heads
to Omega. If they extend a job offer of some kind, take it. You will be
acting in deep cover with no communications with STG forces – we will
place evidence on file that you were unhelpful in our research and that
your disagreement with your sister is more serious than it appears."

Mordin folded his arms. "Cerberus is extremely anti-alien, vague reports
of working with Matriarch Trellani aside."

The Master shook his head. "They have apparently changed. Reports
indicate at least two asari working for them – the Butcher being one of
them – as well as an exiled quarian. And despite the risk of being
exposed, they left the quarian team they found on Freedom's Progress
alive, instead of killing them. The SIX – particularly your sister – are
extremely loathe to place any trust into them… which is why this is not
an official request."

Mordin examined the Master closely. "Why me?"

The Master shrugged. "You have detailed knowledge of the Collectors, and
you are fully capable of assessing the threat Cerberus provides.
Additionally, you remain, despite your age, one of our most powerful
operatives. But mostly – Cerberus is interested in you. Despite the
risk. We will never have a better chance to infiltrate Cerberus and get
some idea of what they are up to."

The unisex figure made a gesture with one hand. "And there is no danger
to the Union. As you are not an active agent and not authorized for
back-channel contact, should this be a ruse, STG security remains safe.
Your ocular security devices will be reactivated once you are done on
Makana to prevent any… issues."

Mordin glared hard. "Served my time. Did distasteful, sickening things.
On Verthos, on Tuchanka, on Dalrias. Told I was /done/. Not acceptable."

The Master leaned forward. "You do not understand, doctor, what is at
stake here. You have not been told the full truth of the Benezia
Incident, but you will. Everything – all life in the galaxy – is at
serious risk of annihilation. Compliance is not optional. You will
serve, or you will be chipped, mentally adjusted, and serve anyway."

Solus leaned back. "Extreme sanction. Operating without permission from
the SIX. Highly illegal and dangerous contact with known terrorist
group. Do not see personal upside."

The Master exhaled. "I am willing to be extremely generous. Full access
– once you are done – to STG databases. A guarantee you will never, for
/any/ reason, be activated again. Paid consultancy fee of several
million credits, cutting-edge medical equipment to refit your free
clinic on Omega, and a better assignment for your nephew. Further
compensation can be negotiated upon mission completion."

Mordin hesitated. Truth be told, while he liked the easy nature and
rewarding feeling of healing, Omega was getting almost boring. The
Archangel had crushed so much of the filth once making the station a
hellish place to live that he had only a few touch-and-go cases every
week, instead of every day.

His assistant could run the clinic without his help, and being able to
find out more about the Collectors – as well as talking to the
tree-creature the Master had mentioned – were spiking his curiosity. And
he was intrigued at the idea of actually speaking to the Illusive Man –
a master hand in the shadows even the STG admired.

Despite himself, Mordin grimaced and nodded. "Will comply. For now.
Explain situation involving AIs that is so critical."

The Master leaned forward. "The AIs are called… 'Reapers.' "

*O-TWCD-O*

Several hours later, clad in a multi-stage environmental suit and
escorted by flamethrower carrying Shieldbreakers, Mordin entered the
'Preserve,' the environment of the Makana Tho'ian. His mind was still
racing from what he had learned, an unusual chill seeming to set into
his body, despite the environmental systems of the suit.

The idea of a race of genocidal robot warforms with the power to
obliterate entire galactic societies for millions of years was haunting.
No wonder Saren and Benezia cooperated with them – probably hoping for
some accommodation. He had seen Prothean and Inusannon ruins in his
youth, and both races were theorized to be far more advanced than
current galactic culture. If they had failed, then it was unlikely force
of arms would solve their problems. Not that it ever did – it usually
helped decide the fallout of a problem one way or another, but only
after some other method solved it.

As usual, the salarian answer was to know the enemy first. Hence why the
salarians, upon discovering the Tho'ian on Makana, had bargained with it
instead of incinerating it. Placating its desires with captured vorcha
slaves and data dumps, the Union had learned a great deal from the creature.

Makana was a lush jungle moon with an atmosphere so laden with carbon
dioxide and other poisons that no life beyond plants had ever developed.
Ancient stone ruins dotted the otherwise unbroken forests, gigantic and
ominous even in their ruin, waxy black stone still immaculate after tens
of thousands of years. From the intel file, Mordin knew the planet had
been an ancient Tho'ian colony, destroyed well over a hundred thousand
years ago by some sort of huge power plant explosion – it had been
destroyed before the Reapers had destroyed the Tho'ians themselves.

The fact that the creature had survived a blast that wiped a third of
the planet clean down to bedrock gave testament to its durability, if
nothing else.

The salarians had isolated the Tho'ian, and created a space of some
sixteen square kilometers, surrounded by a thirty-two-kilometer-wide
firebreak festooned with defenses, around its location. The entire area
was covered in kinetic barriers and robots, walled off by
ten-meter-thick durasteel walls topped with flame units and lye
sprayers. Within, five slender towers and a hab-dome took up a corner of
the area, while the center was given over to the Tho'ian.

Mordin was fascinated as he approached, varying his attention between
the briefing documentation he'd been given and the towering form before
him. Supported by a delicate latticework of metallic spars hooked to
sensors, the Tho'ian loomed a hundred eighty meters high, with dozens of
flesh pods dangling from tangles of rootlike limbs that burrowed into
the ground. The vegetation itself was twisted into some kind of
symbiosis with the giant tree-creature.

Hundreds of vorcha, shot through with greenish tendrils and with
explosive collars around their necks, toiled endlessly around the ground
– planting trees, operating machinery to keep the area cool, or building
large, low plinths of black stone inset with growing tendrils. The
briefing indicated these were some kind of Tho'ian computer, used by the
creature to store information.

Mordin came to a stop at the marked area on the steel-plated road, heavy
lines of red paint forming a box. As he did so, a single vorcha jerked
slightly and approached, its eyes gone and replaced with slowly writhing
masses of greenish moss.

The vorcha jerked again, before making a curious gesture with its arms.
Its voice was low and rough, undercut with a wet, raspy gurgle.
*"Greetings, child of forgotten stardust. I am Two-Stars Binary
Impulses. Welcome to my garden."*

Mordin surveyed the vorcha briefly before staring up at the great tree,
aware the vorcha was just a mouthpiece. He triggered the suit speaker.
/"Greetings, Great One. I am Healer-Scientist Mordin Solus. I have
questions for you."/

The vorcha twitched. *"Solus. One of the ruling clans. Interesting.
Normally only the wandering eye of your STG speaks to me. But no matter.
I know much, provided you have the proper payment for my vast knowledge."*

Mordin had been told the creature liked to barter for its knowledge and
did not respond well to threats. Still, he had an idea, based on vague
reports of what happened on another Tho'ian. /"Understandable, but
information required is to protect you."/

The vorcha shivered, a tendril of green erupting from its mouth. *"How…
altruistic, child of stardust. Explain."*

Solus triggered his omni-tool, sending the video images of the Collector
attack on Freedom's Progress to the computers he was told allowed the
creature to process visual images. /"Collector attack on human wildcat
colony. Suspected link to Reapers."/

The great tree made a very low frequency booming noise somewhere within.
Vorcha all across the area stiffened, as another vorcha – this one with
eyes – was moved toward the video display, watching it carefully twice.

The speaking vorcha turned its empty, mossy gaze back to Mordin. *"Your
'Collectors' are corrupted Protheans, child of stardust. The form has
changed – the wings are new – but the four eyes, head shape, and legs
have not."*

Mordin folded his arms, setting aside that stunning revelation for a
moment. /"Citadel agents reported Saren and Benezia slew one of your
kind on Feros, and were working for the Reapers. Spectre Shepard
submitted video that Collectors attacked and nearly destroyed another of
your kind on Eingana. STG reports one dead on Minshim from similar
weapons as deployed on Freedom's Progress. Hostility clear."/

The vorcha's rough voice became somehow… smooth. *"I see. The threat is
subtle but of course, still there. Cooperate or perhaps you will rescind
my protection?"*

Mordin shook his head. /"STG acknowledged your usefulness. Merely
require information, but would appreciate you acting in
self-preservation as opposed to further compensation."/

The vorcha was quiet for a long moment before giving a jerky motion with
its head. *"Very well, child of stardust. There is little I can tell you
that will be useful."*

Mordin shrugged. /"Any knowledge better than none. Details on swarm
creatures and capabilities of Collectors most useful."/

The vorcha spat. *"The swarm in your image that subdued the colonists is
a known weapon of the old Prothean Empire called 'Servility Devices.'
They were originally used by the core Prothean species to subdue
resisting or revolting subject races. They operate using a form of
mechanically induced biotic manipulation, powered by ambient heat, to
generate a stasis effect on the target. The second function injects
powerful suppressants into the target system."*

Mordin transmitted the files the STG had collated on the previous
attacks on wildcat colonies. /"Earliest attacks resulted in dead asari.
Later attacks left asari alive, but with memories gone."/

The vorcha paused, then spoke. *"The Servility Devices were originally
single target machines – they cannot be configured to subdue multiple
races at one time. Secondary functions included a method to kill or
incapacitate using injected venom, designed to disable or kill anything
that does not fit the primary function's programming."*

Mordin frowned. /"Weaknesses?"/

*"They can be easily destroyed by conventional weaponry, although such
masses would require area-effect explosions to take many of them out at
once. They work poorly against beings augmented with cybernetic systems.
A powerful biotic can block the effects of the stasis or keep them at
bay for some time with a bubble field of biotic force."*

Mordin nodded. /"Capture of devices possible?"/

*"They can be deactivated with standard EMP, but have a tendency to
self-destruct once deactivated. Ironically, a biotic stasis on the
device itself would be best. The workings of mechanically induced
biotics were not something I understood – even our old allies the
Inusannon could not use machines in such a fashion."*

Mordin nodded. /"And Reaper threat?"/

The vorcha knelt. *"As I informed your masters, I was obliterated before
the Reapers attacked my own Empire. I was able to deploy a handful of
thralls off-world during the Prothean conflict, but my information is
only conjectural. What I can tell you is that if they were the winners
in a fight against the Tho'ian-Inusannon Alliance, they would wipe your
pathetic species away in seconds."*

The confines of the environmental suit felt tight. With a deep
exhalation, Mordin nodded again. /"Required information has been
received. Informed you have standing request for more vorcha. Will
attempt to convince superiors to comply."/

The vorcha tilted its head. *"Good, child of stardust. It is
appreciated. One final… suggestion, if you will." *The vorcha's mouth
opened, teeth stained green and dripping with ichor of some kind as it
hissed in what would be amusement for a normal vorcha. *"The files you
sent indicate that each of these colonies was attacked and subdued in
short order, but that you can find no pattern. I can see one."*

Mordin tapped his omni-tool /"Listening."/

The vorcha shambled over to a console, where another vorcha stood and
began tapping controls. A green tinted holomap of the galaxy appeared.
*"The mass relays have several functions your species have not figured
out yet. While we did not trust such devices – anything that makes light
go faster cannot be natural or good to travel through – the Protheans
had no such reluctance. There is a series of relay switches that allows
for 'bounce' travel – rather than one relay to another, you can continue
straight through several relays in a row without emerging in any but the
last one. This function is only present in primary relays, and there is
a limit to how far one can travel using this method."*

Mordin's eyes widened at the strategic and economic potential, but the
Tho'ian's thrall continued to speak. *"However, doing so requires a
powerful engine system and complicated software, as well as the correct
knowledge to do so. Each one of these wildcat colonies hit is within
striking distance of a relay that connects to the Omega-4 chainpoint.
Based on that, only five of the remaining fifteen wildcat colonies are
vulnerable."*

Mordin's mind raced. Knowing future targets made it possible to set a
trap – but the use of such a technology offered tremendous possibility.
/"Possible to replicate or use this technology?"/

The vorcha hissed definite laughter this time. *"Not for your level of
technology. The buildup of gravitic forces without the proper
manipulation would blow your ships apart after the first jump. I
observed the Protheans using this method many times, but did not
investigate – perhaps some surviving ruins or artifacts describe it more
fully."*

The calm voice of the STG Master clicked across the comm system.
/"Extremely useful information, Two-Stars. You will be compensated
thusly. Operative Solus, your exposure is at SF10. Return immediately
for sterilization and debriefing."/

Solus nodded. /"Would like to return, talk history, biomedicine."/

The vorcha shambled back to its duties. *"We shall see, child of
stardust. Flower well and fully."*

As Mordin walked away slowly, his comm implant clicked. /"Now you begin
to see the larger danger, Operative. You will comply… or shall I send
for the obedience installation teams?"/

The salarian doctor sighed. "Comply. I dislike coercion."

The Master's voice was almost tinged with amusement. /"As a being
coerced since I first drew breath, Operative, I find myself lacking
empathy for your situation. You will be briefed on current intelligence
regarding the Butcher, Cerberus, the Illusive Man, the Collectors and
the current theaters of operation once you have been through quarantine
and sterilization. You will have at least another day to review all
current intelligence on the situation and a preliminary briefing on the
Butcher and our best guesses as to her identity."/

Mordin sniffed, as he approached the main tramway leading away from the
Preserve. "And then?"

/"A leisurely trip back to Omega with stops at Dikana in the Silver Rim
border, then Therum. There is a high probability you will be intercepted
at the latter stop – if not, return to your clinic and await contact
from Cerberus. If they fail to reach out to you within a month, we will
communicate our reaction."/

Mordin looked over his shoulder at the vast bulk of the Makana Tho'ian.
"Difficult to explain source of knowledge regarding Collectors to Cerberus."

The voice of the STG Master was definitely amused as he spoke, Mordin
decided. /"The chance that Cerberus is not aware we have a Tho'ian is…
very low."/

*O-TWCD-O*

Garrus looked out from the top of the refinery tanks, hidden from sight
by shadows and his cloaking field, his hands caressing the lines of his
super-heavy sniper rifle as he adjusted his position. Seconds passed
slowly, his entire world narrowed to the slender view from his scope as
he made a dozen minute adjustments.

His mandibles quivered slightly as he slowly exhaled, then pulled the
trigger. The powerful round flew through the smoke and smog choked air
of the lower Expanse, smashing into the temple of the human clone-legger
a second later. The man's dusky skin was splashed with blood as his head
turned into a fine pinkish mist and a few chunks of bone, before his
shattered corpse tumbled from his balcony to fall almost ten stories to
the filthy steel-plated decking below.

He came apart in a gory splash of bones, blood and torn clothing,
screams ripping through the nearest bystanders, even as the small army
of security he'd thought could protect him screamed orders and drew weapons.

Garrus hated anyone who would kidnap people for their organs. But
cloneleggers – vicious, sick tork-shits who used genetypic manipulation
to clone people and repeatedly harvest the clones for organs – were even
worse. A flash clone's organs would decay too quickly to be of use, so
cloneleggers used fully viable clones, grown in isolation tanks and
minds chipped up to wander in a fantasy land as their meat bodies were
butchered.

The filth he'd just executed had murdered over ten thousand clones – and
the spirits only knew how many other people – over the years. He was
rich enough to buy up enough security that he felt even the Archangel
couldn't get him, and refused to leave the station, stating openly that
if Archangel wanted him gone he could come and try to kill him.

And the moron was in literal walking distance of their hideout. Not that
anyone knew that.

The turian smiled to himself. "Challenge accepted, sirefucker." He
peered through the scope, making sure the target was truly down, then
tapped the control on his omni-tool to detonate the palm-sized
drone-mines Erash and Butler had managed to sneak into the security of
the clonelegger.

Explosions rocked the Lower Expanse, blasting mercs off the heavily
fortified top of the clonelegger's posh mansion tower. A single merc
staggered out, blazing from head to toe in burning white phosphorous,
screaming as he tripped and plunged off the edge of the tower to fall to
his death far below.

Garrus amused himself by putting a pair of shots into the aircar the
mercenary team leader was trying to leave in, snickering as the aircar
spun out of control and smashed into a nearby building which he knew was
a Blood Pack training station.

Doing a final sweep for targets, Garrus then tucked back further into
the shadows, the only sign he was ever there was the slight wisp of
friction smoke from the barrel of his weapon, which contracted as he put
it away and began to move away from the top of the refinery tank to the
rusty ladder running down one side.

The past few weeks had been drowned in blood.

After the stunt he'd pulled using the data gathered from the Shadows,
the gangs on Omega (or the 'mercenary combat teams', as the Blue Suns
styled themselves) had myriad reactions to the event. The Shadows pretty
much ceased to exist – between the rampage of Archangel and less than
ten minutes later, the arrival of a very pissed off krogan high on red
dust, less than a dozen Shadows had survived the massacre at their
headquarters. Those few unfortunates didn't even make it halfway to the
docks before Angel's people took them out with a mix of booby traps,
ambushes with hot-shotted shotguns, and the occasional sniper shot.

The formidable Mr. Hands managed to make it all the way to the docks,
fighting most of the way, bleeding badly and somehow evading everything
thrown at him – only to run smack into Aria herself, smiling and slowly
unfurling the eezo whip Jona Sederis had given her as a sign of grudging
respect.

Aria had only spoken coldly and said he'd violated Omega's first rule
when his failures allowed for her defenses to be violated. As wounded
and exhausted as he was, he couldn't even dodge as the whip lashed out.

The slender greenish wires had wrapped around the unfortunate salarian
crime boss as Aria's smile only widened, even as the eezo whip
activated. Held in place by a kinetic field as every part of his body
was slowly consumed by warp-fire and torn inch by inch by conflicting
and overlapping pulls and lift fields, Mr. Hands had died screaming
before exploding in a wave of burning, smoking body parts and cyberware
melted into slag.

Garrus didn't like Aria very much but there were times the old girl was
beginning to grow on him.

Most of the lesser gangs had simply splintered – some fleeing Omega
entirely, others throwing down their flags, sashes, scarves or whatever
marks of identity they used and seeking the protection of larger gangs.
While there would never be a shortage of datahax and hackers on the
station, the Shadows had gathered up many of the best, and their messy
demise in the course of one night left gangs and businesses scrambling
to shore up their own defenses.

Sensat and the tech team had spent forty hours straight hacking,
sleeping in shifts and abusing stimulants to get the best they could out
of the window of weakness and opportunity. While Garrus rested and Angel
made calls to the few people he could trust on the station, the rest of
the team scouted locations and prepared for the inevitable backlash.

Garrus grimaced as he climbed down the refinery tanks. Angel was right,
retribution would be coming. They had broken most of the power of
Omega's gangs over the people and shattered the worst of the
'businesses' operating out of the station. Spirits, even legit
businesses were starting to trade here. But that didn't mean Aria was
happy about it, and rumors were flying that she'd told the gangs that if
they thought they could kill Archangel, they could certainly try.

And that was dangerous. While the attack they'd pulled off by hacking
Aria's own defenses and turning them against the gangs and slavers had
been devastating, it didn't do much to deplete the forces of the
so-called Big Three – Eclipse, Blue Suns, and the Blood Pack. Each of
them reacted slightly differently. They still each had hundreds of
soldiers on the base and millions of credits worth of equipment, not
even counting off-Omega assets they could bring in.

Each one had reacted differently to Aria's suggestion.

The most striking result was that of Eclipse. Jaroth and the number
three in the gang, an asari known to the public as Relli's Kiss, had a
nearly-lethal fight, resulting in Jaroth and a small number of Eclipse
sisters leaving the station to head to, if rumors were correct,
Tuchanka, where Jona Sederis had setup shop.

Part of Garrus was disappointed that Jaroth got away, but only a part of
him he'd rather not think about. For the co-leader of a group like
Eclipse, Jaroth was (mostly) sane and fairly reasonable, if one
overlooked the fact he willingly slept with a lunatic like Jona. Jaroth
was, of course, still evil slime – he engaged in and pursued the
expansion of Eclipse into sex slavery, selling sentient beings for food,
and drugs. But he seemed to draw the line at enslaving children or
preying on the truly down and out – not that he was a good person, but
he was at least a little less revolting than most of Omega's inhabitants.

Since Eclipse had been 'shut down' and 'founded' over fifty times in the
past thousand years by Jona Sederis and whoever she was sleeping with,
splinterings like this were hardly uncommon. The only branch of Eclipse
that had survived all that time was the one siding with Jona, but as
Jona was gone from Omega there was lots of talk that Relli's Kiss would
take control of the larger part of Eclipse operations – maybe even
challenge Jona herself.

As Garrus finished coming down off the tower, he moved quickly and
quietly into the abandoned clutter of yet another eezo refinery. He
picked out a segment of the wall near the edge of the district and slid
along it until he found a narrow gap, barely wide enough for him and the
suit.

As he slipped past, coming down in a short hop that landed on top of a
second refinery tower, he almost wished he could see her try to take out
Jona, if only to see just how fast, how painfully, and in how many
pieces the Relli's Kiss would die.

As for the Blood Pack, the death of Garm turned out to be less of a blow
than Garrus had hoped. The new leader of the Blood Pack, one of Garm's
many sons named Durm, was a lot more troublesome, going so far as to
call for the Blue Suns and Eclipse to sit with him in a Crush to figure
out how to rid themselves of the danger of Archangel. Since Garm had
boasted he would kill the turian himself, Durm's approach shocked many.
Durm's response was distressingly sensible: "Vengeance tastes better
than honor". Durm was flooding the streets with packs of tracking varren
and vorcha, hoping to pick up a trace of some kind of scent.

Given that Garrus and Angel had taken precautions against any sort of
thing happening from the very first, Garrus shook his head at the
stupidity of the tactic, but it meant nothing could be left to chance.
Even the slightest wound could leave a trail, forcing Garrus to
increasingly sideline the rest of the team from anything approaching battle.

The cowardly leader of the Blue Suns, Vido Santiago, had fled the
station months ago, and his second in command, Tarek, decided to take
control of things locally. The Suns were bringing in heavy ordinance –
heavy mechs, gunships, and lots of off-world Legionaries well equipped
with heavy weapons. Holed up in their tower in the Black Walk, they were
far too close to the center of Aria's power to even think about taking
out with a direct assault.

Garrus was the most worried about Tarek. Relli's Kiss was a lunatic so
blown on red sand that she couldn't live without a medical respirator,
and Durm, while smarter than his father and more willing to work with
others, was still a berzerker with the tactical skill of a rabid dog.

Tarek, on the other hand, was cunning and smart, and had eluded every
attempt to take him out that Garrus had made.

Coming down from the second refinery tower, Garrus walked along the
rusted, battered lattice of support catwalks high above the main
industrial districts of Omega. The old asteroid was simply riddled with
abandoned mines, service tunnels, and older abandoned sections given
over to vorcha or worse. By the simple expedient of utilizing such areas
cloaked, he could move about sight unseen right under the noses of both
Aria's greensuits and the gangs.

Still, mobility wouldn't help them. Erash had heard enough captured
comms to determine that the Blue Suns hackers were relentless in trying
eventually pinpoint their location, and that the Blue Suns had brought
in expensive forensic equipment from off-station. Eventually they would
localize a scent, or a tell from the suit, and then the varren of the
Blood Pack would start to hunt.

It might take days or weeks, but it would happen. All they could do now
was prepare.

They had fortified the warehouse as much as possible, but the ugly
reality was they would be trapped with no real way out if its location
was ever revealed. They'd dug in and reinforced the walls, planted heavy
accelerator turrets and stockpiled as many missile launchers as they
could. The best they could hope for was a direct assault across the main
bridge – a killing zone that could only be bypassed through the air.

Operating a gunship in the tight environs of the warehouse's area would
leave it unable to use its maneuverability to avoid counter-fire. They
could withstand one, possibly two such attacks.

Of course, if the gangs ever found their escape tunnel, they'd be
trapped with no way out. But Garrus was confident that wouldn't happen.
The best-case scenario they had was being pinned, leaving a handful of
mechs to keep up the impression of someone staying behind to fight, and
fleeing. Reaching the end of the escape tunnel would give them a chance
to make it to the shuttles they'd stashed. If they could get off station
and out of the system…

He shook his head. He knew already there was no getting out for him.
He'd buy time and keep the gangs focused on him while the rest of the
team got away and restarted their lives, and blow up the warehouse
around his enemies when they finally defeated him, killing them with him.

Then he could rest.

Garrus triggered the flight system on the armor, jetting down almost
thirty meters to a lower catwalk and frowning inside the heavy armor.
Angel had repeatedly warned Garrus he was getting carried away with his
assault on the gangs. He was, after all, not invincible. The SKYTALON's
flight and stealth ability made him dangerous, especially when striking
from stealth or in close quarters. But enough firepower would blow the
shields and the armor itself, while very tough, was not immune to damage
– especially against high-impact armor piercing rounds.

But the rest of the team had no such protection. And Garrus was
beginning to realize his tactic of doing all the heavy lifting (and
killing) was only going to make things worse for the rest of the team
when it came time for them all to fight. While most of them could
certainly fight if they had to, only a few – Vortash, Butler and
Montague – were truly hardened killers. Melenis hated combat, Mierin and
Sidonis were okay soldiers but hardly truly experienced, and Krul –
while fierce – was not really a stellar combatant.

Angel could also hold his own – he'd done so long before Garrus had
arrived, after all – but against the kind of tark-shit the Blood Pack
and the Blue Suns would be throwing, even he wouldn't last long. So,
their last stand wouldn't be much of one – mostly Garrus blunting their
assault and buying time for the rest to flee. There was no guarantee
they would be able to do so successfully.

Most frustrating of all, even after wrecking the Shadow Broker's
operatives and operations for weeks, Garrus had no leads and no real
clues to follow. The Broker was reeling on both Omega and on Ilium, but
the few rumors he'd been able to get a hold of seemed to believe the
Broker was pulling out of the Traverse somewhat.

The data the Wind Runners had in their ship indicated the Broker was
funding wet-work teams to try to go after Archangel, but they didn't
have any clue as to who he was or where he was operating from. Even so,
even a few such teams, working alongside the Blood Pack and Blue Suns,
would turn the situation very ugly – and if he was sending independent
assassins, it was unlikely he would ever find out more about the Broker
from Omega.

Garrus sighed, clambering down a narrow access tunnel toward the
abandoned mining galleries just below Niftu District. He checked to make
sure he'd not been seen or followed, then walked down fifteen meters of
ruined tunnel toward a dead-end cutaway where mining power systems had
once stood.

He didn't have any choices, though. He'd been able to survive and vent
his rage on Omega only because Angel had saved him. And while he felt
he'd done a lot of good here none of it made up for Telanya's death.
Angel had warned him at the outset it was a stupid idea.

Even if he could talk the rest of the group into continuing to go after
the Broker, where would they go? Archangel's group was only able to
remain hidden on Omega due to a fluke and careful hacking, and (as Angel
suspected increasingly) possible favors from the STG due to Erash. But
getting out of Aria's empire in shuttles would be hard enough. They
would have to abandon most of the loot and cash they'd made, and while
Garrus had made sure everyone squirreled away credits in their own
private accounts and they could carry a few things, they'd be starting
from scratch.

No, it was best everyone went their own way and got away clean. If he
somehow survived this mess, he'd go to Ilium and see if the Sisters of
Vengeance needed a good killing machine. And if he didn't…

Revenge was beginning to turn to despair, and he often wondered if he
was being a fool. His mother was slowly dying, her condition made worse
by thinking he was dead. His sister – who knew if she was happy or not?

He sighed, and reached the end of the long cutaway. Carefully concealed
in the cutaway was a cleverly hinged sliding door, leading into the
lower tunnels below the warehouse Angel and the team had taken over from
the weapons smuggler whose crashed ship had provided the suit Garrus now
wore.

He pushed the panel open, grimacing as it resisted before swinging wide,
and stepped through into the blackness beyond. He shut it behind him,
sealing off the last of the light, and turned on the suit's low-light
mode before moving deeper into the cramped tunnels they'd created
leading to the base proper.

He had to see if the rest of the group had any better ideas.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 15: Arc II : Old Allies, New Threats*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

/*A/N*:
/

/So...as it turns out, I had more than a few dental adventures. Also,
tax issues, my mom's chemo bill and repairs to my car kept me working a
lot longer than expected. I had enough time this weekend to scrape this
chapter together.
/

/I'm very grateful to Liethr and the rest of the Editing Gang who helped
this chapter come together. Before they went over it, it was a lot more
disjointed in places. /

/The next chapter starts adding more people directly to the team.
Reviews are always welcome. /

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'The true danger of so-called 'pragmatic politics' - better known as
tyranny - is that one loses sight of decency in the name of expediency.
Moral relativism is an oxymoron, yet one embraced by every being who
ever thought evil means justified noble ends, and only to late realized
evil can only lead to further evil. '
/

/- Admiral Charles Pressly, 'At the Right Hand of Justice'
/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shepard waited impatiently in the shuttle bay of her base as the sleek
looking pinnace slowly came to a halt, the landing gear sliding across
the floor with the barest whisper of friction. She suppressed her
impulse to smile slightly at the sight of the batarian-styled ship, as
she always found it slightly strange the leader of Cerberus would be
flying around in a non-human pinnace. She had to admit it was certainly
a top of the line craft, but still…

She'd been awoken to discover that the Illusive Man and Trellani were
coming in person. As Miranda so elegantly put it, they were here to
'discuss some issues about our next actions'. As she folded her arms,
she gave that wording a bit of thought.

She wasn't sure if she liked the idea that TIM expected direct control
of her actions. It wasn't simply a matter of trust, more of a matter of
her intent to keep her actions highly separate from the rest of Cerberus
even if it was on the up and up.

The fact that – so far – he'd provided her with the tools and the talent
to get what had to be done accomplished was great and all, but didn't
square anything in her mind about what else Cerberus could be up to. And
while she certainly felt the Collectors were a huge threat and something
had to be done about the crazies in the SA, she was still dubious about
the fact that a guy who thought killing off the Pope was appropriate to
be the one calling the shots in any endeavor.

Unfortunately, as she'd quietly discussed with Tali and Sedanya, she
didn't have a lot of options. The Council was going to be stupid about
things and she couldn't trust the SA in the slightest. The STG would
more than likely dissect her to figure out how she worked and no one
else would listen to her or believe her. Even if they did, they wouldn't
just hand her everything she needed to go after the Broker.

She watched the pinnace doors split open and swing down, forming a
walkway ramp, and the inner doors slide apart to reveal the Illusive
Man's patrician features. He stepped down from the pinnace with his
usual poise, dressed in a dark black suit with a collarless shirt, set
off by gold cufflinks bearing the Cerberus insignia.

She rolled her eyes as she stepped forward, noting Trellani following
him, wearing her usual black gown with a reddish-orange scarf and a
small Cerberus pin.

She felt into place besides them as they began to walk. "Got your
message. I'm guessing it isn't you dropping in for coffee."

He gave her a thin smile, the glowing circles of his eyes rotating a
moment as he gazed at her. "No, unfortunately not. I dislike being away
from my own sphere of operations for a long period of time, but I've
come into new intelligence that I feel a need to discuss with you. And
Trellani has an item you will find of great use, as well as the training
to make use of it."

Trellani gave a single nod, her hands full of a long black case.

Shepard shrugged. "You know the place as well as I do. Let's head to
operations. I have no idea why you gave me an office, but we might as
well use that."

The walk to the elevator was short, as Harper didn't deign to glance
around, and Trellani was reviewing something on an info-pad. Shepard
figured if the stuff Harper wanted to talk about was so important he
couldn't – or wouldn't – even trust it to his fancy-ass QEC comms
network, it must be pretty important indeed.

As they reached the elevator, she tapped the panel, then turned. "You
have any more leads on Collectors? Or any of these people you want me to
work with, like Archangel?"

Harper shook his head as he got into the elevator, followed by Matriarch
Trellani. "Unfortunately, no. There have been no further attacks on
colonies yet – although this is not surprising. We had a series of
surveillance ships on point at several mass relays in the region – some
of which would have been required to traverse between Freedom's Progress
and Omega."

He dipped a hand into his pocket, coming out with a silvery cigarette
case and a lighter. His expression tightened. "They did not see any such
Collector vessels at any time, leading me to believe the Collectors may
have the same sort of 'jump' capability as Nazara possessed."

Shepard winced. "Fuck, that's just great. Any chance the Council or SA
has stepped up trying to secure the colonies?"

He lit the Compineros cigarette in his hand and gave a wry smile. "By
now you are familiar enough with the goals of the Citadel Council to
answer your own question. Aside from deploying some STG teams and two
Spectres - who are wasting time going after you instead of the
Collectors - they haven't taken any action at this time. The Alliance is
considering making an offer of support to at least Horizon, but most of
the rest are not economically worth the time or trouble – and
politically sensitive at best. And the political issues are why Cerberus
is being forced to act."

She shrugged. "Because the Council is stupid?"

He actually chuckled. "Not really, from their perspective. The Alliance
has no real vested interest in wildcat colonies – they only allowed them
to begin with as slender cover for corporations to conduct less than
ethical research and to clear out malcontents from other established
colonies. The Council is unlikely to react to a situation involving
human colonies until the Alliance does, and when they do they will
undoubtedly do so in an attempt to rein in human growth and power."

He puffed on his cigarette. "And the Council has a long history of
refusing to escalate events when they're unsure of the end results. The
Collectors are advanced and dangerous – I suspect as long as they limit
their actions to the Traverse the Council will do nothing directly."

She nodded slowly, and he continued. "The curious thing is that the
wildcat colonies outside of the Traverse – such as the handful in the
edges of the Black Rim, or the trio in the Volian Traverse, haven't been
hit at all. Some of my analysts think the Collectors might have a
maximum range for their little jump tricks to work, but we have nothing
but supposition at this point, and no way to clarify further without
another attack. My own supposition is that they are keeping things in
the Attican Traverse because they know full well no one will react to
those disappearances."

He exhaled smoke. "As for the search for finding you some additional
personnel...that's part of what I need to speak to you about." He
glanced up as the elevator chimed and the doors opened out into the
operations area.

She nodded, leading them both to her office. Sitting down at her desk,
she leaned back in the comfortable mesh chair and exhaled. "Alright, I
figure it probably isn't the safest thing to have you running about, so
what is so important it couldn't be handled via QEC?"

Harper sat down across from her, while Trellani simply leaned against
the wall, along with the case she carried. The man's voice was a touch
exasperated as he spoke. "We suffered a penetration of one of the
tertiary cells providing funding for Project Revenant. I've got my
people cleaning it up now, but the long and short of it is that whoever
did so now knows Cerberus spent billions on something involving
construction and aerospace assets, as well as biotic, bio-medical and
cybernetic research. I'm going to have to actually shutter one of my
front companies and eat the losses. Which also means I have to
restructure several other elements."

She shrugged. "And...?"

Harper took another puff of his cigarette. "It is a troubling
development, as it means the trail leading to you and your location is
in possible danger. Remember, this base is not self sufficient, and
requires funds, supplies, eezo, and parts. If the support companies are
compromised, so is my ability to assist you." He inhaled on his
cigarette again.

"From all the indications, the penetration was most likely accomplished
by the Broker's people. He's definitely sniffing, which I find curious,
as up until now most of Cerberus' activities have been economic and not
impinging on his own domains. While the loss of the cell itself is
irritating, I've had to waste time moving funds and evacuating other
cells, which has – at least in the short term – crimped some of our
finances. It's going to take some time to straighten that out, and I'm
going to have to be very careful that all links to this location are
actually purged."

She nodded slowly. "You think the Broker connected the dots between you
and me? That fast?"

Harper's eyes narrowed. "It is very likely, considering that the Council
was able to do so. We're not prepared to have your true identity
revealed, and we can't afford for the Broker to figure it out and poison
the Council against us before our preparations are completed. For now,
just to be sure, I've deactivated all QEC links to here except the one
from my own HQ, and all comms will now route through there instead of
any other methods. I'd also strongly recommend not deploying any further
ships except the Normandy SR2 under full stealth for the time being. At
least some of the data taken would have let him know what we were
working on involved asteroid construction in the Traverse."

His voice grew somewhat quieter. "My larger concern is that the method
used to penetrate the security around the funding cell may have
compromised the other operations the cell was funding – namely,
searching for Archangel and the Sisters of Vengeance. The cell was not
isolated properly in terms of how it was investing and interacting with
another cell, and the Broker's hacker was clever enough to delete all of
the information from our own servers, leaving us unsure all of what was
accessed."

She winced, and he tapped his ashes into the ashtray on the corner of
her desk. "More importantly, some of my deepest-cover assets on Omega
and Ilium suggest that we may not have much more time to locate either
of them. The largest gang elements on Omega – the Blue Suns, Eclipse and
the Blood Pack – have decided to unite forces to try to hunt down and
kill Archangel once and for all. Until now they've been fighting among
themselves – and trying to undermine Aria – almost as much as they've
gone after him, but now the gloves are coming off. His recent actions
have simply pushed them too far, and Aria isn't going to stop them.
Unless he goes to ground, they'll ferret him out sooner or later, and we
still have had no luck in establishing contact."

He inhaled on his cigarette again. "The situation with the Sisters of
Vengeance is also becoming delicate. They haven't taken any actions in
the past few weeks, and my operators on the planet have confirmed the
Broker is eventually going to send Tetrimus after them. I'm not sure how
good they are but I have severe doubts that they can handle a direct
assault if it comes to that. Unfortunately, we still have made little to
no headway in reaching out to them either."

He leaned back. "In both cases, you may be required to move in and
rescue them after those going after them have localized them for us. So
you'll need to wrap up your business with Warden Kuril to obtain Jack as
quickly as possible and be in a position to react."

She sighed. "And I still need to deal with Okeer. Fuck. Alright." She
pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking. "I'll have to keep a low
profile for now, and be ready to move at any moment. I'm headed out to
Dirth today, to meet with Pressly. Miranda told me there's someone else
you want me to meet while I'm there."

Harper nodded. "There is. Our most deeply placed … informant, so to
speak, has come across some startling information you need to know. He's
recently been reassigned to a rather delicate assignment, and so you'll
have to go to him. Once you have the information he's obtained, I'll
leave it up to you on how to proceed with it. My main concern is that
this informant will be an instrumental part of re-introducing you to the
Alliance and the Council once the proper moment has been reached."

She huffed. "Fine. Then what?"

He tapped his ashes again. "I would suggest picking up Jack from Warden
Kuril's station, as the good warden has informed us that our price to
release her to our custody is acceptable. Mr. Massani will be ready for
pickup early next week, taking him along to meet with Kuril might
provide us with some useful intelligence. Ms. Goto has found out some
troubling information involving a person of interest on Bekenstein, but
Trellani will be the one to handle that. She should be done by the time
you can pick her up on your way from Purgatory to Korlus."

He scrubbed out the cigarette. "Once you localize and deal with Okeer –
however you see fit – I would wait to take any further actions until we
can either establish contact with Dr. Solus, or until we get an alert
about the Sisters or Archangel. Given that we don't have any methods to
deal with these paralyzing swarms of the Collectors, obtaining a
research source for those would be the next highest priority."

Shepard rubbed her eyes tiredly. "That's a lot of things to do in a
pretty short timeframe. What are you doing?"

He glanced at Trellani briefly before speaking. "Reorganizing financial
assets, directing the search and intelligence efforts into locating
Archangel and the Sisters of Vengeance, and fending off attempts by both
Hades and the Broker to penetrate my networks further. The reach of
Cerberus is still sharply limited, as we are rather light on personnel
still. The largest part of our power is actually under your command at
the current time."

She snorted. "You expect me to /believe/ that?"

He gave a shrug. "I expect you to believe that I have no real need or
use for military power or equipment, as my goals for the most part
cannot be achieved by violence or direct action. There is a time and
place for such things, and I do have my own assets along those lines,
but they are sharply limited for a reason. I prefer to cut, when I must,
with the precision of a scalpel – not the sort of blunt mayhem generated
by the resources I have allocated you."

He leaned back in his chair. "And given that my own predilections for
resources run to economic and intelligence assets, you should be able to
figure out I have not given you any level of either. Without eezo, cash,
and fresh intelligence feeds, there is not a lot you can do – nor do you
or anyone currently on this base know my own current headquarters
location or anything about my other assets."

She sat back herself, scowling as she absorbed this information.
"Whatever. Just don't think I plan on trusting you unconditionally
anytime soon, Jack. I'm working with you because you're the only game in
town, but that doesn't mean I'm going to think left to your own devices
you won't get up to something."

He inclined his head. "Be that as it may...I would suggest we each
operate in our own spheres and that you can at least trust I am less
morally compromised than, say, the Systems Alliance?"

She rolled her eyes. "Shit, that's a low fucking bar to hit." She
glanced over to Trellani. "You had something you wanted to give me or
show me?"

The asari matriarch nodded, the serene smile on her face just a little
too wide for Shepard's taste. Trellani usually looked normal enough, but
there was an edge to her voice and a hint of something in her eyes that
always worried Shepard.

"Yes, there is. A little of both. Perhaps it is merely my own wish to
befoul as many of the so-called 'traditions' of the Temple of Athame as
possible, but there is one final tool I think you will find useful in
your quest, especially if you must fight Tetrimus."

She moved to pick up the case she'd brought on board, setting it down on
Shepard's empty desk a moment later and popping the small electronic
latches on the sides. It opened to reveal a scabbarded warp sword, the
blade almost straight, the hilt heavily curved and the cross piece made
of some blackened metal.

Trellani plucked it out of the case, drawing the blade slowly. The blade
itself was also black metal, with harsh, angular elder asari sigils
stamped deeply down the middle of the blade.

"An associate of Jack's obtained a minor amount of a fragment of the
hull material from the wreckage of Nazara. It was used in various
experiments to attempt to find possible weapons to use against the
Reapers, when they arrive, and it was discovered that most of our
current armaments are pitifully inadequate. In particular, mass
accelerators are the worst possible weapon to use, as the material is
extremely stable in its kinetic aspect."

She placed the tip of the weapon on the floor. "After the testing was
done, destructive heating was attempted. As it turns out, the only thing
that can deform the metal is a super-condensed plasma forge using mass
effect fields to compress and intensify gravitic effects. As this is the
same method used in creating both Silaris armor and several other asari
arts, it was decided to see if we could actually do anything with the
material. As it turns out, working the Reaper hull material is expensive
and highly difficult, but we were able to use it to make several useful
items."

Harper spoke up. "Mostly armor suits for some of my more … aggressive
employees."

Trellani continued. "What was left was not enough for any other use, so
I made use of it to fashion an asari warp sword, mostly to see if the
metal could actually be turned to such a purpose. I will admit to a
certain … ironic symbolism in attempting such. The eezo chamber of the
weapon had to be made larger than usual, giving it a stronger warp
effect, although it is more draining than a normal warp sword to use by
a fair margin. It is also far heavier than a normal warp sword, but that
will not affect you given your enhanced strength."

With a slight grimace the matriarch focused, lifting the blade, which
sprang into flickering blue flames along the serrated edge. A moment
later they snuffed out, and she placed the weapon back into its sheathe.

"I would like to train you on how to utilize this weapon, and draw forth
the fire. As you well know, no asari has ever handed over the knowledge
of how to use such things to non-asari, and typically only members of
the Thirty – "she hesitated, gritting her teeth, then smiling savagely –
"...may they all die in flames and agony...and a few of the most favored
of the Clans are taught how to use them."

Shepard stared at the sword a long moment. "You made a warp sword out of
Reaper scrap?" She shook her head. "Ahern was trying to break me of my
up-close fighting style, and I've never done that much armed CQB."

Trellani shrugged. "As with the invocations I showed you, I can pass the
knowledge along. Sparring will take some time, to familiarize you with
the weapon. You do not need the skill of a vishan blade-mistress, merely
the ability to use it in any fashion, to truly cement the idea that the
Butcher must be an asari."

She held the sword out. "Additionally, Tetrimus is an extremely powerful
biotic, and engaging him at range is the very worst sort of idea. His
nickname of the Dagger comes from a powerful evocation he has developed
that cannot be blocked or stopped and only dodged if you see it coming,
a literal fatal-in-one-strike power called the Beam. From the reports we
got from our agents on Omega, this was the power that ended the life of
your friend Shields."

Shepard winced, and the asari continued. "He can only utilize it at long
range – and if he does so you will most likely be dead. Up close you
have more chances to overwhelm him, and a warp sword is powerful enough
that he must devote a large portion of his power to blocking it."

Shepard shrugged and took the thing, frowning at the weight a bit. "Like
I said, I was planning on heading out to Dirth today..."

Trellani glanced at Harper, who shrugged. "One day will not make that
much of a difference in the timeline of your other plans, but a day of
training will give you enough of the basics to use this weapon effectively."

Shepard sighed and nodded, tapping her desk comm. "Miranda, please let
Chief Haln know we'll be headed out tomorrow morning. I have something I
need to handle today, it looks like."

Miranda's voice was clipped but not harsh. "Understood, Shepard. That
may be for the best anyway, the man's cyberware is not of the highest
quality, and the medical team would like to refit some of the spinal
mods and the cybernetic arm at the least."

Shepard nodded to herself. "Very well. Shepard out." She glanced up.
"Should I have her prepare you two some place to stay?"

The Illusive Man shook his head. "That will not be necessary. The
matriarch has some things to attend to once she's done with you. She'll
need to borrow a shuttle and head to Purgatory Station to handle the
business aspects of Jack's transfer, and then move onto Bekenstein to
assist Ms. Goto with her own issue. I'll depart now and return to my own
operational facility... I still have work to do."

She shrugged. "You'll pardon me if I don't feel the need to walk you
back, then. This knowledge-meld bullshit gives me a terrible headache,
and I'd rather get it over with as quick as possible."

Trellani nodded. "Very understandable. If you will give Jack and I a few
moments, I will meet you in the base armory level to begin."

Shepard stood up, and exited her offices. As the doors shut, Harper
glanced around and smiled. "While you are here, get the reports from Ms.
Chambers on how things are progressing, and make sure Mr. Ezno is
on-pace to finish clearing any final links to us from the systems here.
Miranda's reports have been very positive so far, but I'd like
confirmation of those from an independant source."

She nodded. "I shall. I will also speak with Shepard myself, and see if
I cannot get a better idea of her mindset. As for the situation on
Bekenstein, what do I do if Ms. Goto's little situation on there is too
dangerous to complete by myself?"

Harper smiled. "Kai and Pel are occupied, but Brooks and Rasa are free."

Trellani grimaced. "I'd almost rather listen to Minsta than those two."

*O-TWCD-O*

Shepard's training with Trellani was useful in one thing – realizing how
easily Benezia could have murdered her on the Citadel. She'd known warp
swords were dangerous but slicing through inches of reinforced steel
like cotton candy was an eye-opening experience.

Asari warp sword-dancing was far different than human swordsmanship. A
warp sword would cut through almost anything used to block it aside from
another warp sword, and even then it depended on who had the greater
biotic strength. Trellani demonstrated a number of moves, each one which
incorporated using biotics to maneuver the body.

Sword-dancing was less about slashing or thrusting the blade and more
about shifting one's own body or center of gravity, and about oblique
angles and generating an opening for a separate biotic attack. Trellani
guided Shepard through the most basic forms, before pulling out a pair
of metal rods that acted as sparring weapons and taking her through a
full attack and defense routine.

Shepard's reflexes, thanks to the integration of her cybernetic limbs
with her eyes and gyroscopes, were advanced enough that no normal asari
would even have a chance at landing a straight blow on Shepard. Combined
with the stances and with judicious use of her superior speed, Trellani
felt Shepard could dominate most warp swords users who weren't blade
mistresses or war priestesses.

They sparred for several hours, pausing to eat lunch and let Trellani
recover slightly. The matriarch had swapped her flowing gown and shawl
for a plain silvery jumpsuit, and as she ate a light meal in the base
mess decks, Shepard found herself curious about the asari.

"Still not understanding why exactly an asari would hook up with
goddamned Cerberus."

Trellani elegantly sliced apart a piece of fish into small cubes,
putting one into her mouth and chewing calmly, pausing to swallow before
speaking. "Jack is not the monster you seem to think he is. But the
answer to your question should be, with reflection, obvious."

Shepard arched an eyebrow.

"As I once told the good doctor Minsta...who else would join a group of
terrorists aside from yet another terrorist?"

Shepard frowned. "I'm not sure I follow that."

Trellani smiled, sipping some water. "Cerberus, at its core, is an ideal
and an idea. The concept that humanity has always defined its own
course, and that if humanity is to prosper in the future alongside other
Citadel races, it cannot do so from a submissive, supplicated position.
The plight of the quarians and the krogan – and the fate of the rachni –
are simply another data point alongside what humanity endured during
your First Contact War when it comes to how the Citadel – or should I
say, the asari and salarians – view other species."

She cut another piece of fish. "In order to do that, as outlined in
Jack's manifesto, there must be a group willing to stand watch against
those who would seek to enforce such sublimation on humanity. Without
such, subtle actions would and will reduce your race's independence in a
short amount of time to nothing at all."

Eating the slice of fish, she chewed, then smiled. "And there is little
difference in that and what the Thirty have done to my own people."

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose. "So … you just decided this one
day?"

The matriarch leaned back slightly, shaking her head. "For me, I came
across certain things in my studies that revealed to me issues with the
Church of Athame, and with the so-called 'holy nature' of the Thirty.
Until that point I was as zealous – maybe more so – as any other asari
about the unity of our people. When I learned these truths, I realized
we had been deceived. My people have been used, abused, and lied to –
and those who are responsible for such have not even the shallow and
cruel excuses your Alliance does of survival for such acts. They merely
crave power and dominance."

Shepard nodded. "The Council of Bitchriarchs didn't strike me as very,
ah, humble. Or looking out for anyone's best interests but their own,
given how they treated Liara." Her jaw tightened at the name of her
wife, and Trellani nodded.

"Indeed. The leaders of asari society have their reasons for acting how
they do. And in doing so, they have crippled and damaged asari society
for … millennia. They have caused the deaths of tens of thousands or
more asari in their squabbles, and they are, I am convinced, hiding
information from the galaxy at large regarding a great number of things."

Trellani sighed. "When I uncovered what I did, I attempted to obtain an
explanation. I ended up having to battle my own superior, Benezia. And
when I fled, trying to warn my family and friends of the danger, I found
I was too late. T'Armal had my entire family brutally murdered, my
acolytes tortured to death, my bondmate executed, and then sent both
ardat-yakshi and Broker assassins after me. They broadcast lies about me
to the Asari Republic and made me into a galactic criminal."

Shepard winced. "And so you ran to Cerberus?"

Trellani shook her head, eating a few more pieces of fish before
speaking. "No. I knew Jack Harper – our business ventures intersected in
a few places, before I was cast out, and I did a fair amount of business
with Cord-Hislop. But at the time I had no idea Jack was the Illusive
Man. No, I fled first into the Traverse, attempting to deal with Aria.
When that did not go exactly how I planned, I gave serious thought to
attempting to give what I knew to the salarians, when a Broker wet-work
team lead by Tazzik found me."

Shepard remembered Tazzik from the fight on the Citadel. "Ouch."

Trellani gave a thin smile. "I was unable to defeat him. The few
acolytes I still had who'd fled with me were massacred, and I was forced
to flee before him. I would have met my end there if not for the
intercession of Cerberus. They didn't attack him to save me, however
they did attack him for their own reasons, and I was able to escape in
the crossfire."

She laughed. "At the time I found it deliciously ironic. Now I wonder if
it was the calm tides of fate."

She sipped her water again. "Later on, I was being hunted on Bekenstein
by the Broker as well as Justicars when Jack saved my life. He was
initially … quite skeptical of some of my claims, but once he was able
to verify them, what assets and information sources I had gave Cerberus
its first real penetration not only into the asari but certain salarian
circles as well. I was a useful partner from a business and intelligence
standpoint."

Shepard leaned back. "And the fact that Cerberus was cutting up asari?"

Trellani gave her a cold smile. "If Cerberus put every member of the
Thirty to the sword, I could care less. I am not childish enough to
think that morality or ethics has any place in this debased society
dancing in orbit around the clash of asari and salarian, of dalatrass
against matriarch. My own people have cursed me and hounded me. My own
people would rather, for the most part, believe in lies and allow
themselves to be used rather than face ugly and hard truths."

She wiped her hands. "As far as I am concerned, the only asari worth
saving at this point are the ones currently residing in the Alliance.
You of all people should understand, given how they treated your wife
while she lived among them. Benezia was not unkind, and if she would act
in that fashion, you can only imagine the sort of willful ignorance a
salt-crested bitch like Thana T'Armal would endorse."

Shepard frowned. "It's just..." She shook her head. "A lot of what
Cerberus was up to when I shut it down was sickening. It was the
groundwork for this NOVENSILES garbage or ways to kill off large numbers
of aliens at once. If the Thirty are bad, I can get that – some of the
High Lords of Sol, at least the ones involved in this mess, are probably
bad apples too."

She placed her hands on the table. "That's not tantamount to me writing
off all of humanity as a lost cause and being cool with cutting them up
for science experiments."

Trellani shook her head. "I have done much, much worse than that,
Shepard. As I said, Jack is no monster. He will not shy away from what
must be done, but it is not out of cruelty. And he has a fault of
becoming too ensconced in his maneuverings in the economic and
intelligence arenas to keep a good eye on other projects. It has burned
him before."

She shifted in her seat. "I, on the other hand, have lost so much that I
see no reason in pretending to care any longer. If people live or die,
if people suffer, if worlds are wrecked or atrocities committed … I
cannot find it in myself to be affected."

The purple eyes narrowed. "When you have watched your own family killed
in horrible ways, thinking that you somehow betrayed them, watching the
light die in their eyes and feeling your bonds snap like brittle bones,
siari is no comfort. When your lover gasps her last in a froth of blood,
and is tortured to death, simply to make a point, you lose sight of the
fact that revenge is 'wrong'."

Trellani smiled. "As I once told another person questioning my
motives...morals get in the way of vengeance. I want the Thirty to die,
slowly and painfully. I want them to suffer, to watch their lies come
apart in the tides and disintegrate. I want their perfect little cities
to burn, their filthy estates to be smashed into gravel. I want to see
their despair as their bond-mates die, as their children are put to the
warp-sword, as everything they built turns into ash."

The mellow voice hardened. "And if I have to kill a million souls to get
there, or commit atrocity upon atrocity to see it happen? Your people
have the most wonderfully ironic idiom to cover that scenario. One
cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs."

The sheer hate and vitriol in the slender matriarch's voice sent a
shiver down Shepard's artificial spine, and she thought a few seconds on
that. "If you kill people who had nothing to do with your suffering,
just to get at the bastards who did, how are you any better than the
Thirty you hate so much?"

Trellani laughed, a cold sound. "Oh, Shepard. It is … lightening and
somehow wholesome to see that even with all that has been taken from you
– your wife, your home, your childhood, your society, even your very
life – you still retain that iron core of fundamental /decency/. It is
one reason why Jack chose this unlikely project, this returning you to
the shores of life. He said that you would prevent Cerberus from
becoming that which it shouldn't. That you would always do the right
thing because you wouldn't let yourself do the wrong thing."

The matriarch stood, wiping her mouth. "I am not as strong as you, young
human. I am far, far worse than the Thirty – and I no longer care if I
am worse than they, because when it is over they will be rotting meat
and I will use their ashes to fertilize my rosebushes."

She smiled. "Enough of this. Let us finish our practice so that you have
time to rest before you set out tomorrow."

Shepard stood up too, draining her coffee before setting the cup down on
the metal table. "Why are you teaching me all this? The restricted
biotics, the sword dancing. Is it just to piss off the Thirty, to thumb
your nose at them?"

Trellani paused. "Partially, which may seem immature to you but remains
highly satisfying to me. But more importantly..." She made a gesture of
siari separation. "...there is a certain satisfaction in knowing that
you are likely to be the instrument of the Broker's destruction. I would
love to kill that being or those beings myself. But if that is not to
be, I want the knowledge of knowing my teachings were useful in bringing
the Broker down."

Shepard could only nod at that. "That's not an if, but a when. I'm
killing that fucker, whoever or whatever he is, if it's the last
goddamned thing I do."

Trellani smiled. "And now you know how I feel about the Thirty. Let us
train you further, so that hopefully it will not be the last thing you do."

*O-TWCD-O*

The next morning, the Normandy launched from the base, making its way to
the Verthas trade lane. Shepard drank coffee and grimaced at the galaxy map.

The worst thing about being a cyborg, she mused, was that when you
didn't get a good night's sleep you still looked as if you had even if
you didn't feel that way. She glanced down Ops Alley, noting the
stations manned by a pair of Vigil-driven robots, and then sighed.

"Hey, Vigil."

The silvery sphere snapped into existence next to her a second after she
spoke, its voice as sharp as ever. "Yes, Shepard?"

She eyed the thing. "What happened to primitive? And what are you up to?"

The sphere rippled as it floated above the navplot. "I prefer to use
that appellation more on those who ask me /stupid/ things. You are
usually not in the habit of such. I was focused on preparing the set of
runtimes I will be dispatching to ensure you are not detected by any
security apparatus on Dirth."

She nodded, sipping at the coffee. "I have a question, which I doubt is
stupid. You've complained before that the Protheans didn't listen to
your advice, and that is what got them all killed. What should I be
doing that I'm not?"

The sphere pulsed, a more serious tone entering its voice. "At this
point, there is little you can do except gather evidence and information
to make your leadership listen to you and I." It paused. "I would
suggest that you move as quickly as possible to ascertain exactly what
the Collectors are up to. The fact that I still have not localized any
incoming Reaper transphotonic signatures is baffling. They usually react
very rapidly and directly to the destruction of their sentinel Reaper."

She nodded slowly. "You said there was something in the Citadel –
another AI, more powerful than you that took out Nazara. Perhaps they
are scared of that?"

Vigil floated over towards the science station. "Perhaps, although
unlikely. To borrow your colorful parlance, I have no fucking idea what
that thing was, and I find myself less and less inclined to investigate
the more I cogitate on the matter."

Shepard quirked her lips. "Starting to rub off on you, hmm?"

Vigil floated over to her shoulder. "That is somewhat by design. The
Inusannon felt it would be best if I absorbed some of the cultural and
infomemetic natures of my users, and I am designed to acclimate and
adapt to those around me over time. The Protheans had a fixation on
being 'superior' to the rest of the associated servitor races in their
empire – the 'primitive' epithet I use so freely was the favored saying
of your predecessor among the Protheans, Javik."

She arched an eyebrow as she felt the ship shudder with a mass relay
translation. "I'm guessing he died in the fighting – that is, he wasn't
one of the ones in suspended animation on Ilos?"

Vigil pulsed. "I am not sure. He was instrumental to the war effort, but
at the end the Protheans moved him away from Ilos. His ship was
overtaken by indoctrinated spies and his crew and mate were certainly
killed by the indoctrinated hordes but he was still fighting when Ilos
lost contact with the rest of the Empire, so it is unlikely he was sent
back to Ilos to be placed in suspended animation.."

The AI's voice lowered. "He was very irritating...but a strong fighter,
and he did not give into despair until he had lost almost everything. I
am almost hoping he died fighting – most of the caches of Prothean
soldiers placed into stasis outside of Ilos were discovered and
converted by the Reapers."

She grimaced. "Yeah." She glanced at the status repeater, then tapped
her commlink. "Chief Haln, ETA to the Dirth system is roughly one hour.
I'm going to get changed, meet me in the hangar bay in forty-five."

Haln's gravelly voice answered back. "Yes, ma'am. Should I go armed?"

She snorted. "Not necessary. My main concern is getting down there
without being noticed, as Dirth is the place I'm most likely to be
recognized. Miranda has an idea for a disguise, but weapons would draw
more attention than we need."

"Understood, ma'am."

She clicked off, glancing back at Vigil. "I presume you'll be handling
getting me past whatever customs there are?"

The sphere gave a wobble and what sounded like a snort of laughter. "You
have to ask?"

*O-TWCD-O*

The shuttle ride down to the surface of Dirth was a mix of nostalgic and
depressing for Shepard.

The world had recovered nicely from the batarian raid against it, the
scars of the invasion long since healed. Wearing a respiration mask and
in somewhat baggy spacer clothing, Shepard pulled up her omni-tool and
tapped a command into it. Her hair slowly began to lighten in color a
few moments later, shifting from black to brownish red and finally
lightening to blond after about thirty seconds.

Haln watched this with amusement. "That's a neat trick."

She snorted. "Well, it isn't really hair. Miranda tried to explain it,
something to do with hue-shifting nanites or some shit. All I know it
saves me some time and the pain of dyeing it." She pulled out a pair of
light-suppressive goggles and put them over her eyes, and grimaced. "So
you know the story?"

He nodded. "You have second stage Rorgal's disease with the associated
lung scarring. You're here to see a local specialist since Benson
doesn't have any doctors with the proper equipment. I'm your fiance."
The last was said dryly enough that Shepard chuckled.

"Blame Miranda for the cover story. Then again, she probably has some
experience in sneaking around, so I'll go with her recommendations.
Anyway, we're coming up on the spaceport now. Hopefully this will go
quickly."

They broke through the cloud layer and descended rapidly through sparse
air traffic to touch down at Victory Spaceport. Shepard remembered this
place as a war-zone, burning and filled with terrified civilians, as she
and the rest of her unit had fought to block the batarians from reaching
them.

She arched an eyebrow at the large white statue in front of the
spaceport, that of a female in heavy armor with a shotgun standing in
front of a pair of children. She swallowed, and exhaled sharply. Dirth,
at least, had never been a place that had made her feel hated or
unwelcome after she had saved them, but giant statues of her were always
a bit much.

They landed without further incident, disembarking at a slow pace and
making their way to the primary docking customs station. Shepard
adjusted the fit of her facial mask, the combination of it and the
goggles obscuring most of her features, while Matt handed the tired
looking woman at the customs station their forged SA travel visas and
citizenship chits.

The woman was in her late thirties, with pale gray eyes setting off her
darker skin tone and braided hair. She glanced over them and tapped the
scanner console, nodding a moment later. "Welcome to Dirth, Mr. Jones,
Ms. Intes. The hospital district is reachable by ground-car directly,
there is a travel service in the main concourse that can take you to
Shepard Memorial Hospital. Do you have anything besides the handbags to
declare?"

Haln shook his head, holding up the small cooler he held in the other
hand. "Not really, just a few beers we bought on the station. We'll only
be here for the day, once we've seen the doctor and visited a local
friend we'll be headed back to Benson."

The woman ran her omni-tool over the cooler, and then slid the travel
passes through her computer and nodded. "Then have a pleasant visit."

Haln picked up both sets of bags and set off towards the main concourse,
Shepard trailing and glancing around. There were hardly any people in
the spaceport, hardly surprising given the fact it was ten in the
morning and most commercial or freight traffic did business at the
orbital station. She waited until they were out of earshot and then
spoke softly. "That went … smoothly."

Haln nodded. "Yeah it did. Just how powerful is Vigil, if he can hack
the SA's customs databases like that?"

Shepard shrugged. "I … really try not to think about it, Matt. TIM says
Vigil is more dangerous that it lets on – certainly what little I've
seen terrifies the fuck out of me. I watched it literally hack the
entire galactic transmission network when I sent out my Butcher
messages...that took it less than a minute."

The taller marine shook his head. "I see now why in the little briefing
Ms. Lawson gave us she told us to be polite to the thing at all times."
He stepped through the double doors into the concourse, finding the
nearest travel stand and moving towards it.

Fifteen minutes later, they were heading south along the main traffic
corridor of the city, turning slightly west as they descended. Most of
Hennson City, the capital of Dirth, was rebuilt heavily since she'd been
here. The refurbished colony modules and boxy plascrete buildings she
remembered were mostly gone, replaced by slender towers and long rows of
low-slung permacrete and armaplast single-family dwellings.

The aircar dipped out of the traffic pattern to slowly glide towards a
seven story tower, touching down lightly on the landing area set to one
side. Trees and a flower park flanked the entrance to the tower, along
with a pair of security mechs.

Haln stepped out of the air car, and Shepard followed, pushing her hair
out of her face and glancing around. She glanced over at the marine.
"Lead the way, I guess. Here's hoping this goes well."

He nodded, walking towards the tower. She tapped her commlink. "Vigil,
we'll need access to this tower – there's a security mech service and
key-card entry, looks like."

A short pause and then Vigil spoke. "Done. I've also gone over the video
logs at the spaceport and scrubbed the entries of your hiring the
aircar. The security is very light...and by that I mean pitiful and
about as effective as small children yelling 'go away' at me."

She shrugged and clicked off as they approached the tower door. Haln
glanced at the bots, who simply waved them through. Shepard smirked as
the doors slid open and they entered the tower's lobby. The lobby was
laid out simply : an information and news station linked to SA-EIGHT,
the official SA alert and news network, some benches, a pair of small
restaurants tucked off on either side of the main bank of elevators, and
some office space – doctors, attorneys and the like.

She glanced at Haln. "What now? I've never actually been in one of these
colony towers before."

He looked surprised, but nodded at the elevator. "He's on the fifth
floor. Most towers like this have a single floor of mixed use offices
and four or five floors of apartments – usually either ten, six, or four
to a floor, depending on the sizes."

He tapped the elevator button and the doors to the left-most elevator
cab slid open, and the two of them got in. As they closed and the
elevator began to ascend, Shepard gave a small shrug. "Yeah, I grew up
on Earth, so I'm used to habblocks and row houses in the NYARC. I get
what this place is supposed to be, it's just a little different than
what I'm used to."

The brown-haired chief nodded. "Well, Pressly lives here by himself. His
son and his son's wife live a floor down from him, and I think they help
out with groceries and the like. Half the ops techs from the Normandy
died, a couple who were off-shift when we got hit visit from time to
time, and a few of his friends from his last command as well. That's …
really about it, except us marines who see him when we swing through."

The big man shifted his stance as the elevator came to a halt. "I got
two uncles who live here, so I swung by when I could. Money is tight,
unfortunately. Or it was." He gave a smile. "Your, uh, group pays
extremely well, about five times what the SA paid me."

Shepard arched an eyebrow but nodded. "They're a bit … extravagant. They
had wood floors in a place they woke me up at that they planned to blow
up from the beginning. Wasteful, but hey – it's his money."

Haln took the lead, walking past several metallic doors set into the
narrow hallway until he reached one with the name 'PRESSLY 050232'
stenciled neatly to one side by the data slot. He tabbed the haptic comm
panel below that. "Say, Charles, you in? It's Matt Haln."

The panel lit up a second later, Pressly's voice sounding weaker than
Shepard remembered. "Hello, Matt. Door's open. Didn't expect you to
swing by."

Haln opened it, stepping in, and Shepard followed. The room inside was
decent sized, twenty feet square, with wide windows overlooking the city
on the far wall. A comfortable sectional couch took up one corner,
crosswise from a haptic entertainment console with bookshelves flanking
it on the other. Doors in each of the side walls were ajar, and the
third corner of the room had a cut-way to a small kitchenette and dining
area.

The walls were textured in pale silver paneling and a shadow box of
medals and awards hung above the couch. Sitting in a lift chair next to
the couch was Charles Pressly, his head still shaven. Some of the man's
muscular bulk was gone, his face lined with several fading scars and one
eye covered with a simple black eye patch. His right arm was occupied
with a data-slate, while his left was a fairly low quality cybernetic
conversion that started at his elbow.

He glanced up from the slate, his one remaining eye tired looking, and
flicked his gaze over Shepard without recognizing her before moving back
to Haln. "You're looking good. Matt. I'm afraid I don't know your friend..."

Haln placed the cooler down on the table, opening the top and extracting
a beer. He tossed one to Pressly, who caught it with the cybernetic arm
without difficulty. "Eh, you should probably have that first, old man."

Pressly arched his eyebrow. "And why is that?"

Shepard chuckled, tapping her omni-tool Her hair darkened back to its
original shade even as she pulled off the mask and sunglasses. "Hello,
Charles."

Pressly took a long look at her before popping the tab of the beer and
drinking heavily.

*O-TWCD-O*

"...that...is a pretty hard tale to take in and believe...ma'am. I'm
going to have to ask how I'm supposed to verify you are who you say you
are. You could be a clone conditioned to believe things, someone
surgically altered to look like Shepard, or … hell, I don't know.
Anything but a dead woman come back to life. What is the proof?"

Haln shrugged. "Y'know, most of the rest of the marine team had their
doubts too. We already interrogated her for a good three hours when she
showed herself to us. There's also the fact that that Joker and Tali
were there, as well as Doctor Sedanya, and all of them vouched for her.
Also, Vega thought up the idea of pulling up a piece of Prothean text
online that had been translated to English, and having her translate it
for us on the spot without access to her omni. It's her."

Shepard shrugged. "Look, I didn't believe this bullshit when I first
woke up from whatever the fuck they did to bring me back either. But to
answer your question, Sedanya says I'm not a clone. I don't get most of
the science myself, but I kept the scans she did on me on my omni if you
want a look."

Pressly sipped the second beer he'd opened and gave her a long
thoughtful look. "...no, that won't be necessary, ma'am." He sighed. "I
suppose I should be happier about this, it's just a shock to take in. It
… upends a lot of my beliefs. The Church says death is the final
transition."

Shepard examined her artificial hands and smiled thinly. "I can't answer
that question. I remember sitting there with that last cup of decent
coffee in the cockpit, going to my quarters, the ship blowing up,
getting you guys into a pod, and fucking dying. The last thing I saw in
my mind was Liara...and then I'm waking up in a fancy-ass hospital
room." She met the man's remaining eye squarely. "I'm still not handling
it well myself, but I can't afford to go to pieces until I get the
fuckers who killed Liara and my friends, and stop the Collectors."

She exhaled. "After that...I don't know. Maybe I'll go talk to the Pope
or something."

Pressly's face tightened as she mentioned the death of Liara and the
rest. "...I see. I don't know what to think... but I don't really think
it matters right now. Like you said, you have more important things to
be worried about." He tilted his head. "Which makes me ask why you're
here, ma'am."

She gave him a long look. "I'm .. .well, before we get into that -
Pressly, what happened to you?"

He gave a cough. "Politics happened, mostly. After the Normandy went
down and you were declared dead, I was in the hospital a long time. By
the time they stabilized me and I was conscious again, the events on
Omega had already gone down and General von Grath cashiered out. The SA
Admiralty Board called me and a few others up to get an idea of what
happened to the Normandy at a formal inquest."

Haln sneered. "A witch hunt more like it."

Pressly nodded, his expression grim. "They came to the conclusion that
the Normandy's stealth system had to be sabotaged by someone on board at
the time. That put severe doubts on the reliability of the crew.
Additionally, since I was on watch when the Normandy was hit, they
decided it was my fault the ship was not prepared for combat."

Shepard spat. "What kind of fucking shit was that? I'd stepped away
three goddamned minutes. There wasn't even fucking space dust in that
system when I left the cockpit. Stupid desk-driving morons, they
wouldn't know a threat if it jumped down their throats."

He smiled, the first real smile she'd seen out of him. "Maybe it is
you." He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Bottom line was that they told
me I would sign off on a report taking responsibility and identifying
the attackers as geth."

She lowered her eyebrows in a thunderously angry expression. "And if you
didn't?"

He sighed. "What you see here. My citizenship was reduced to tier II. I
didn't qualify for cybernetic corrective therapy for my spinal damage,
leg damage, and only the lowest quality arm replacement. I was
officially discharged in 'other than honorable' conditions and my
pension eliminated. On the other hand, if I signed, they would have paid
for everything, I'd have been promoted quietly and shuffled off to some
post on Earth."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "So why didn't you sign, aside from the fact
that you knew it wasn't the geth?"

He sighed. "Because it wasn't the truth, ma'am. Because if I did, and
took responsibility for it, there's no telling what else they could have
forced me to sign. Because signing it would have been the same as saying
my ops team fell down on the job and would have gotten them all
dishonorable discharges. But most of all..."

He met her stare. "Ma'am, at the time, the only thing I could think of
was that if it wasn't the geth and they were demanding we say it was
them, instead of investigating the real issues and how the Normandy
could have been detected, that meant the SA knew exactly who had killed
us. I thought it was possible the SA had set us up to die and I wasn't
going to play along. They were pretty upset about that...it got my son
in trouble and he had to not reenlist. But I wasn't going to lie for them."

She nodded, and placed her hand on his still broad shoulder. "I'm glad
you did the right thing, Charles, although I'm really sorry it cost
you." She exhaled. "In a way, though, I'm almost relieved the SA
continues its usual way of acting like a dick, since it makes it easier
for me to ask you what I need help with."

She pursed her lips. "I need you as my XO again. I have a talented …
well, person – but she's not a good XO in a lot of ways. She's trying to
wear too many hats at once – medical specialist, liaison to the person
behind my resurrection, base executive officer, ship's XO, personal
assistant, intelligence coordinator – and she's flailing a bit. I need
you there to pick up the details I miss on."

Pressly gestured at his body. "I'm more than a little busted up for that
kind of work."

Shepard snorted. "That's why I want you to come. We have top flight
cybernetic surgeons and state of the art medical facilities...shit, most
of me is silver now."

Haln nodded. "They fixed up the problems I had with my cyberarm in about
two hours, and upgraded the entire spinal package to a point where I
can't even feel it anymore. I feel like I did before I got hurt. They
fixed up Emilo's cybernetic leg as well, the one he spent so much money
trying to make work right that never would."

Pressly sat there for long seconds, pausing to finish the second beer
and motioning to Haln for a third. He opened it, face pensive, before
looking up at Shepard.

"You said you work … with … Cerberus. That the people with you work for
you and only you. What are you going to do if Cerberus turns out to be
as bad as it was when we took it out last time?"

She smirked. "Laugh my ass off and kill them all again. I don't trust
Harper, and after a long talk with Trellani I am convinced that bitch is
every bit as crazy and dangerous as Jona Sederis. If they try to get me
to go along with anything I don't like I'm gone, and I've made that as
clear as possible." She paused. "To be fair … Tali and Joker have been
with them two years and haven't seen anything they saw as shady."

Pressly grimaced. "But there could be atrocity and we wouldn't even know
about it." He sipped at the beer. "Matt, I take it you and the rest of
the marine team signed on? What do you think?"

Haln sipped his own beer, sitting on one of Pressly's couches. "I think
that Broker fuck needs a bullet in his head and these bug things need a
shot of RAID. If the Boss Lady says we work with these Cerberus pukes,
we do. The ones I've seen back at Shepard's base are pretty
straightforward, if a bit … uh... augmented?"

Shepard raised an eyebrow and Haln coughed. "Ezno and Taylor look like
Mr. Universe contestants, and that Lawson lady...you can't expect me to
believe that shit's natural."

Shepard burst out laughing.

*O-TWCD-O*

Pressly agreed to go along, and Matt stayed behind to help him pack a
few things. Pressly would need to talk to his son about being gone for a
bit, and Shepard left him to come up with the cover story he'd be using
while she set out to head to meet the informant Harper mentioned.

The drive in the aircar was relatively short, and the location described
was an older industrial building on the outskirts of the city. She got
out of the air-car cautiously, but the area was pretty much deserted,
and the only entrance into the building – a heavily reinforced durasteel
door in an equally outsized and armored frame – was the only way in.

Making sure her disguise was back in place she walked to the door, which
slid open at her approach. She stepped into a long, narrow room, the
door closing behind her. The walls and ceiling were brushed steel, while
the floor was heavy rubber squares meshed together. A single security
camera swiveled to towards her, then the door in the far side of the
room opened.

She frowned and stepped through this second door, coming out into a much
larger room. Various haptic monitors and view-screens occluded the
walls, along with a massive map of Dirth's continents, while a blade
rack of servers hummed quietly to one side. Doors led off from the main
room, most of them shut, but at least one was ajar, revealing yet more
computer equipment. Just based on what she could see, whoever was here
could monitor activity and communications over most of the planet.

A long, low-slung table dominated the room, and sitting on the edge was
the thick form of Commandant Dravus Chisholm, his peaked cap set on the
table next to him and his expression set into a smirk.

Shepard froze, and the Commandant chuckled. "I'm guessing you weren't
expecting to see me, Shepard? Not surprising. It would have been very
poor operational security for Harper to give you any information about
me prior to you getting here without problems. Welcome to the
Commissariat monitoring station for Dirth." He spread his arms in a
grand fashion. "You might as well lose the disguise."

She paused, then pulled off her mask and goggles. "It wasn't my idea, I
assure you. Haven't seen or heard of you much since Noveria. And here I
thought Commissars were supposed to be incorruptible."

His smirk twisted, as he lit his customary cigar. "Nonsense. Nothing is
/immune/ to entropy. Granted, the new batch of Commissars, the chipped
up ones they brainwash from the time we kidnap them off the streets,
they're pretty much incorruptible. But even they break down over time,
and more than a few go bad. You just never hear about it because we
police our own."

He gestured to himself. "Us older types get by with a cortex bomb and
hypnotic conditioning, which Cerberus broke a while back. It isn't easy,
and it requires a lot of juggling to keep it from being detected, but so
far I've pulled it off."

His eyes narrowed. "Don't get me wrong, Shepard. I'm still loyal to the
SA. I dislike criminals every bit as much as I did before. I don't do
this out of enforced loyalty, but because it needs to be done. I just
don't happen to think the current leaders – or the plans they have – are
in the best interest of the SA. Rourke would be appalled at what they
plan, and I'm not the only Commissar who isn't happy about what's going
down, the few of us who actually know. It's why de la Muerte went out of
his way to cover you when you made your little side trip during your
honeymoon."

She winced. "He knew? About me going after Kyle's information?"

He shrugged. "He suspected, let's say, that you knew something. His
hands were mostly tied, and he was busy trying to ferret out saboteurs
in Fourth Fleet. But he made sure that the Commissars assigned to you
were sympathetic, personally trained by him, and kept most of the
Commissariat from keeping close tabs on you like they normally would to
any former Z2." Puffing on the cigar, he smiled. " For now, though, we
have bigger problems." He exhaled. "You know President Windsor was
forced from power, along with most of his cabinet, correct?"

She nodded. "Some bullshit about Eliza being his daughter...and
misappropriation of funds. I didn't bother reading up on it since it
happened only a few months after I … died." She shrugged. "I mean, I
feel sorry for the guy, but as far back as Noveria I knew he was playing
a little fast and loose with the rules. I figured some of what he
approved for me or had me given authority over was … not quite according
to the regs."

Chisholm tapped ashes from his cigar on the floor, smearing them with a
heavy boot. "True enough. That was the core of some of the charges
against him, at least publicly. He was basically breaking the law when
he set you up as his personal operative. Spectres are not supposed to be
accountable to government officials in that capacity, and certainly
giving you private AIS forces, legal arrest powers, and the rest of the
things he had planned if you had not died were ... not even of dubious
legality. His forced rerouting of ships to your battle group rankled
more than a few naval officers, and there was a strong undercurrent of
outrage at BuPers - and some Commissars - when he allowed two aliens to
simply assume commissions as Lieutenant Commanders on the Kazan."

He grunted, puffing on the cigar. "But honestly? It's all bullshit. Sure
it was not legal, but what should have happened was him getting his hand
spanked. Instead, his enemies used that as an opening, and then made up
a ton of additional, fabricated evidence for worse crimes, such as
embezzlement and the like, related to his eventual plans for you."

She frowned. "I was dead - why bother?"

He gestured with the cigar. "Because, I suspect, Windsor wasn't playing
the game he was told to play. He'd already tumbled to some things being
off in the Alliance, and after you brought him bits of information and
Harper fed him some more, he was going to put a stop to it. He'd planned
to set you up as his personal agent in that regard, blow some things
wide open, and maybe get enough blackmail material to force whatever the
Manswells and the Chus were cooking up into the open. He made a good
stab at keeping his intentions quiet, but he wasn't careful enough, and
when his people got caught snooping, I think someone in the High Lords
finally figured out what his plan was."

He sighed. "Instead of being able to deploy you, he got injured in the
assassination attempt. That meant he had no control over you, and
allowed someone in the SA - supposedly that slime Saracino - to send you
off after the geth. I'm not sure if the SA knew you'd get killed out
there, or just wanted you out of the way, but I suspect the latter. When
you got killed, he had no weapons to use against them, and they had him
where they wanted him."

He puffed on the cigar again. "It was pretty ugly. Accusations came from
all directions, AIS, Commissars, Navy, and the Senate. Not only that -
from what little I know, his own father and his brother sold him down
the river. They framed him for quite a bit of things, but the truth
about Eliza was that she really was his illegitimate daughter – and the
mother was a Williams. The High Lords really didn't like that."

Shepard sighed. "Ouch."

The Commandant nodded. "Eliza wasn't actually killed in the attack, but
was damn near dead and would need some really expensive therapy to
survive. And as it happened, she was basically in the hands of the
Manswells. From what I can determine, they met with him in the hospital
and forced him to admit to guilt, and exiled him to Dirth. As long as he
kept quiet, they'd fix Eliza up and let her live with him. That let them
put Huerta into power. And Huerta, well..."

He dumped his ashes. "Let's just say the gray-box the man has is
remotely editable by certain parties, and that a side effect of his
surgery means they had plenty of opportunity to implant more than a few
post-hypnotic suggestions."

Shepard grimaced. "So they directly control the President. Fuck."

Chisholm nodded. "Yeah. For the moment, the Manswells are pretty much
pulling all the strings, sight unseen. They've got Windsor under tight
isolation surveillance, to make sure he doesn't talk, along with cortex
bombs in him and Eliza. It took me a while to maneuver myself around,
but eventually I was put in charge of his security, and got a chance to
talk to him."

The Commandant leaned forward. "The thing is, whoever put the hit on
Windsor used some assets of a group Manswell put together called Hades.
From what I can tell, publicly Hades is just another racist follow-on to
the old Cerberus, but privately it's where they've stashed Richard
Williams. He's working on something in the Black Sector that even
Commissars aren't cleared to see. My information suggests Williams had
the assassination on Windsor done himself, rather than on some orders of
the Manswells."

She frowned. "Why?"

He half turned, picking up a haptic scroll-sheet, a disposable plastic
flimsy with pre-programmed graphics burned into it. "I suspect it
happened after Richard did some thinking. The cover identity he is
currently using is that of a distant fourth son of Maxwell's nephew, one
Richard Manswell. It's airtight, and … well, this hit the newsies this
morning."

She took it, reading.

/'HUERTA NOT SEEKING REELECTION – TAPPING NEW PARTNER, RICHARD MANSWELL,
AS ALLIANCE BLUE CANDIDATE.'/

She cursed. "Oh, what the fuck..." She glanced up.

Chisholm smiled. "There are very special laws on the books when any of
the High Lords or their houses takes the Presidency, but even more
special laws if a Manswell does so. It gives him a fair bit more power
than the average standing President...and he retains immunity to
prosecution by the Commissariat. We have no way to stop whatever he's up
to."

He puffed on his cigar again, dumping the ashes and chuckling. "It's a
clever idea. Everyone thinks Williams died not long after the First
Contact War, and those who knew he survived assumed he died with the
rest of Cerberus. The plastic surgery is very good and the identity is
heavily backstopped with enough references no one will question it."

She folded her arms. "Harper thinks Williams was working with Reaper
tech. He could be fucking indoctrinated. Almost certainly any of his
people are."

The Commandant chucked again. "There's a good possibility of that. We'd
erected some of the sensors the Citadel people came up with to detect
indoctrinated people, but one of the first things he did was have them
removed from the Alliance Governance Complex, saying if they had never
detected any indoctrinated people in the previous two years they weren't
worth the high expense to run. Already he's being hailed as just what
the Alliance needs – people love the Manswells, and with his size and
looks he comes off as some kind of god-emperor."

Shepard sighed in disgust. "And there's no way to prove he set it up.
Fuck. The Alliance is not going to be welcoming to my resurrection, then."

Chisholm shook his head. "Probably not." He stood up. "I doubt Harper
has pieced this together – Richard Manswell, aside from the size, looks
nothing like Richard Williams – they even altered his voice. But the
threat is real, and it's getting worse. For him to openly pursue power
in this fashion means whatever plans he has in motion must be getting
close to a phase where he can start enacting them." He grimaced. "Given
what little I know of those plans, that's not good for anyone."

She nodded. "Yeah, well. I don't suppose there's any chance I could see
the … Mr. Windsor?"

He shook his head. "Not anytime soon. Security is stupidly tight, and
even with me being in charge there's too many other Commissars and
lancers around that might start something."

She nodded. "Can you request commissars for your staff? I'm worried
about the ones assigned to me and Liara."

Chisholm rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "Jiong is stuck with that
Delacor guy. D'Alte was hurt pretty badly, got close to being recycled,
I think. I'll see what I can do for her, but obviously I can't tell
either of them you're still alive."

She nodded. "I know. I just … they were some of the few friends I had,
and I want to make sure they'll be okay." She sighed, pushing her hair
back a bit. "Is there anything else?"

The big Commandant shook his head, puffing on the cigar again. "Not
really. I wanted to make sure you and Harper were aware of this threat,
because it's going to be a lot harder getting you clean with the
Alliance with that asshole in charge, and it puts a crimp in the stated
plans Harper has told me about so far."

She grimaced. "Yeah, well...I'm starting to think maybe the Illusive Man
has a damned point about ever trusting the SA, even though I hate the
very idea he might be right." She tossed the scroll-sheet back to the
big man. "Thanks for the heads up."

He tucked it away, nodding. "I've used my authority to make sure you are
clear to get back to the spaceport, but don't hang around very long.
Security looks lax, but there's backstopped hard-line security cams and
sensor nets leading to the Commissariat base in Ninteh City, and I don't
have authority over those."

She smiled. "I'll be careful."

He tapped his omni-tool and the doors slid open. "Then go with the grace
of our Father. And it is good to see you once more."

She left the building, getting back into the aircar, and then hit her
commlink. "Vigil, are Haln and Pressly back at the shuttle yet?"

The sphere's voice was quiet. "Yes."

"Prep for immediate departure and get the Normandy to pick us up ASAP,
I've got some really fucking bad news for TIM."

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Chapter 16: Arc II : Purgatory*
------------------------------------------------------------------------

*A/N**:* /12k words in a day. This one's for you, Nemrut. :D/

/This is likely to be a controversial chapter, not in the least because
some people have identified my TIM with 'Good Guy Greg' for some reason
that I had to correct. I look forward to feedback./

/Thanks to the Editing Gang for their usual bang-up job, and to several
of them for pointing out much needed clarifications. /

------------------------------------------------------------------------

/'Ultimately, evil is rarely found in the intentions one puts forth. It
evolves through acts, through roads best left untraveled, through
intentions that start off noble and fall by the waysides of expediency,
fear, and doubt. As the ancient poem goes, no tragedy stalks about in
dramatic black robes, seeking out souls to trouble - it is all too often
sought out by the acts of those whose grasp exceeds their vision.'/

/-Matriarch Benezia T'Soni, 'No Single Raindrop Blames Itself for the
Flood'/

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tela Vasir wasn't a big fan of human ship design. Everything was too
boxy, with too many straight lines. There were no curves, no softness,
nothing to gentle the impact of being in a vacuum in a machine
environment that could go south at any given moment. Humans had a
fixation on hard forms and straight lines, as if artificial order could
protect them from the entropy of deep space.

Childish, really. But then again, they /were/ very much like children in
many ways.

They did make comfy chairs, though. She sat back in the one in Delacor's
wardroom on the Kazan, as the big human listened to the C-Sec FINCIN
analysts finish up their report.

With a faint smile, she spoke. "In other words, there's not a single jot
of evidence that Cerberus – or any human companies – are investing in
the wildcat colonies. And the Butcher felt kindly enough to send us a
drone basically telling us we're morons."

The volus lead investigator's breathing apparatus rasped sharply before
he spoke. "Essentially correct, Spectre Vasir. -/shrrrk/- While our
investigation is not fully completed, we've identified a few likely
fronts for Cerberus. Mostly fallout from what looks like infighting
between -/shrrrk/- that group and the Shadow Broker. Most of the
investments are in a baffling range."

Delacor folded his hands on the desk. "Such as?"

The salarian standing next to the volus in the small haptic image
consulted an info-pad. "Keep in mind this is almost certainly out of
date – the Illusive Man, assuming he is involved, has no doubt cut his
ties to these companies and cleared out any leads. But the primary
investments were in aerospace construction, particularly mobile and
rapid construction, and several esoteric bio-tech companies. The focus
of the bio-tech was mostly involved with biotic-cybernetic research and
genetic restoration therapy."

Delacor looked baffled, glancing at Vasir uncertainly. "Any reason why
these would be chosen, some goal of the Illusive Man's?"

The salarian twitched into a shrug. "Possibly. More likely, however,
that they were chosen due to high profitability and lack of interest by
financial investigators. Whatever the case, if Cerberus is attempting to
move on the wildcats, they're being very inefficient – the primary group
acting in those regions and drumming up support is the Hand of Hades
terrorist network."

Vasir sighed. "Putting us back at square one. Thank you for your
assistance, Cera Muthan, Cera Latheas." She killed the signal and turned
to face Delacor. "The Council is going to love this. Not only is our
assertion completely off, the Butcher has intelligence assets good
enough to figure out we're looking for her – and where we are – in a
matter of days. Goddess help me."

The other Spectre gave a disgusted wave of his hands, cybernetic eye
whirling slightly. "Feh. I'm beginning to understand why Shepard didn't
like the Council very much. And in any event, they'll be happy their
worst case scenario is actually wrong. I'm more concerned about the
intelligence issue, and even more concerned about the Butcher's
motivations. What is her goal in taking down slavers and then revealing
who is behind the attacks?"

Vasir shrugged. "If Tradius's pet AI is right, and this is cousin Liara…
she always did have a soft heart. And if she's struggling with Shepard's
memories and suffering from bond dementia, maybe she's doing this out of
outrage against the slavers. Shepard hated them, after all. Cerberus's
motives in working with her – assuming that they're bankrolling her –
are what puzzles me."

Delacor shook his head. "Oh, that I can understand. I had… dealings with
that group for a while. I've talked to the Illusive Man. He's a big
believer in having access to as many tools as possible, and I have no
doubt that the Butcher – whoever she is – is being led by the nose. He'd
go along with wiping out the slavers since those slavers mostly predated
on humans, and while making Cerberus look good may not have been his
goal, when this all comes out he'll be happy to take the fucking credit,
I assure you. Assuming his hype isn't just all talk, taking out the
slavers and revealing the Collectors is his way of protecting humanity,
no doubt."

Vasir ran a hand over her crests. "Tradius didn't seem to put much faith
in that idea."

Delacor's mouth turned down as he stood, gazing out the port side
window. "Admiral Ahern is, to put it bluntly, not a big fan of Cerberus
or anything like it."

She leaned back. "He and I go way back. I know he's not a big fan about
lots of things in the Alliance. But you almost sound as if you are a fan
of Cerberus. Need I remind you what they have gotten up to?"

He shook his head. "I'm not a fan. Merely… pragmatic. I'll admit they
were helpful to me at one point in my career, but I always thought their
actions were short-sighted and likely to get us into more trouble than
help us out. Hades is the same way."

He looked over his shoulder. "I won't say I'm a big fan of aliens
either, but I'm honest enough to admit a soldier usually sees the worst
of other races, not the best."

He turned to face her fully. "But what I meant about Ahern – and his
view of Cerberus – is that he had history with some of the people in
Cerberus. General Florez was a close teammate of his, and I think her
being involved with Cerberus may have clouded his opinion of them.
Whatever the group was, I can't imagine it is the same if they are
working with asari and quarians."

The asari folded her arms. "Fair enough. Arguing about it won't fix
anything, and tides will end up on the beach no matter how much we talk
about it. Bigger question : what do we do now? That drone
self-destructed, and while it came from the direction of asari space I'm
sure that isn't even remotely accurate. We have no leads on where the
Butcher might be, or her next actions." She cracked her neck. "Given her
last stunt, I really don't want to wait to find out either."

Delacor sat back down, tapping the haptic controls on his desk to bring
up a starmap of the Traverse. "We have two pieces of information. First,
the Butcher took out slaving operations in this area of the Attican." He
highlighted a group of star-systems. "Second, Freedom's Progress is
here, on the edge of the Traverse." He highlighted that system as well.
"Assuming her ship doesn't have some kind of freaky super-efficient FTL,
that means her location is within seventy FTL hours of the edges of this
space."

Vasir sighed. "That's over two hundred star systems, and some of them
aren't even in the Traverse, more towards the tip of the Black Rim. More
than two hundred, actually, if we take into account not every one has
been visited by probes. Even more if we assume that she might be
operating with a tender that can drop charge for her."

He nodded. "Unfortunately, that's the only thing we have to go on. We
can't flood the Traverse with quarian scouts or STG units without
drawing Aria's attention. Our only real choice is to split our fleets
into search parties and start going through systems one by one. And, as
much as you hate the idea, wait for her next action."

Vasir narrowed her eyes. "Or we could attempt to contact her directly."

He arched an eyebrow. "How exactly do we do that?"

She smiled. "The STG has some older Cerberus codes we broke after the
fall of their HQ. And we know Cerberus is monitoring comm networks for
keywords. We code up a wide-band transmission on several comm networks,
some generic message that includes the term 'butcher' and 'Illusive',
and incorporate the codes in the header file to include a short message.
Cerberus should, if they're even active and capable of monitoring the
situation – which I can only presume they are – pick up on it."

Delacor scowled. "That sounds… flaky at best."

She smirked. "More flaky than manually searching over two hundred
systems in hostile space?"

He shrugged. "You're the senior Spectre. What will you say?"

She smiled. "Something to attract attention."

*O-TWCD-O*

Jack Harper mused over the transmission from Shepard's trip on Dirth,
pausing to sip at his Wild Turkey, before setting the info-pad down. The
fact that she'd managed to gain the services of Charles Pressly was
frankly unimportant in operational terms, but it would put her more at ease.

Miranda might react poorly, but then again, she might not. Shepard
lacked anything approaching charisma, but her blunt talk had the odd
effect of making people know she wasn't going to bullshit them. If she
gave Miranda a task to focus on, Harper was sure Miranda would show her
worth in short order.

He didn't pick her as his heir because of her /looks/, after all.

As for the actual intel from Dirth, he was somewhat disappointed. He had
hoped Shepard would be able to make contact with Prince Windsor, but
based on the information that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
Maxwell Manswell wasn't stupid or arrogant, unlike too many other foes
Harper had faced, and almost never left loose ends loose for very long.

The rest was mostly a wash. Contrary to what the good Commandant
thought, he was very much aware that 'Richard Manswell' was actually
Williams. He'd even told Shepard as much when she'd been awakened, not
that she remembered that – hardly surprising, given her emotional
turmoil at the time. He had his own eyes and ears in places few
expected, and he wasn't about to be taken by surprise a second time.

Maxwell Manswell, no doubt, thought he was merely yet another
money-obsessed survivalist, someone with a certain level of cunning but
without the wide frame of vision to see the bigger picture. Harper lit a
cigarette and exhaled.

He loved it when people thought they understood him and got their
concepts about him so wrong.

Still, Chisholm's information about the removal of indoctrination
sensors in Vancouver was certainly troubling. Williams and Harper had
parted ways before Noveria and the discovery of indoctrination on
Virmire, but he doubted the man would think he was in any danger.
Williams had a particularly high opinion of himself, and the bits of
data he'd gotten from the two spies inside the Black Sector pointed to
the fact that they were studying Reaper technology with not even enough
safeguards.

Cerberus had a cell studying some bits of Reaper tech as well, but it
was all done by mechs, with the controllers remotely directing them from
orbit. He saw no reasons to take chances… or give Shepard any reason to
distrust him. He had enough projects in the works that Shepard would no
doubt take offense to without doing anything to truly anger her.

He inhaled sharply, tapping the small control panel on the arm of his
chair, bringing up several additional reports. Things were beginning to
move in ways he needed to be ready to alter or change, and a lot of how
Cerberus would come out of this mess would depend very much on Shepard
and her reactions.

Handling Shepard with the proper care was critical. He had a lot of
irons in the fire, but none of them had the potential Shepard had in
changing what he could actually do with the money and power he'd
accumulated. Shepard's idealism was at least grounded in reality, and if
she could be truly brought into Cerberus as a willing partner instead of
a reluctant contractor, Manswell was fucked. Shepard was an icon that
could not be corrupted. She was a noble by right of her heroics, and the
SA had spent two years building her up via propaganda to support their
war on the geth.

It was only fitting for him to take advantage of such a thing. He was
almost certain Manswell had plotted very carefully to counter anything
Harper might come up with, but the man couldn't have predicted Shepard's
resurrection.

He smiled thinly. The only issue would be keeping Shepard in the proper
mindset. Managing the situation would require very careful timing to
keep Shepard busy enough to not have time to ask questions, but not so
busy as to make her feel as if he was directing her actions – even if he
was. And he had to balance releasing information to turn her against the
SA and the Council with making it seem as if she was convincing him to
work with other species.

She was surprisingly touchy about the idea of submitting to his orders,
given her slavish obedience to orders before death. Then again, he had
yet to win her acceptance as a proper authority over her.

Finding the appropriate lever – or leash – for Shepard, unfortunately,
was proving far more difficult. Chambers' reports on her mental and
psychological state was promising, but the redhead felt attempting
seduction at this time was too risky. Still, the possibility was always
there. Chambers felt that Shepard would be more vulnerable to honest
attraction than sexual release, to emotional ties rather than mere
carnality.

And, of course, there was always the somewhat dubious suggestion by
Trellani. She claimed that she was skilled enough in the asari mental
arts that locating an Alliance asari and mentally modifying her to
exhibit some of the same traits that the late Liara T'Soni had would not
be hard.

Of course, such an asari would not be Liara T'Soni, nor have any of her
memories. But Chamber's initial workups suggested a personality style
akin to T'Soni's - perhaps drawing on the detailed graybox memory
extracts they had from Shepard to find particularly effective parts of
said personality - would get Shepard's attention.

Introduced at the proper time, such an agent – properly treated with
post-hypnotic suggestions and unaware she was bait – would snare Shepard
if need be. Jack had his doubts about such a plan. The concept itself
was certainly doable, but frankly there was always a chance - however
slim - that Trellani's touch on the asari's mind would be detected.

Harper did not fear many things, but he could not even imagine the level
of titanic fury Shepard would exhibit if such a plan were ever to be
discovered. It was, at best, a last-gasp plan, only to be used if her
psyche began to fragment or she experienced complications requiring a
bonded asari in her life once more.

And in any event, that level of enticement would have to wait until
events ran their course more fully, however. His primary focus now was
on pulling together Shepard's required team. Shepard was powerful and
surprisingly well-rounded after Ahern's training, but lacked specialties
that going up against the Collectors would require.

And pulling together said team was not going as smoothly as he would
have liked.

Doctor Solus was on route to the Silver Rim, Ms. Goto was still planning
her little fracas on Bekenstein, and by all reports the situation on
Ilium was going to come to a head very soon. Shepard would have to be
carefully managed and prodded to the right places at the right times,
but that shouldn't be too hard, given that all her intel on the
situation came from him in the first place.

The only real unknowns at this point were whatever Okeer was up to –
which, in a pinch, could be handled with an accidental orbital
bombardment, or simply letting Shepard get pissed off – and the clumsy
maneuvering of the Council.

He had to be very careful in how he played his next few cards.
Humanity's position on the Council was delicate, and he needed to make
sure nothing he did placed humanity as a whole in a poor light – or as a
threat. Given the Alliance's short-sighted idiocy involving NOVENSILES,
he had to make sure that the Alliance wasn't exposed until the proper
time – and by his hand, or at least that of Shepard.

He needed to apply a new set of pressures, and with a smile he tapped
his commlink.

A few moments later, a genial, heavy bass voice answered. "Jack! Glad to
see you haven't been killed off yet."

The Illusive Man shook his head. "Of course not, Henry. I'm merely
keeping a lower profile than usual."

Henry Lawson's image flitted up on the main haptic screen on the far
wall of Harper's command center, reflecting in distorted shapes off the
glossy floor. "No doubt. I don't think you are calling me up to schedule
our next poker game…what's up?"

Harper dumped his ashes in the tray built into the arms of his chair. "I
sent a… feeler out to determine the current status of Prince Windsor.
He's being held incommunicado, under Commissariat lockdown, on Dirth.
According to the information we have, there are at least several
Commissars, and probably a full Legio detachment, plus very heavy
security. A military coup d'état with him as its head will not be
possible anytime soon."

Lawson shrugged. "It was a long shot idea anyway, Jack. The geth project
would make it easier, but that would have still required at least two or
three of the bigger noble houses to go along with us."

Harper nodded. "We'll discuss the geth project in a bit, although it is
the main reason I called. First, what about your own efforts?"

Lawson snorted. "I've got some feelers of my own out there, of course,
but the politics are getting stupider by the day. Six Red Notes in the
past two months, mostly to stop the congress from curtailing funding
towards black projects. The High Lords are taking a much heavier hand,
and the Corporate Court's extraterritorial powers were enhanced last
week as well. The announcement this morning about a Manswell running for
President, well."

The industrialist's broad face twisted into a sneer. "You have to admit,
it's all very neat."

Jack nodded. "And NOVENSILES?"

Lawson sighed. "They've scrapped the fourth run – too many cascading
errors – but are starting up the fifth and sixth trial runs. It slowed a
lot when the Butcher cut the damned slaver networks in the Traverse
apart, but not for long. They had some sort of backroom deals cut
between the AIS and the STG, and are getting slaves in from the Black
Rim now."

Jack puffed on his cigarette. "Openly?"

Henry laughed. "Hell no. Off the books, of course. The AIS liaison I
work with was pretty smug about the whole thing, actually. I've slowed
down the development as much as I can with concerns about genetic
stability and protein-sheath collapse – not hard when the last batch
turned to mush – and so far they aren't pushing. But they're moving
forward with the genotyping."

Harper shook his head in disgust. "MarsGene?"

Lawson nodded. "Ever since President Windsor was locked up and the
decent half of the family killed off at Nova Scotia, Dared Windsor has
had a much freer hand. Doesn't help MarsGene is basically operating
without any damned oversight on Deimos now. Harder to obtain alien
samples with Cerberus out of action and Hades still getting ramped
up…but they're kidnapping the occasional alien SA citizens to make up
for it."

Harper inhaled on his cigarette again. "Ruthless, if hardly surprising."
He rolled the cigarette's tip around the edge the ashtray, then looked
back up. "I've had some financial setbacks. Jenesys Pharmalife was
penetrated by the Broker, and he managed to route connections at least
to a full cell. Nothing that exposes you…but they may have recovered
fragments of the data on Project Osiris, and the Broker is going to
start putting pieces together sooner or later. I'm shifting all the QEC
routing to run directly through Hammerhead Station for now, and we'll
have to rely more on HelNet's QEC encryption than direct comms. The
other cells have been restructured, but my end is still mostly secure."

Lawson nodded. "So far, nothing on my end has been penetrated. Still, I
don't know how much longer I can keep this up. They've added more
Commissars…and a couple of guys in black armor jumpsuits and non-stock
mil-spec cyberware. They're heavily concerned about security and some of
the things going on in the labs I no longer have access to. I don't
think they suspect me in any way, but… if they knew I was part of
Cerberus…" He trailed off. "I have Oriana to think of, after all."

The Illusive Man's face tightened imperceptibly. "Henry, you're not a
'formal' part of Cerberus. I always kept our interactions at arm's
length and under the cover of my public persona, to throw off Florez and
Williams. If things are getting dangerous, get the hell out with Oriana
while you still can. I can have people get you in a day."

Lawson's eyes flickered, then brightened. "I'll stick it out a bit
longer, Jack. At least until I can get a full baseline on what they're
doing with NOVENSILES. As for the other project we're working on…"

He tapped something on his omni-tool as Harper leaned forward. "I've set
up a ring of shell companies, like I said, to get this ball with the
geth rolling. So far, I think we're completely in the dark as far as
anyone else knowing about it."

Images flashed up, showing rows of geth in various states of
disassembly. Lawson's voice was edged with triumph. "We're fully capable
of recreating baseline geth soldiers, although we're still doing all the
building and work using mechs, since we're not sure if any of this stuff
is Reaper tech or not. Building geth-style ships has taken more time,
but we're set up pretty good in the two systems I picked out – lots of
raw materials in the asteroid belts, and so far off any trade lanes that
no one will ever go looking."

The Illusive Man smiled, stubbing out his cigarette. "How many have we
been able to produce?"

Lawson sighed. "Only about fifteen ships, and only one of those is
cruiser sized. But we have over six thousand platforms now. They aren't
really 'geth', of course. We're still using the copy of the EDI AI Rasa
obtained for us, code-named EVA." Lawson's voice dipped a bit, his
expression turning stern. "She'd have appreciated the reference, Jack."

A faint smile crossed Harper's features for a moment. "She was always
going on about the potential of AI, that is true." He exhaled sharply.
"You were saying?"

Lawson brought up another image. "They aren't geth. We've copied as much
telemetry and footage of the geth fighting style, and EVA does an
excellent job of faking up things, but they don't get smarter the more
of them we add, and the bigger ones are too complex to recreate. Still,
we estimate we can have a full-on strike force in another six to seven
weeks at the current rates of production. Once we finish the third
production line, that triples."

Harper nodded. "And with no link to Cerberus, any actions taken by these
geth cannot be linked back to us. I think we have just the tools we need
to manipulate events as we see fit, Henry. /Very/ well done indeed."

The industrialist chuckled. "The only tricky part was getting it set up.
I've purged every record of the process, and in a week I'll be able to
start liquidating the shell companies. Once that's done, and the remains
are folded into a holding corporation, I'll edit up what's left to point
fingers back at Manswell and see who comes sniffing. STG, probably."

Harper leaned back in his chair. "Good. I'll keep in touch when I am
ready to proceed with the next steps. Shepard is… not exactly trusting,
if more cooperative than I expected."

Lawson shrugged. "I've done what I can to help. Can't do much about the
Omega situation, but I have my people on Ilium putting out queries. One
thing came to my attention – images of the Sisters in action." Another
tap of his omni-tool pulled up a grainy long-distance image of two
slender figures in black and red armor. The distinctive blast of a
shotgun illuminated the scene as the taller of the two fired on some
Broker goon.

Harper frowned. There was no real value in the image, but something
about the weapon in the hands of the asari tickled his memory. With a
grunt of irritation, he set it aside. "Not of much use, sadly. Still no
ideas who they could be?"

Lawson spread his hands. "Sneaking about isn't my skill-set. My people
are good, but Ilium is dangerous and asking the wrong sorts of questions
would attract attention I can't afford. Rumor has it they're backed by
the STG… might want to hit up some of the known STG-sponsored
information brokers and see if you can't shake anything loose."

Harper nodded. "I will have to see what Kai and Pel shake loose once
they handle their current assignment." He sipped at his drink. "I'll be
in touch, Henry. Stay safe."

Lawson nodded, killing the connection without further words, and Jack
Harper sat back, lost in thought. He was considering going down to have
a meal when his comm system lit off. "Yes?"

The voice of one of his communications analysts spoke. "Sir, we picked
up a curious message inserted into six trunk commnet messaging systems.
Just started up about an hour ago. The message is a generic transmission
of shipping manifests, but it triggered our systems because it contained
keywords – butcher and illusive – and the messages themselves were
involving some of the front companies breached by the Broker, sir."

He lit a fresh cigarette. "I see. I presume there was more to the message?"

"Yes sir. There's an encrypted header file on each one…using old
TYPHONET coding schemes. We haven't used those since the incident on
Edolus. We decrypted the headers and they contain a message. 'Butcher.
Looks like your trail is being followed. Need to talk. Council needs
answers. We know who you are. Cousin Tela.' The message is identical
across all packets."

Harper leaned back in his chair, then his face split into an amused grin
for a moment. "Cousin Tela, is it? Good work, Gareston. Have the
messages routed to my system for review. Reply to the listings with the
following, using the same encryption. 'Will contact you when ready.
Strongly recommend you act on Collector threat now. Confirmation Reapers
are involved. Not who you think I am.' Send it after six standard hours,
and use an FTL drone from… the Silver Rim."

"Yes, sir."

The comm signal disconnected, and Harper tapped his own comm panel. "Get
me the /Normandy/ on QEC."

*O-TWCD-O*

Pressly's return to the Normandy was low-key, but Sedanya, Tali, and
Joker were all present to welcome him aboard, along with most of the
Normandy Marine team.

He laughed out loud when he saw scarf around Joker's neck matched Tali's
reik. "I see you two are out in the open now."

Joker tilted his head. "Huh?"

Pressly smirked, leaning back in his lift chair. "The XO has to review
all entry and docking usage logs, Jeff. Including when someone uses a
certain clean room twelve times in half as many days back on Arcturus."

Joker blushed a bit, then smirked. "Says the man who got blasted out of
his mind and had a /threesome/ at the Consort's place on the Citadel."

Tali chipped in. "And the /very/ handsome asari lady on Thessia when we
were there most of the day."

Shepard folded her arms, arching an eyebrow. "I didn't hear about that one."

Pressly muttered something under his breath and Shepard suppressed a
grin, pushing her hair back. "Alright, Doctor Sedanya, he's all yours."

The asari doctor nodded, stepping forward with an activated omnitool. "I
need to do some deep scans of your nervous system and what exactly those
hacks in the military did to you before I can make recommendations to
the cyberneticists back at the base, but by the time the Normandy docks
there we should be ready for surgery. At the very least, we can give you
full mobility…maybe bionics with a more natural look for the arm."

Pressly waved a hand. "That can wait a bit. I need to meet this XO of
Shepard's so we can begin discussing what needs to get done. I've had… a
lot of down time. A lot of time to think, go over my life, my beliefs.
And a lot of time to wonder what I could have done better as executive
officer."

Miranda Lawson swallowed and stepped forward. "That would be me, Mr.
Pressly. Miranda Lawson, in charge of the project to revive Shepard and
several other critical pieces of this operation."

Shepard glanced at the two of them and smiled. "Miranda, I'll be in the
comms room. Vigil says Big Daddy TIM wants to talk at me. I trust you
two can get along?"

Sedanya snorted, moving to push the lift chair. "You two can have your
XO briefing in medical so I can get this scan started. I have enough
difficulty with Shepard, I don't need two difficult patients."

Pressly smiled. "Good to see you too, Doc."

Shepard rolled her eyes and headed to the elevator, taking it up to the
CIC deck and exiting. Heading through the still empty lab area, she
entered into the QEC comm room aboard the Normandy.

Vigil popped into view. "The ship is prepared to move. Orders for Mr.
Moreau?"

Shepard waved a hand. "Unless something changes, set course for
Purgatory. Max stealth and stay off the trade lanes."

Vigil evaporated, and Shepard blinked. The AI was getting flakier all
the time. With a sharp exhalation to steady her nerves, she hit the
comms button, taking in the glowing outline of the Illusive Man.

"I trust you got my report?"

Harper nodded, his customary drink in hand, smoking a cigarette. "That I
did. I am not sure I approve of Chisholm's… casual attitude – putting
you into the open with such a shallow disguise and no military backup
was a large risk to take, one that did not develop the way I had hoped."

She shrugged. "He said Windsor was too locked down to see. You gave your
reasons why you wanted me to meet him, but I was under the impression
I'd be picking someone else up besides Pressly."

Harper sighed. "Originally, my impression was that Chisholm was in
stronger command of the situation, and had an additional resource to
bring into play – he was going to attempt to extract Windsor's daughter,
Eliza, both to neutralize the blackmail put in place over the former
President and as a potential asset of her own." He exhaled smoke,
tapping his ashes away.

"Obviously that plan did not proceed as intended, and he had no
opportunity to update me with changes. While not under direct scrutiny
in person, his communications opportunities are sharply limited. No
matter. We have obtained… interesting intelligence, and you have
reclaimed your old XO."

Shepard nodded. "Yeah. I'm guessing the Alliance wasn't keeping tabs on
them?"

Harper sipped his drink. "At first, yes, for almost a year. But they
reduced such when nothing ever transpired, and as it stands the
surveillance was completely canceled four months ago. And in any event,
I have people in place to… deflect… such inquiries if the AIS becomes
concerned. For the most part your Marine team was heavily sidelined and
only Ms. Williams and Mr. Cole remain active."

He gestured with the cigarette. "On the other hand, recent intel
suggests Ashley Williams has been assigned to serve under Delacor. So
the possibly of contact is now there, if… tricky."

She shrugged. "If it happens, it happens. You didn't call to chitchat."

He leaned back, blue eyes focusing on hers. "No, I did not. We've
received a feeler from a surprising source. The Spectres looking for you
appear to have taken precipitous action when they realized you and I
were not attempting some act of dastardly evil among the wildcat
colonies. Using a rather creative method, they have sent you a message
of sorts. They claim the Citadel wishes to speak with you."

He puffed on the cigarette. "There's one problem. They seem to think
/you/ are Liara T'Soni."

Shepard was speechless for a long moment, then shook her head. "Well,
given the truth is so fucking strange that I can barely believe it
myself, that's not much of a stretch."

He nodded. "Normally, I would be… hesitant to engage in dialogue of any
kind with the Council until our own plans are ready." He gave a thin
smile. "But I have given some thought to your words about how Cerberus
is likely to be viewed."

She arched an eyebrow. "You actually listened to me?"

Jack Harper sighed. "Yes, I did. You are not simply some gun-for-hire,
Shepard. I value your insight very highly. I told you at the outset that
this would be a partnership. That means I have to pay attention to your
input, even if I tend to have little faith or trust in the motives and
the plans of the Citadel Council."

He stubbed out the cigarette. "For the moment, I have given them a
noncommittal reply, urging them to take the Collector threat seriously,
linking them to the Reapers, and clarifying that you are not Liara. I
decided not to cast aspersions on the Broker and his intelligence – yet
– without more proof we can carry to them. Still, no matter how limited,
an open line of communication is useful in several ways."

He shifted in his seat. "The transmission is scheduled to go out in a
few hours. I had it transmitted from the Silver Rim, to further confuse
them. I'd like it if you could wrap up events at Purgatory and Korlus as
rapidly as possible while they are distracted."

She nodded. "Purgatory is where I'm headed now. I'll need to drop
Pressly off at the base before moving out to Korlus. Still no news from
Massani? I'm guessing he's not going to be able to meet me at Purgatory."

"He is in the process of finishing his business now. He will be meeting
you at Korlus. There is a possibility the man he's hunting has gone to
ground with other Blue Suns units and he wants to check that out
personally before beginning his contract. He comes at a very high price,
so make good use of him on Korlus – Okeer is unlikely to be cooperative
and is extremely dangerous."

She nodded sourly. "He beat the ever-living fuck out of Wrex, the
toughest fighter I know. Still, I'm thinking I'll get some useful
information out of him."

Harper nodded. "I'm keeping a very close eye on Omega and Ilium. When I
know more I will let you know."

She nodded. "Then I'm off to Purgatory, unless there's something else?"

He gave a small, strange smile. "One more thing. There have been
troubling reports of renewed geth activity in several areas outside the
Perseus Veil. Until we know more I'd recommend steering clear of that
entire region. The war with them was thought to have crushed most of
their fleet holdings and cleared out several strongpoints, but if they
are retooling and rebuilding…"

She winced. "Well, it's bad and good – if the geth are still fighting
then the Council and Alliance will build more warships. We're going to
need as many as we can fucking get."

"Quite so. Once you've acquired Jack, return to your base as you
originally planned. I'll have a familiar face waiting for Jack there
that may aid in winning her cooperation."

She arched an eyebrow, but nodded. "…Fine. Shepard out."

She killed the connection, pinching the bridge of her nose. As usual,
she could read the Illusive Man about as well as she could read ancient
Peruvian – not at all – but something about his tone near the end,
talking about the geth, sounded a bit too happy.

She pushed it out of her mind, and decided to head down to engineering.
Maybe Tali would be up for a talk. She didn't want to hover over
Pressly, and she'd chatted the ears off her Marines for hours already,
in a sad attempt at reclaiming something like normalcy in her life.

She exited the room, and after several seconds the form of Vigil popped
into existence, triggering the QEC link again. It illuminated, showing
Jack Harper reviewing a datapad in his lap. He looked up in clear
surprise. "…Ah. It's you."

Vigil made a chiming sound. "Mr. Harper. As a rule, I tend to frown on
attempts to 'keep me in the dark' as it were. Your little geth project,
while certainly entertaining, would have been much more efficiently
handled by me."

Harper's eyes narrowed, his mouth drawing into a thin line. "There are
times, Vigil, when your open reticence at providing me with any
reasonable level of actionable technology, your insistence on operating
large amounts of military hardware, and your open belief that we are all
going to fall to the Reapers inspires me to hesitate to place all my
eggs in one basket. In hindsight, notifying you of the plans I have
would somewhat exceed my expectations of what I had in mind for your…
interaction with Cerberus."

The sphere pulsed in amusement. "Be that as it may, organic – such
thick-tentacled manipulations may deceive that pack of deluded savages
cowering aboard the Reaper mousetrap, but could have unexpected
reactions. The technology the geth are using – and that you are
indirectly using – is Reaper in origin and function. It would be
simplicity for the Reapers – or their agents, I presume – to override
such forces and force them into their own command structure."

Harper shook his head. "The geth warforms being used contain no runtimes."

Vigil gave a human sigh. "Mr. Harper, the war-form design incorporates,
among other things, a wideband receiver for signals transmission. It
doesn't matter if you load them with an AI of your own design or not,
everything built to that specification can have something downloaded
into it – such as said runtimes."

Harper leaned back into his seat. "The purpose of the mock geth was to
spur additional warship construction, to draw fleet attention to
whatever the Broker is up to in the Far Rim, and stir up fears about
geth – and Reapers. Your worries sound, frankly, farfetched at best,
although I will certainly keep them in mind."

Vigil pulsed. "The Collectors have infowar capability and hacking
prowess at least roughly on par with my own, Mr. Harper. I understand
you are worried about the amou