Tali'Zorah vas Normandy - Quarian Councillor and Honorary Convenor of the Southern Continental Cluster - crouched speechless before a crusted lake of dried blood, crinkled and thin like crepe paper. The purple stain on the stone floor belonged to someone she had been close to, once. She knew her name and background, even now would be able to identify her across a room filled with strangers. But Tali privately admitted she didn't know the woman at all. Not anymore.

Liara T'Soni had retreated to this hole. For the first time since this upheaval began, Tali felt a drop of hot anger toward the person she once thought of as a sister-in-arms. She was selfish. A coward. She made countless attempts at contact, either directly or, later, via the Shadow Broker network. All slipped into a silent abyss even after Tali succeeded Zaal'Koris on the Council.

Liara had deserted them all and for years Tali believed she was dead. The truth was worse. She scuttled into this crevice, raked in the credits and usurped power she did not earn.

Tali peered down at the blood. Her stomach churned. The gore did not faze her but the flash-fire of her fury did. Her anger was quickly doused by sadness. Naya explained Liara's reaction. In similar circumstances, Tali might have done the same thing. Actually, she wouldn't. She could not have subsisted for so long alone. Tali settled on Rannoch after the war, living her perfect ever-after; sowing orchards, improving crop yields, building homes with her own hands. She created communities at Chalus, Kaaleh, Varavi, finding or pioneering the technology each settlement needed to survive. Eventually the curtain fell on that time and she was forced into accepting other duties. Politics. Leadership.

Liara might live six quarian lifetimes but Liara could never know that joy. The afterglow of that victory was gone forever. This was not a retreat. It was her cell.

Samantha was late. Tali heard the whining gears of the elevator from the far side of the room. On her way. Tali rose to her feet delicately, careful to maintain her balance. The idea of coming into contact with the blood on the floor kindled panicked disgust. Any pathogen must be long dead by this stage, but better safe than sorry. She cursed inwardly, wished she had retrieved a sheet from the basement to cover it up. Samantha insisted she was fine but she might not be. No time to fix it now.

She crossed to the elevator as the door opened. Samantha had bundled her helmet under one arm, was combing fingers through dampened clumps of her jet-black hair. She exited with clumsy steps, Tali stepping aside.

"Sorry I'm late. This armour feels positively medieval. Was it always this heavy?" She smiled nervously.

"You're lucky you're not wearing a softsuit. Though actually - that is probably what you are used to. Perhaps that would have been a better idea."

"Hey, I can handle it. Although this is going to chafe later."

Samantha tugged her gloves from her fingers one by one. Tali could see her eyes sweeping the walls. Floor to ceiling vid screens loomed black to the left and right. Wide stripes of gold and ochre rock, the colour of burned clay, banded the walls front and back. Portable spotlight strips threw light into every corner; the effect was soft, not bright. Shadows pooled in the corners and under workstations.

"Well, the architecture and decor is rather brutal. Not very homely." She was walking normally now, hands on hips. Her steps were narrow and tense. "I would have put up some pictures. I'm disappointed at the lack of a villainous armchair. And a -"

She froze. Her gaze had fallen onto the bloodstain. Her eyes widened, nostrils flared.

"Samantha, let's go down to the mainframe. Now. Okay?"

No response. The human was normally a deep caramel colour; even under the murky lights it was obvious that right now she wasn't.

"Traynor. Get a hold of yourself." Tali took her shoulder, shook her slightly. Nothing. She sighed.

Keelah. Humans will be the death of me.

She drew her cowl back, reached for her helmet clasps. They released with a soft hiss and she pulled her helmet off carefully, reaching behind her head to disconnect her air lines. The woman's eyes strayed from the blood, back to Tali; relaxed. Samantha breathed. She avoided Tali's eyes as she peered into her face.

"I'm fine, Tali, really. Fine. Sorry. You put that thing back on."

"No point now," she murmured. "Come on. This way." She placed a hand between Samantha's shoulderblades and steered her towards the door on the far side of the room.

Colour returned to Samantha's cheeks. "Have you taken a look yet?"

"Eyes only. I need to get under the casing. I can't wait. The Shadow Broker operated one of the most sophisticated systems in the galaxy back on Hagalaz. Liara would not be outdone by a yahg."

Traynor nodded. "This place is a dataminer's paradise. I should be in seventh heaven. But the reality?" She looked around at a sagging, rusted cot and dingy sonic shower - "the tied accommodation is a complete turnoff."

"Will it be difficult to restore the Broker's systems? Assuming I can repair the hardware?"

"Depends. I suspect Liara needed Glyph to manage and filter her data. It sounds like he had become the controlling mind behind the operation." She drummed her fingernails against a package at her waist. "Some of my programmes should help, acting together. But it won't be the same."

"So if I could restore Glyph? Would that help?" Tali twinged.

"I doubt he would co-operate. Not unless you shackle him so tight he's left with the personality of a pocket calculator. Quite apart from his lack of sanity. You're the AI expert."

They started down the staircase. They left one island of light behind them, struck out for another, glow from the room beneath lapping at the foot of the steps.

Samantha's voice was low. "There's something sinister about this place. Say it's not just me."

"It's not just you."

Traynor pouted. "No, really. It feels as though we're being watched."

"Glyph was deactivated. There are no optics. Therefore no watcher, nothing watched. You're scaring yourself. You're starting to scare me."

"Sorry." They had reached the low-ceilinged, small room at the foot of the steps. It was lit by a single spotlight in the centre. The mainframe pillars surrounding them seemed to eat all the light without being lit. They loomed, black and silent. Tali's skin crawled but Samantha appeared unperturbed. She knelt to examine the nearest pillar.

"Let's see if there's anything I can help with before we take a crowbar or your shotgun to it. There are ways around tamperproof shells."

Tali smirked. "Thanks to you."

"Guilty. Though only for responsible government applications. You definitely count. I'm presuming that's why James sent for you. Oh, and the fact he was missing you."

"Don't be ridiculous." Tali was unintentionally terse, but Samantha was distracted, running her hands over surfaces.

"Looks good. No signs of damage."

"That's what I thought. Can you see anything else?"

Samantha stayed on her knees, activated a bright light on her omni. She found a circular cutout disc, no bigger than a nail, and slid it aside.

"Aha. I'll bet Glyph's mobile unit could jack via this. I can't guarantee it will work, especially if the units are powered down, but I have a cracker we could try."

The cracker itself was a small, black cylinder with a flanged end. As Traynor thumbed it into the port, it twisted and locked into place, red light blinking at its tip.

"Give it a few minutes and you should be in, Tali. While you're at it, I'll track down the backup power source."

"Really?"

"Really, Tali. I'm fine."

As the cracker lit green, Tali heard Samantha's steps echo away.

The new arrival was waiting in the Istanbul's War Room. Travelling at this speed it was impossible to attack or be attacked. For now. Vega breathed a little easier as he traversed the ship, making his way to its core. Until they were forced to slow down, they were safe. A cruiser travelling at sub-FTL speeds burned through enough eezo to power an entire colony for months, but they had a few hours. Long enough to work something out. And size up their guest.

Vega paused at a security checkpoint marking the boundary between bulkheads, forcing his eyes open to accept the retinal scan. Most of Ash's spectre missions in the past couple years involved krogan somehow. Crushing rebellions; turning the tide of some crappy conflict on a backwater planet; assassination of militants. Vega had done his share of tours in the DMZ since the war. Ash simply knew krogan better.

Ash. Oh God. He stopped still. Last night exploded back into his mind, obliterated every conscious thought. Fire lit in his belly.

Focus.

His thoughts turned to Ash because Ash would know how to deal with this situation better than he did. He needed to think, but his brain sloughed up nothing. Nothing useful, anyway.

Then, something. He turned to the private manning the station, jutted his chin out at the weapons locker behind them.

Meeting a new krogan unarmed is crazy or dumb. Being armed shows respect.

He was handed a Carnifex, strapped the holster around his waist. It fit awkwardly over the dress uniform. The guard eyed Vega, bemused, when he thought his back was turned.

A gun is good, machote. A blade is better.

When Vega stepped out of the station he wore the private's new knife tucked into his belt, under his jacket. It was hidden but obvious.

Thanks, Ash.

The War Room was a few bulkheads further back. Vega caught some odd looks along the route, didn't care. He passed the fireteam standing to attention outside. Light glinted from the barrels of their assault rifles and pristine blue-black armour. This was no honour guard. Vega might need it.

He entered alone. The figure at the other end of the War Room turned as soon she heard the door slide open.

She was tall and slender for a female krogan, the pellucid green-cream colour of mushroom gills, with silver-grey markings along her neck. Unlike other females Vega had seen, she wore heavy armour, evidently custom made, and no head-dress. Traditionally this meant she was unmated and had no young, but with the armour Vega couldn't be sure. If he was right she was young, high status. Maybe both. Definitely high enough to avoid motherhood. When fertile females had been rare, during the genophage, they were easily hidden, protected - respected. Now all could bear young they were usually forced as soon as physically capable.

Which made their guest, now marching down the room toward Vega, unusual.

She had been stripped of all weapons bar the ceremonial blade at her hip. Her claw rested on its pommel. Watery, pale blue eyes looked him over, stopping to take in his gun and the shape of his own knife. The hilt was clearly visible beneath Vega's uniform.

"We are wasting time in this pleasure craft." She swept her arm out in the direction of the flotilla. Buried as they were at the centre of the ship, Vega was impressed by her bearings. "Tens of thousands have already landed on Tuchanka. More are arriving every hour. Turn the ship back - now."

Her voice rumbled. For one so baby-faced Vega was surprised it carried so much authority. She was already used to command. He crossed his arms.

"Not until you explain a couple things, peligroso. Like who the hell you are. And how you came by Wrex's encryption codes."

She narrowed her eyes at him, unrepentant. "I am Sedna, daughter of Nouha. Pupil Battlemaster and concubine to Urdnot Wrex."

"You look - young. Too young." Vega guessed she was around the same age as Kaidan; older than Jane.

"I am not here to listen to your stupid pronouncements, human." She burst forward, into Vega's space, voice raised. "Tarkan will be laying waste to Urdnot now while we flee."

Vega fought an instinct to protect his face, kept his hands lowered. Sedna drew closer until her eyes were inches from his. She was dominating him. Though his heart was banging in his chest he refused to back up. He brought his face closer, moved one hand to the butt of the gun. Ash dominated krogan twice this size without resorting to blows. He remembered, too late, that she wore a helmet when she did. But he didn't flinch.

The air electrified. He felt like it would crackle, snap.

"There's a squad waiting outside. You're just one krogan. A krogan I don't know."

She eased back, spoke through gritted teeth. "Turn. The ship. Around."

Vega bunched his muscles. Made himself bigger; spoke slowly.

"Where is Wrex? Why isn't he with you?"

The omnitool at her cuff pulsed and woke; she tapped into the War Room holo display. The outline of a colossal stepped pyramid, stacked platforms towering above a chaotic maze of surrounding buildings, rotated in the centre of the room.

"Rebel forces have already surrounded government headquarters at the Ziggurat." A white sphere pulsed at the centre of the pyramid; Wrex's position. The image zoomed back to show rebel units, pushing forward to the base.

"Wrex is trapped inside. It is only a matter of time before it is overrun. You know the consequences if he falls."

"So the flotilla out there - they're Goceks?"

Sedna glared, contemptuous. He got the impression she was trying not to sneer.

"The ships around the relay are a distraction. They are keeping Aralakh Command pinned to the relay while Tarkan does the real work. His main force is pouring warriors onto the surface and preparing for orbital bombardment. At this moment. We are wasting precious time."

He looked at the pyramid. "Wrex should be able to hold out in there for a while. Thick walls. Good place for a barricade."

"If Tarkan and Boyar cannot kill or capture Wrex alive, and soon, they'll turn Urdnot into a crater."

"And kill their own fighters?"

"Absolutely."

Vega knew those names from briefings held in smoky barracks rooms. The scarred giant in charge of the flotilla must be Boyar. A seasoned merc, older than old, like Wrex. Only more bloodthirsty. Vega remembered his filed teeth and his cheek twitched. Sedna told the truth.

If that bastard's number two, I never want to run into number one.

She started to pace, taking angry steps along the bulkhead. Vega grimaced when she pounded a fist into the wall. She left a dent in the metal. He made his voice reasonable. Still strong.

"Sedna, you're smart. You must know the Alliance can't intervene without the Council's permission. There are sanctions. Rules. I can't just fly the Istanbul straight into orbit."

"And you are spineless, Vega." She quieted, withdrew, addressed herself quietly to the bulkhead. "Your name is whispered with horror on krogan worlds. I was ready to respect you. But now I see you that would be - misplaced."

Sedna fixed him with a baleful glare and Vega understood that this was not a simple dislike of humanity. She hated him.

His reply was soft. "Taking the Istanbul to Tuchanka would be suicide. I will not sacrifice all hands on this ship."

"You fought shoulder to shoulder with Wrex on Earth. You are despised by krogan, with good reason. But to him you are still clan. And yet you abandon him to the void." Sedna looked him straight in the eye. "Wrex believed you would help him."

Vega teetered on the edge of the abyss, gut twisting, beating heart in his mouth. He swallowed. Leaped.

"And I will."

Damn comedians gave her ship a berth on the wrong side of Gozu, the meanest, poorest district in Omega abutting the wealthiest. Cab drivers with any sense or experience avoided this part of the station like a disease; it was no-fly zone, riddled with blind turns and narrow alleys and full to the gunnels with filth.

So Ash walked.

The path to Afterlife involved a steep climb up so many steps she lost count, lungs and throat burning. She was physically at peak fitness; had to be, it was her job to be, she'd be dead not to be. That wasn't the problem. The air was so full of shit she could feel her eyes start to weep like someone had rubbed grit in them. Each time she hit a clearing felt to her lungs the way it did to loosen tight, pinching shoes. Ash found herself hauling her ass up the steps only to hang around on the flats, hands cupped over her nose and mouth. She wished she'd remembered a nasal filter.

The level sections were far worse than wheezing up the stairs. A bouquet of shit, piss, vomit and the warm, rank smell of rotting garbage soured the back of her throat. It would take her days before she adapted to screen out the foul stink. She saw women - some men - turning tricks, all sallow faces and sagging dugs. Vorcha fighting, bleeding, dead drunk and reeling on the floor. A street brawl between a deadbeat quarian and a human who robbed the dumb shit's expensive omni. His visor was cracked; in a dirty place like this he'd be delirious in hours. She saw a batarian boy, rags barely covering his brown bony behind; plaintive, begging. Most likely he was the lowliest badmash in some petty gang.

At least, she hoped so.

Ash looked at him for just too long and his eyes - all of them - swivelled across to her. Bottom pair, then top. They glittered. It unsettled her; her stomach knotted. The boy sized up her pricy armour and the heavy weapons, the dark hair tied back in a chignon, figured her for a soft target. Some kind of well-off merc. In a way, she was. He was there in a heartbeat, tugged at her hand. She quickened the pace. Lucky she had no pocket for the little bastard to pick. He was insistent, pulling now, grunting. Like she owed him. She couldn't look down now because if she did she would stop.

I hate this place.

The chemical burn in her windpipe had begun to seep into her muscles when she reached the main drag. Afterlife was up ahead, and the air was cleaner, clearer. The miasma that crept into everything down below was absent up here. The sense of space, the mirage of a dark airy sky above her head after so long in the cramped pit beneath was dizzying. She cleared her throat, loosened the protective slime that had begun to coat it. She spat and the gob that hit the floor was black. Better.

A single, low note of anxiety struck up somewhere deep inside. She stopped.

An Omega smash and grab is a walk in the park compared to facing that squid headed bitch.

Naya - peaceful, sleeping - broke the surface of her mind; the image pitched her forward. She upped the pace as she drew up to the entrance, ignoring security on the door. Ash wondered why patrons with the heavy weapons were the ones could waltz straight past the bouncers. Surely it should be the other way round. A few more paces and the second set of doors opened onto the main atrium, heaving with punters swathed in hellish orange light. The music swirled through her, beat deep and fast and chaotic. Like a fever dream.

Ash knew her way around. She shoulder-barged her way through the crowd, stepped over a fight between two hard-bitten rival mercs already gone to the floor. A yahg was standing door duty at the foot of the steps. With no krogan around yahg had become the criminal underworld's enforcers of choice, though keeping them in check was almost impossible.

Unless you were Aria.

She knew this guy. Name was Baka. Had a reputation for keen intelligence, but he was even better known for his casual, perverse talent for butchery. By human standards, yahg looked obese and faintly ridiculous bulging out of heavy armour. Baka did. But Ash wasn't laughing. She saw flecks of blue salarian blood across his red face.

"I'm here to see Aria."

"She expecting you?" His voice was so deep it almost melted below hearing into the bass.

"She knows I'm here." That was why the Mariana was parked in some dingy hole at the ass end of the station. "Tell her - Ashley Williams is here."

Recall dawned; she saw a flash of recognition. "You're that Spectre. What's your business?"

"Mind your beeswax, yahg." She growled.

Baka tensed. Then the fury on his face was gone and he was pressing his hand into the webbed crests on one side of his head, listening. His triangle mouth pulled taut. Ash felt queasy at his smile.

"She isn't here, Spectre. And don't bother coming back later."

The lying bitch.

Ash laid a hand on the yahg's chest, stepped in close. "Course she's here. She's always here." She pushed but there was no give in Baka's trunk; none at all. Anger flared. "Let me past, Baka, you big -"

"Aria is not available."

"When, then? This isn't a goddamned request."

His breath was foul, smelled of rotting meat. It poured down onto her face and into her hair. He closed his fist around Ash's forearm and shoved her back, squeezed just enough to threaten hairline cracks in her armour.

"Not now. Not ever."

"For fuck's sake -"

He stepped back. His voice was chilled, satisfied.

"Get out of my face, Spectre, before I take it off. Move along."

She did.

Damn bitch will pay.

As she slunk from the club, Ash felt a weight press down onto the back of her neck. Turned around.

Aria's gaze seared her. She was leaning on the glass enclosure of her sanctum, above Ash, forehead pressed against forearm. Languorous. Lethal.

Her eyes thinned to slits.