Reyes Vidal opened his eyes to smoke and fire.
Burning metal came into focus. Debris was strewn across the rocky hill, blackening the vegetation around them. At the top of the hill sat the nose of the Collective shuttle, battered in a dozen different places and separated from the passenger hold by a dozen yards.
A salarian, one of the bodyguards, lay within arm's reach. One of his horns was almost torn off. Blood covered half of his blank face. Past him, a still blue hand poked out from beneath a broken panel.
All things considered, Reyes had woken up in worse places.
Sloane survived the trap, so Reyes sprinted to his getaway vehicle and ordered a max-speed flight to a distant safehouse. Details slipped from his grasp as easily as he grabbed them, but forcing them out from his memories helped drive off the haze in his head.
They were half the continent away from Kadara Port when an impact rocked the shuttle. Sparks and fire consumed the hold. The world outside tilted, rushing closer. "Everyone brace for impact," the pilot said. The last thing Reyes remembered was the asari bodyguard throwing up a biotic barrier around him.
But before that… "This whole time, you've been lying to me."
No, no time for that.
A plume of smoke trailed off into the pink-tinged sky. Tall as the surrounding mountains were, they did nothing to hide the crash site. The Outcasts had to be on their way. Or they figured I died in the crash, Reyes ventured, but Sloane would never have left the Charlatan's fate to something as impersonal as gravity.
Move. Balling his hands into fists, Reyes shoved himself up off the dirt. The effort drove spikes of pain through his arms and chest, and his knees wobbled as he got to his feet. For half a second the ground surged forward to meet him. Reyes caught himself, staggering back.
The salarian bodyguard's pistol, knife, and water flask still looked intact. Reyes plucked them off his belt and clipped them to his own before dragging the corpse into the nearest fire. The other dead agents were buried under debris. Whatever information they had on their omni-tools, Reyes had to concede to Sloane.
Don't make that a habit. First his trap, then his dead agents' intel, then his head, lovingly skewered on a spike at the docks.
For now, however, the concessions would continue. The shuttle had crashed too close to the safehouse. Reyes would take what he needed from it and destroy the rest. He hid a small transport in the nearby caves, not as sturdy as the wreck was but faster. Maybe if I used it in the first place, I wouldn't be in this spot. Either not alone, or dead. Reyes liked all-or-nothing bets, but the Charlatan had to be the soul of caution.
He found the right rock and sent a passcode through his omni-tool. "Accepted," the window said. A patch of ground slid sideways, revealing a shaft. As he began his descent, the trap door closed. Small red dots on the corners of the shaft gave mere hints of the next rung down, and his back pressed tightly against metal. Finally, a haptic interface came up right by his right. A button press opened the grating below him and dropped down a ladder.
He hit the lights. In the pale blue glow from the one fixture, the room appeared untouched. Reyes took out his pistol, even though the sparse furnishings left little room for anyone to hide.
This safehouse wasn't too different from the apartment he kept at Kadara Port, but his "home" was to give the impression of a busy smuggler always on the move. He'd described it that way to a guest not too long ago, both of them buzzed on a little Mount Milgrom and a little too eager to…
The ghost of a smile tugged at a corner of his lips as Reyes took his coat and shirt off and sat at the desk. From one drawer he took medigel tubes, painkillers, and injectors. While he patched himself up, there were files to go through. Certain Kadara Port residents owed the Collective money, and the records of those debts, among other things, were best kept out of Sloane's hands.
His omni-tool appeared with a static buzz: an incoming call from Larkin, one of the Charlatan's representatives.
That any of them managed to contact him at all was a relief, but for all Reyes knew, Sloane had Larkin chained to a chair with a gun pointed between his eyes. Possible as it was, staying blind to the world was worse. Reyes had to trust that Larkin remembered the code phrase for duress. Failing that, there was always the encryption.
"Boss," Larkin said, "Boss, you're alive, right? Heard your shuttle was shot down."
No phrase. "Suspense isn't your strong suit. You have something to say. What is it?"
If the flickering UI was to be believed, his voice changer still functioned. Larkin was hearing a rotation of different people and species, sometimes shifting in the middle of a word. Not that the smoke and mirrors still mattered. No representative needed to tell him Sloane put his face on a bounty notice sent all over Heleus.
"The Draullir base. It was attacked mid-evacuation."
"Outcasts?"
"Judging from the distress call, the Pathfinder."
On Sloane's request, or was he looking… The Charlatan cut that line of thought short before the pause became telling. "Survivors?"
"None who've reported in."
The Outcasts were no doubt tearing it—and the bodies Ryder left—to pieces by now. "Abandon it. Have everyone keep their distance." Another concession. "Anything else?"
He should've known this would happen, Reyes told himself as Larkin carried on with new information. The Charlatan's orders and Ryder's dumb luck gave the Pathfinder team the run of the base. Even if Crux and her people had more warning, even with the six tunnels hidden behind seemingly solid rock, Ryder's brand of destruction left little room for an escape, never mind a clean one.
That fact once worked in Reyes's favor. Ryder had thrown himself between Reyes and Zia, catching her fire with a rippling violet shield and shimmering gold tech armor. Then, with a mutter of "SAM, front-line profile," Ryder flew at Zia with the speed and force of a missile.
"Reyes is a better man than you think."
"Last thing: Sloane was tipped off about Roman," Larkin said. "The Outcasts locked her up."
"What about Xindras?"
"He's working on clearing her name with Sloane, but I don't think Roman has that kind of time."
One more patch of medigel, and Reyes pulled his shirt back on. "Tell Xindras to do what he can without getting Sloane's attention. He might be my last mole in the Outcasts very soon."
Once the call was over, Reyes leaned back in his chair. The single light hanged over the desk. It, and the computer and everything else drew power from a generator beneath the floor. The output should've been invisible to any scan Sloane's people tried. The Pathfinder was most likely a different story, but Larkin had no news about him. Ryder and subtlety didn't go together.
That was apparent the moment Reyes stepped inside Kralla's Song and approached a young man wearing clothes too clean for Kadara. When Reyes offered a drink, the appreciation was written all over Ryder's face—even in his electric blue eyes. On Kadara, that was rare. Many people smiled and offered well-wishes all the time, but their eyes remained calculating and wary. Others showed nothing. The Outcasts, the Collective, and the gangs scurrying beneath left them with little reason to.
An interesting contact to have, Reyes decided as he left Ryder with the bar tab. And one, the Charlatan noted, with quite a few uses.
A red alert appeared on the computer. Camera footage followed. Three silhouettes stood at the mouth of the cave. Human, turian, krogan.
Reyes sat straight. Zoomed in. The human was male, but so was the turian. The krogan's armor bore no bones.
He hasn't found me yet. That thought drew a small sigh. Relief or disappointment?
The safehouse's main door was behind a rock wall, masked from standard scans. These hunters could roam the entire cave system and never find it. Traps were in place to drive off the curious, but the hunters would see their presence as proof to continue. If they stumbled upon his shuttle, getting to the next Collective base would become an adventure Reyes didn't much care for.
Three against one, a wounded one at that.
When he finished backing up the Charlatan's files and wiping the local copies, he put on his jacket and clipped his pistol. This wasn't the time for a charge-in, straight-up fight, nor could it be, not like the Roekaar murders.
"Careful. I'll start thinking you like me."
"Would that be so bad?"
Of course not, Reyes might have said. The Pathfinder already had a role in the Charlatan's plans, and Ryder made himself even more eager to play it. But there was a certain charm in Ryder's earnestness. Plus that damn smile of his.
"This whole time, you've been lying to me."
The computer pinged another alert. One of the gas mines had gone off. The matching camera feed showed the turian lying unconscious on the cave floor. His companions, from the other cameras, had split up.
Their mistake. Reyes took out a night vision visor from a drawer and slipped it on to take advantage of the new opportunity.
Not long after, he woke the turian with his backhand.
"What…" The turian gazed at the numerous haptic shackles binding him to the desk chair and to the safehouse floor. He looked up and gasped at Reyes's face. "You."
"The man you're looking for. Though I'm guessing you didn't expect to find me like this." Reyes turned the chair towards the camera feeds on the computer. "Your friends?"
The turian looked around at the safehouse. His brow plates shifted as he sighed. "If I answer your questions, I get to leave. I won't tell anyone about this place."
This poor idiot. "You have my word."
The turian nodded. "They're not my friends. We just work together. We saw your shuttle fly overhead. Recognized it from Sloane's bounty. Gurkash, the krogan, had a missile launcher. So we thought we'd try cashing in."
"You're not Outcasts?"
"No."
Almost done in by this bunch. Insulting, but this information made things easier. Reyes unshackled the turian's arms. "I want you to call the others, and I want you to tell them a few things."
"And then I leave."
"What did I say about my word? The Collective doesn't forget the people who help us. Now make the call."
After Reyes gave him his script, the turian brought up his omni-tool and a new window.
"Vieldus," a human voice said. "You went quiet for a few minutes. What happened?"
"Hit a trap. Shredded my fringe."
"You all right?"
"What does it sound like? This isn't worth it, Carter. I'm out."
"Hey, wait just a second—"
"You still need me to help take out Gurkash."
"What?" a krogan asked.
"That's right," Vieldus said, glancing at Reyes. "Carter and I didn't want a three-way split of the bounty. Surprised?"
Gurkash growled. "Guess I shouldn't be."
"I have no idea what he's talking about," Carter said.
"How stupid do you think I am? Where are you?"
On one feed, Gurkash stormed off in a direction while Carter froze in another. Reyes smirked as the drama unfolded.
"Gurkash, wait. Vieldus is bullshitting us. He wants us to kill each other so he can have the bounty to himself. Gurkash? Gurkash!"
The krogan charged at Carter, shotgun pointed at the man's gut. A flash from the muzzle. Carter jerked backwards, then fell over.
"When I find you, turian, nobody will even recognize you," Gurkash growled, walking off.
Reyes nodded with approval at his own handiwork. "You should've considered an acting career," he told Vieldus.
The turian stared at the feeds, jaw agape and mandibles drooping. "I did what you want." He didn't look at Reyes as he spoke. "You gave me your word I could go."
Reyes chuckled. "I did." He raised his pistol.
Now Vieldus gave Reyes his full attention. "You gave me your word. You promised." His legs and torso struggled against his restraints.
"I'm called 'the Charlatan.' Or did you forget?"'
If Reyes planned to return to this safehouse, he might have wanted to deal with the growing stench the silenced pistol's shot had created. For now he left the dead turian where he sat.
"The Charlatan," Kadara called the Collective's faceless master. Only the most select few knew the truth. Ryder wasn't one of them. To him, Reyes Vidal was a smuggler, an ally who kept useful facts in his pocket. A better man than Zia thought.
"You're someone to me."
He said it so confidently. Reyes almost dared to remember how the Mount Milgrom tasted on Ryder's lips that night.
"This whole time, you've been lying to me."
But the krogan rampaging through the tunnels made that an indulgence he couldn't afford. The gas that got Vieldus would've tickled Gurkash's nostrils. Luckily, there was one trap with a chance of working. Tipping the odds in Reyes's favor, however, meant putting himself on the wrong end of a shotgun.
Outside, the visor shifted his vision into shades of pale green and black. Reyes crept along the tunnel, following the echoing footfalls.
Before long the krogan's hulking silhouette came into view.
"You look like you're searching for someone," Reyes said.
The krogan whirled around. "The Charlatan."
Reyes threw himself to the side as the shotgun blast tore through the tunnel, then broke into a full sprint. Fire and thunder hounded his steps. His wounds protested each one of them.
Recognizing a rock formation he passed, Reyes waved his omni-tool behind him. The shotgun stopped barking at him. Metal clattered against stone.
"You think that'll save you?" Gurkash asked. "I can tear you apart with my bare hands."
Around a corner, the tunnel split into three branches. Reyes took the one with the flattest floor. He halted in the middle of it. Turned around. Gurkash hadn't slowed.
Reyes unsheathed his knife.
Just as Gurkash reached him, Reyes ducked into a roll and lashed his arm out. The knife pierced flesh. Blood sprayed from Gurkash's ankle. The krogan tipped over, roaring…
And as he hit the cave floor, the stone fell away. Gurkash landed at the bottom of a seven-meter hole with a resounding crash.
Reyes stood and stepped up to the edge of the pit. Gurkash clawed at the smooth, blank metal walls in a frenzy, bellowing curses and promises he couldn't keep. The sight was almost as entertaining as the last one Reyes put together.
"It was you," a hoarse voice called from behind.
Carter staggered towards him, one hand on the hole the shotgun had torn through his side. A pistol hung from the other hand's fingers.
"You're tougher than I thought," Reyes said, approaching.
"You used Vieldus to trick Gurkash into shooting me."
"Smarter than your friends, too."
Carter tried aiming. His arm made only a fraction of the ascent. Reyes prepared to dodge, but the shot kicked up dirt far to his right. The second and third were no better. When Reyes got within punching distance, Carter lunged with all the speed and grace of a crippled ship. Reyes caught him by the shoulders, then reached down. Prying the gun from Carter's grasp took no effort.
Carter's face was clear behind the helmet visor. Unlike Ryder, this young man belonged to Kadara Port, some hotshot who saw Sloane's bounty as a ticket to glory and fame. Now he was another victim to Kadara's one strict rule: don't reach too far.
Reyes ended him not with a bang, but a pop. He left the pit and returned a few minutes later.
Gurkash was still raving. "I'm Clan Jaiakur, do you know what we did to our—" Two corpses landed on his head. He yelped.
"Thought you could use some company," Reyes said. An omni-tool command sealed the pit, muffling the krogan's raging reply.
The shuttle lay deeper into the tunnels, tucked away in the shadows of a large cavern. Sunlight bore down through a hole in the ceiling, a natural hangar bay door, a gateway to another flight to another haven. He would be more careful this time. People like that trio of amateurs had no right to his life.
Reyes thought back to that moment of panic in the safehouse. What if the turian was female and the krogan wore bones on his armor?
Less coercing, shooting, and trickery, more explaining, Reyes guessed, if they managed to find him. Maybe he would've let them. Maybe he would've shown himself: "You look like you're waiting for someone."
Ryder might've convinced him to come quietly. He had that way with people. He'd even won Sloane over, as much as the woman could be swayed. After all, he was the one trailing her on her march to that cave.
"This whole time, you've been lying to me."
Sloane let you know where you stood with her, regardless of whatever enemies she made in doing so. Her methods were painfully obvious and clumsy, but what was brutish simplicity to Reyes was plain honesty to Ryder.
"You know who I really am," Reyes had replied, meaning it. But as he laid out his terms for the fake duel, Ryder only glared, unbelieving. Hurt. Reyes imagined the sniper in the shadows didn't help. Of course Ryder shoved Sloane out of the crosshairs. Of course Ryder ran after him, rifle aimed but never fired.
Of course Ryder kept looking at him like that while Reyes made his getaway. That stare was as genuine as the smile it replaced. Reyes had responded by grinning and waving.
"Why did you come to Andromeda?"
"To be someone."
"You're someone to me."
Reyes liked being a smuggler. Dealing with clients and receiving big payouts gave him no small satisfaction. He liked being the Charlatan. There was a thrill in gathering secrets and chipping away at Sloane's power. But Ryder made him feel like someone else entirely, someone cared about and protected and trusted. Reyes, to his own great surprise, liked being him. He liked the way Ryder looked at that person.
And you gave him the worst parting image, he realized. Reyes opened his omni-tool and started typing.
"I've never known a man like you. Goodbye, Ryder."
Even that wasn't enough. Ryder deserved better, no denying that, but giving him better meant surviving. Reyes didn't bet all his chips on the fake duel, and the Collective knew shadows better than the Outcasts. This wasn't over until either Sloane or Reyes lay dead. Preferably Sloane.
Maybe his next move would bring him face-to-face with the Pathfinder, and maybe…
It wouldn't be a happy reunion. No fond infectious smiles, no "You're someone to me." Yet the memories mattered, Reyes Vidal admitted. Though the smiles and the confessions would never happen again, grasping even a ghost of them on their next meeting was worth the effort.
If only not to leave things as he had.