Few people would have recognized the unremarkable space station for what it truly was. In fact, located as it was in a far off solar system that was slowly swallowed by its sun, a bloated red star, few even knew it existed. The system was otherwise uninhabited, and in fact all official records listed it as totally lifeless, barren and poor in natural resources. No interstellar shipping lane passed through within dozens of light years of it, and no explorer or adventurous miner searching for treasures would bumble into it. And yet, this space station was a centre of human power. As such, it potentially surpassed even Arcturus Station, the home of the Alliance Government and Parliament, and definitely competed with the headquarters of the Alliance's various megacorps.
And yet, Miranda Lawson, despite knowing all this in minute detail, was completely calm as she entered it. After all, as always, she was fully prepared for everything that laid ahead of her. There was nothing to be nervous about. In fact, there were only very few things in the galaxy which could make her truly nervous. And besides, it was not the first time she had entered Cerberus' centre, the seat of the enigmatic Illusive Man. Not even Miranda knew who he truly was or rather, who he had been once. She had accepted that. It was clear that now, he simply was the Illusive Man. It was not a role for him, something he did behind the facade of a regular civilian life. He had no regular civilian life anymore. Leading Cerberus was his life, and he was nobody else anymore but the Illusive Man. And his history, the details of where he had come from and how he become what he was now, all that was a mystery - to the Alliance and Council, who would pay much to find out, to the Shadow Broker, who would pay even more, but also to it his closest allies and agents.
Miranda knew he held the power of life and death over her and countless others. However, she also knew that she was a far too valuable tool to him for him to ever consider anything like that. Thus even he, most likely the most powerful human in the galaxy, did not frighten her and she walked through his station with determined steps. She knew her way, of course. If she had forgotten it from rather long ago past visits, she could have asked the station's skeleton crew, of course - a mostly female group of people who were so blindly loyal to the Illusive Man personally that they hardly could be said to have any free will at all. However, Miranda hated asking other people. Relying on other people. She had prepared everything in advance. Even such details as what way she would have to use on the station.
She entered the central room of the station, basically the area the entire station had been built around. It was both the Illusive Man's office and also to a degree his living room. Beyond the hedonistic pleasures he indulged in, alcohol, tobacco and a series of sexual contacts Miranda knew but would rather not think about, he after all had no private life at all, so there was no distinction between where he lived and where he worked. It was a cleverly designed room. All its walls were holographic projectors, so that inside one had the feeling of standing on an infinite plain. And there were graphic interface projectors for the station's extremely advanced electronics everywhere. One quick hand gesture, and one could get access to more information than the Alliance's Naval Intelligence Service could ever dream of. Most likely only the Shadow Broker and some salarian dalatrasses commanded over more knowledge than Cerberus, and only the Illusive Man had access to all of it.
A cluster of the holographic screens showed her the way. At the centre of the room, surrounded by them, sat the Illusive Man, as always immersed in the ongoing projects and activities of his organization. There was a new project waiting for her, she knew. She already enjoyed the prospect of new challenges. What she did not enjoy was the sight of the man standing besides the Illusive Man's chair: Kai Leng, the organization's best assassin. A brute and a lunatic, as far as Miranda was concerned. Cocky all the way to self-destructiveness but thoughtless enough to make a loyal tool. And brilliant at what he did, Miranda had to admit that. She did not like him, though.
However, she nonetheless retained a perfectly calm exterior. She was highly used to dealing with unlikeable people. In fact, she disliked most Cerberus members she had to work with. Most of them had no idea what the organization stood for, what humanity could accomplish, what the greater picture was. Most of them were simply xenophobes, and Kai Leng was probably the worst of them. Miranda on the other hand did not hate the other races. They were opponents, of course, competitors, but nothing inherently loathsome. They were simply factors to be rationally taken into consideration. Right now, humanity would not be able to prosper in economical or cultural isolation, so it had to work with the aliens. In the end, as far as Miranda was concerned, the only thing that mattered was human power, regardless of whether it was won with or against alien species.
And if they had to use brainless xenophobes as tools to that end, then Miranda would work with them, all personal antipathies aside. In fact, if she had to use naive idiots who had tried to sabotage human efforts in galactic politics as tools, she would do that, too. That was why she was here, what there was to discuss. In the end, with the right means, everything and everybody could be used as a tool. Including herself.
The Illusive Man drew from his cigar and then exhaled the smoke. "Shepard has left the Citadel," he simply announced. That was typical for him: Leading with very few words.
"We know his flight plan," Miranda replied. That was another example of his leadership style. She had to report to him because the agents under her command had found out, but most likely the Illusive Man already had been briefed on that fact. Within Cerberus the right hand never knew what the left hand was doing. Only the Illusive Man himself knew everything. "The Traverse, the Terminus... he'll pass through dangerous territories."
Kai Leng grinned. It was a not a pleasant sight. "Perfect territory for an ambush."
Miranda refrained from making a grimace. His solution to everything. "We'll protect him, not kill him."
The grin remained on Kai Leng's face. He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, this I gotta hear."
Miranda glanced to the Illusive Man. He only ever so slightly moved his head, but Miranda knew it was a nod, so she explained: "Fifth Fleet wouldn't have been able to do anything against Sovereign if it wasn't for him. So far, he's the only person who has managed to kill a Reaper. That makes him too valuable to hate. So this meeting is about keeping him alive."
"Valuable. But dangerous," Kai argued. "His actions against Cerberus and the Alliance have left us all weakened."
It was typical for him to take everything so personal. This was not an efficient approach, as far as Miranda was concerned."Yes. But In the end, Shepard did everything right. He saved the Citadel, but left the Council to die. Perfect for humanity."
"That never was his intention," Kai said.
"Of course not," Miranda conceded. "But Cerberus doesn't expect ideological correctness. We only care for the right outcomes. "
"Right now, humanity's position in the galaxy is stronger than ever," the Illusive Man agreed.
"We'll see about that," Kai Leng continued to argue. He had no problems of contradicting even Cerberus' leader. In the end, though, he always obeyed his orders no matter what. That was the only reason why his behaviour was not suicidal. "Shepard picked Goyle as the Alliance's Councillor. Goyle! She won't just accept Alliance orders. And all that over what happened to a bunch of children nearly two decades ago."
Miranda suppressed a grimace. Such callousness was normal for Kai Leng. Even though she never had been to BAaT, the whole issue was very close to home for her. Still, what Shepard had done was nothing short of sabotaging human efforts in the galaxy. The program had been necessary. The only reason humanity had become so respected so fast on the galactic stage was its independence, the ability to do and figure out everything on its own without the need to rely on the Citadel. Even only the smallest hints of dependence would have damaged that reputation. The matter of fact was that BAaT, no matter how tragic, had been just plain necessary, and idealistic idiots like Shepard would never comprehend that.
"Shepard is... unpredictable," the Illusive Man admitted. "But we have worked with loose cannons before."
"He's the Hero of the Citadel," Miranda agreed. "A bloody icon. The Council will never accept Cerberus' help, no matter what humanity has accomplished. Shepard, though... they'll listen to him."
"All too true. Just like they listened to him when he told them to go against us," Kai mocked. "We're hunted in every corner of the galaxy due to that mess with the rachni."
"He's our enemy now," The Illusive Man said calmly and inhaled again from his cigar, "but that can change. We have a common enemy now."
"You might learn that Shepard doesn't hold to the 'enemy of my enemy' maxim," Kai argued. "He actively went against the Alliance while Saren was the bigger enemy. "
"And yet he pulled it off," the Illusive Man stated. "Saren is defeated."
"And the Alliance damaged," Kai said. He had become gradually less cocky and more grumbling in the argument. It seemed he really did not like Shepard, and Miranda suspected it went beyond the arguments he presented here.
"We have greater problems than that," she argued. "The Reapers are out there. We have to stop them, no matter any potential damage to ourselves."
"Cerberus is the guardian of humanity," the Illusive Man agreed. "We have to act accordingly."
Now we're finally getting to the core of the issue. "But if we lose Shepard in this, humanity might well follow," Miranda said.
The Illusive Man squeezed out his cigar. "Then see to it that we don't lose him," he ordered. His tone made it almost sound like a suggestion.
"Shepard with a Cerberus guardian angel?" Kai mocked and grinned again. "I don't think he'll appreciate that."
"You will stay your hand," the Illusive Man ordered, and this time it was an obvious, clear and direct order. "Miranda, you know what you have to do."
She nodded, and without a further word left. After that expressive order she had no doubt Kai Leng would indeed stay quiet, and she could do her job.
…...
Ten people, together in just five separate rooms for two weeks now. There was murder in the air. And Miranda knew that she was the most hated person aboard. Nobody dared to actually say anything, of course, not to her and not among each other. After all, her watchful eyes were everywhere, either in person or via the various bugs aboard. But then, nobody needed to say anything. It was in their looks, in their short cut replies to her, in their general tension. Miranda drove the crew on, and they hated her for that.
She was okay with that. It was another thing she already was used to and the mission required it: She acted as commanding officer of a Cerberus corvette, a small ship with a ten man crew barely large enough for a FTL drive. Bedroom, toilet, cockpit, engine room and a very small cargo bay, that was the entirety of the ship. Its armament consisted of a single light ship gun, and its FTL drive made it a snail compared to real military ships. However, on the other hand it was cheap and, more importantly, very easy to hide. It was too small for stealth capacities, of course, but small enough that all systems could easily be turned off, which made the ship pretty much invisible, if immobile.
There was no way that a pocket warship like this could follow the Normandy anywhere at all. The frigate was faster, more powerful and even better at hiding, too. Fortunately, there was no need to. Chasing behind the Normandy would have been the primitive method anyway. Miranda would have done that, too, if it had been necessary, but it was not. This was not the method Cerberus usually used. Instead, Miranda simply knew where Shepard was taking his ship. After all, there were a lot of new people on that important vessel right now. Too many for him or Admiral Hackett to check everybody's background.
So far, not even Shepard's quarian tech wizard had been able to detect anything. Maybe she was not quite as good as the outstanding reputation she had won among those in the know. Still, Miranda knew she had to be courted and if necessary saved, too, just like Shepard. The Spectre would be difficult to control. Having his girlfriend as a means for that would be invaluable. The media of course only had some vague, unsubstantiated rumours about that. Government friendly media would repeat the question of whether Shepard possibly had a relationship with a quarian curiously often, considering how few actual proof they had, while more critical outlets would stress just that, that it was all just rumourmongering. Most likely, the speculation would eventually be dismissed as idle chatter by most people due to a lack of proof, unless Sheapard did something stupid. However, Cerberus knew better, and already had long before getting their new source of information. And Miranda did not judge. She merely considered how to use that fact.
However, clearly, the focus of her and her crew's efforts was Shepard himself. He was probably safer in his ultramodern warship than Miranda in her fragile mini ship, but then he probably was also more valuable to the fight against the Reapers than she was. So her task was to be a backup of sorts: Should Shepard ever get into trouble, he would have hidden reserves. Because humanity simply could not afford to lose him. His behaviour was problematic, his politcial stances were idiotic and his actions had often been outright sabotage of humanity - and yet, against the Reapers, he simply was needed.
A wave of pain hit her head out of sudden. She waved for a bit, but otherwise could hide it from the crew. Her implant was acting up again. At times she felt like it always did at the worst possible times, but rationally she knew that was just confirmation bias. Discretely, she took a dose of the pain killers she always had with her and hoped her body would not build up a tolerance to these ones as fas as to the last ones. It was almost a philosophical lesson: Power came with costs. And switching implants, thus reducing her biotic power, was unacceptable for Miranda, even setting aside the risks of such surgery. And thus pain killers were her constant companion. When she had her headache attack under control again, she noticed a certain tension on the bridge. Everybody was looking on their instruments.
"Large energy spike detected," this shift's sensor and communication specialist reported: Liz Kambwili, an African woman whose voice was always icily cold when she spoke with Miranda. She did not show any more overt signs of hostility, but she also never once had showed her friendly side to her superior. Miranda almost admired her consistency and determination. "Must have been a FTL movement. It ended abruptly, no further readings on the sensors."
"So the Normandy has finally arrived," Miranda muttered. And it's super perfect stealth won't be of any use against us. We can't track you, Shepard, but we know where you are. Unfortunately, that was not the end of their watch. Now they would have to watch either for Shepard getting into trouble or, more likely, jumping out of system again. And there was nothing worse to get a headache attack subdued than boredom. "Prepare for transistion to the next system," Miranda ordered. At least they knew where he was going, and preparing matters over and over again at least gave her and the crew something to do.
"Preparing course, aye," Ernesto Maldonado confirmed. The Latin American man was this shift's navigator and tactical specialist.
Miranda stifled a sigh. Yet more waiting. She was just about to start pacing, when Kambwili spoke up again: "Picking up another vessel. It's huge... unknown configuration. It matches no known ship type."
In an instant, Miranda was at the sensor array's graphical interface. She narrowed her eyes. The ship certainly did not fit to any officially known species in Citadel space or beyond. However, she was privy to a bit more information than the crew and thus she had a pretty good idea who owned the ship. Cerberus always looked out for every potential threat to humanity, and Terminus legends about the Collectors had been going on for centuries, creating enough interstellar folklore for Cerberus to get a sufficiently good picture of them. However, to meet them here, on this side of the Omega 4 relay... "Battle stations!" Miranda ordered.
The huge Collector ship darted through space. It apparently had a clear aim. And indeed: Following its trajectory, the corvette's sensors could spot the Normandy. The Alliance vessel was already beginning to fly evasive manoeuvres, but to no avail. The Collectors fired, and while the Normandy's superb pilot kept his ship out of the firing line for an amazing time, eventually their energy ray hit the frigate. Immediately, explosions shook the ship.
Miranda remained entirely calm while her mind raced to analyze the situation. There was no need to get panicked. If the enemy ship could detect the Normandy even while she was in stealth, then most likely they could also detect Miranda's corvette. However, they plainly were not the aim. Thus, she could rationally analyse the situation and intervene when necessary. So far it would be foolish to do anything. If the corvette were to become active, the Collectors would swat it like a fly.
"Normandy is starting to launch lifepods," Kambwili announced. Shepard was apparently reacting quickly, but then, it probably was clear to everybody that the ship was lost. Miranda just hoped that he was in one of the pods.
Several anxious minutes passed by. The Collector vessel eventually stopped firing and remained at some distance to the Normandy. By that point, though, the frigate was already reduced to a complete wreckage and fires raged on every deck. Miranda burned to check the lifepods for signs of Shepard, but she did not dare move while the Collector ship was still nearby. Nobody would be helped if they were to be killed alongside him.
Still, patience had never been one of Miranda's virtues and especially not now. She waited, but she hated it. Watching helplessly as the whole tragedy unfolded made her frustrated. She would not do any stupid acts of desperation, but she was very tempted. The temples of her head pulsed and ached. More minutes of inactivity passed by... until things got even worse. "Enemy vessel coming around for another attack on the Normandy," Maldonado announced.
Again the Collectors' ray of death hit the Normandy, and again explosions tore up what was left of the ship. Then Kambwili spoke up again: "Receiving a radio transmission. It's an open call." That was stupid. An open call while the enemy was nearby and could listen in?
"I got Joker. Entering the escape pod..." Miranda froze. That was Shepard's voice. He's still on the ship! To her shock, the sound of an explosion could be heard on the radio call, and Shepard's voice: "Ugh." He sounded pained. A moment later there was another voice. Miranda recognized as belonging to Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau, which fit to what Shepard had said. "No, don't do this to us, Shepard. Don't... No!" And finally a mechanical sound: The lifepod had been launched. The radio call went on, but it only sent Moreau's lamentations now. Not a single sign of Shepard.
Miranda felt as if her heart froze to ice. It seemed her mission to watch over Shepard had already now ended in failure. With their work done, the Collector ship jumped to FTL. It left behind the burning wreckage of what had used to be an Alliance frigate, which slowly descended to a nearby planet, and several lifepods. At least the Collectors had not targeted those. However, as Shepard had not made into a lifepod it did not matter. An awkward silence lasted on the corvette's cockpit.
Finally, Kambwili spoke up again. Without looking up from her instruments she said: "I'm picking up a supernumerary emergency signal."
"Supernumerary?" Miranda asked.
"Every lifepod is sending a signal on all frequencies," Kambwili explained. "But there's an additional one. Very weak, and very near the ship." She turned around and looked Miranda straight into the face. All iciness vanished from her voice. "Ma'am, I think it's emitting from a space suit."
Miranda understood. Shepard! "Follow that signal. Get us into position." There was still hope after all, it seemed.
The wreck of the Normandy, pulled along by gravity, was already beginning to tumble down into a planetary atmosphere, and so was the nearby emergency signal. Fortunately, the corvette was constructed for both space and atmospheric conditions. However, it was clear that they had to hurry. A lifepod would survive atmospheric entry. A space suit probably not. Like a hawk, the corvette swooped down onto the expanding wreckage field. Somewhere there was Shepard, somewhere between the Normandy at its centre and an ever increasing array of loose parts flowing out of the nearly completely destroyed ship. And Miranda was determined to find and save him. No matter the co... -
A rumble went through the corvette. "We're hit!" Maldonado announced.
"Where did that come from?" Miranda asked aggressively. It could not have been the Collectors. Had it been their ray of death the corvette would already be destroyed.
"Tracing back projectile trajectory... I have it on the sensors," Maldonado reported. "It's another corvette. Bigger than us. Probably better armed than us." He paused for a bit. "And in a better tactical position. They can chase us."
What the hell? Miranda had no idea where another armed corvette could come from. If it was just such a small ship it could not have followed the Normandy, and it appeared suicidal to attempt to follow the Collectors. So it must have been in hiding already, too. Yet it could not just be pirates. Pirates would not risk entering an atmosphere and start combat when there were equally juicy targets undefended in open space. So there was only one conclusion: There was another faction in all of this, one equally powerful and well informed as Cerberus. And they had Miranda and her crew at a disadvantage.
"We must retrieve Shepard!" she declared. "No matter the cost. Keep our course!"
However, keeping the course among all the wreckage parts while under fire was easier ordered than done. Flying evasive manoeuvres was practically impossible, but even without them the corvette would always come off course.
"Kinetic barriers down!" Maldonado reported.
And we haven't come any closer to Shepard's position. There was no sense in dying alongside him. The mission was a failure and there was no reason to make it a total failure. Miranda would not senselessly waste valuable Cerberus resources, including herself, just to save her honour or something like that. "We're getting out of here. Set the quickest course out of the wreckage field, and then immediately go to FTL!"
Without Shepard, Cerberus is really all that's left to defend humanity from the Reapers now. And even we may not be enough...
000000
Traveling on a regular charter flight route made Rentola twitchy. Most likely the numerous asari and two or three turians around him would not notice. To most races in the galaxies, all salarians, with their heightened metabolism and never ceasing activity, were twitchy all the time. Still, he could not help but to think about how his nervousness could make everything even worse.
This would never have happened in the STG. In the fact, there had been one incident where his entire STG regiment had infiltrated a planet by using a standard charter flight. It had taken all of Kirrahe's organization skills, all of Surraven's skills at forgery and all of Rentola's calmness, and even then, their cover would not have survived if not one of their regiment had begun to spin a wild tale out of nothing, which had left the officials on the turian colony world confused. Later, after the conclusion of their mission on Tuchanka he had left the STG... Mordin. That was his name. His talk really did dazzle absolutely everybody.
But that was in the past. Kirrahe was dead, Surraven too physically and emotionally scarred to remain serving, and their regiment had been disbanded after the heavy losses suffered on Virmire. The mission had been a success, and Rentola supposed that destroying a potential cure to the genophage and destroying Saren's then main facility had been worth a single STG regiment. However, he had doubted that he would fit into another unit, and had hence quit the STG all together. Among the salarians that was easy enough. They were no turians or humans; they had no concept of fixed service times or desertion in peace time. Their military units were too unimportant, their navy even well below the Farixen limit and more importantly their lives were simply too short to waste and their interests too quickly changing.
So now, Rentola had to do things all by himself. And he had no experience in that. And he just knew that eventually the hammer had to fall. He already had survived Virmire, and had probably used up all his luck there. So he was sure the weapons he smuggled would be discovered or that his false identity would be blown up or something like this. However, even if eventual failure was inevitable, then until then he had at least one more thing to do: Helping Commander... no, Spectre Shepard. The STG had been abuzz with news, reports and rumours about him. His action had turned the Alliance upside down, and then he ended up as Hero of the Citadel, so of course he was a focus of STG 'fact finding'. Worryingly, it appeared that at least two members of the new Normandy crew were informers. This of course had practically been inevitable. There were many forces out there in the galaxy working only in the shadows, far removed from any government or Council control, and of course they would be interested in STG was as well. However, so far they only knew that there were spies aboard the Normandy, not who they were or whom they worked for. And that was unacceptable to Rentola. He still owed Shepard for Virmire. Without the Spectre the mission there, bloody as it was, would never have ended in success. So he was determined to identify the spies and to protect Shepard from afar.
Thus he was on his flight to Illium. An asari world of the seventh asari settlement wave, adjunct to Asari Republics territory - but legally not part of the Republics or Citadel space itself, and thus nominally part of the Terminus Systems. An exotic mix of asari culture and the Terminus Systems' predatory tendencies. Not that Illium was lawless. There were no warlords there and no open conflicts. And yet it could be just as deadly as any Terminus world. Its cut-throat businesses and the dark and deep back alleys of its buzzing cities were no less dangerous then the battlefields of Korlus or Garvug. It was just that Illium maintained a thin veneer of legality, culture and sophistication.
The passenger ship began landing on the planet. Apparently, there was somebody here that could help Rentola in identifying those spies. At least, that had been the rumour in the STG before he had left. The problem was identifying that person in turn among all those huge, sparkling towers of Nos Astra, Illium's planetary capital, that came now into sight. And they were a dazzling sight indeed. Even Rentola's dark mood was lifted at least for a little while. He knew this was just the shiny surface to a rotten society, but it was still an amazing scenery. And he knew he would have enough time to admire it. Trying to find his contact too quickly could get both of them killed. It would probably have to be a gradual establishment of contact over days, even though that could be an eternity for a salarian.
He packed his luggage, did his best not to look suspicious and left the ship. It was evening in Nos Astra, but still very hot. In fact, given Illium's climate conditions, the night was the main time of activity in many planetary regions. Rentola decided that he would need a drink, and checking out the city's various establishments was probably no bad way of making contacts, anyway. Following the logic of that thought, he entered the smallest, dirtiest hole in a wall he could find within an hour. Of course, since this was still a civilized asari world, such terms were relative. Not that there were no dangerous underworld bars here. But from all Rentola knew, even those would always maintain an illusion of cleanliness. You could still get killed there, but they would first drag you to backyard so as to not soil the bar with blood.
The bar Rentola had entered contained nothing more than the counter and a small holovid player above the door. He sat down, ordered a fermented drink and began watching the other people in the bar. They all were asari, but few had the race's usual grace about them. He assumed most of them were street thugs and some were maybe even mercenaries. He doubted there was anything of value that could be learnt here. He considered downing his drink in one go and then leaving again, when the holovid caught his attention.
Over stock footage of the Normandy, a reporter announced: "..it is still unclear what exactly the Normandy was doing in the Omega Nebula, and what it discovered there. While most crew members survived its destruction, it appears Jonathan Shepard, Council Spectre, is among the casualties. This will no doubt add to the already unstable political situation in..."
Rentola froze. The Normandy destroyed, Shepard dead? He watched the holo for some more minutes. Something had ambushed the Spectre, though nobody was sure yet what exactly. Rentola had wanted to protect him, but now it seemed he had come too late. Without touching his drink again, Rentola hastened outside. There was no sense anymore in gradually building up contacts and doing all the espionage stuff. Now, a more direct approach was necessary. Maybe he could still avenge Shepard, at least.
…...
The omnipresent lights that illuminated the business district of Nos Astra were gone in this part of the town. The streets were only dimly lit, and instead of the sleek and elegant business towers unsightly housing projects rose to both sides of them. This was Nos Astra's nasty underbelly, and this was were Rentola would meet his contact. He had left a trail of blood to find out where he was. Even the biotic powers of asari thugs were no match for STG training. Of course, this would soon catch up to him. He did not have much time. Fortunately, nobody dared to bother him. He had seen this in other run-down city quarters on other missions before: People living in such areas just had to develop the right instincts to stay out of trouble if they were to survive, so they usually did not meddle into other people's business. Also, fortunately, the electronic locks on the doors here were a joke. He got into the housing tower he was pointed to with no problem at all.
There were some people in the entrance area. Asari who eyed him with suspicion. He ignored them and went straight for the vac-tubes. His target was living on the uppermost floor, or so he had been told. When he arrived there, Rentola looked around, saw nobody on this level, and began to hack the target's door. This was vastly more difficult than the house lock had been. The door's electronic lock was superb. Still, in the end, it was no match for Rentola's skills. The door went open...
...and revealed a scene of devastation. Splintered furniture, smashed electronics, household items littered everywhere. Two corners of the room had what looked like destroyed automatic guns. Rentola drew his gun and jumped into action. Something had happened here. He pressed his back against a wall, gun held high, looked around and then peered through an open door to the next room. It was without windows and without light. Rentola could only see some shades. But he also heard something. A muffled sound.
He activated his omni-tool's flashlight, jumped into the room, looked around again, aimed his weapon everywhere. Only after he had made sure there was no enemy present did he look at the source of the sounds: A salarian, bound, gagged and bleeding. Going by the puddle of green liquid around him bleeding to death, most likely. In an instant, Rentola was at his side. He unbound and ungagged him and tried to apply medi-gel. However, it was as he had feared: He had come too late, the medi-gel could not heal all the major injuries the salarian had suffered.
And he knew so as well. "No use..." he said, coughing up more blood. "Listen. The Shadow Broker. He got Shepard."
"The Normandy was destroyed by the Shadow Broker's forces?" Rentola asked. His mind immediately disassociated itself from the misery of the scene and switched to pure fact finding. He was not even surprised that the Broker would have such powerful forces.
"No, no," the salarian anwered. "His allies. Destroyed Normandy. But he knew about attack. Planned. Has Shepard's body. In Cryo. Taken it to Omega. Wants to sell it."
"Sell it?" Rentola asked. By now he was totally ignoring that his conversation partner was near death. "To whom?"
"Uncertain," the salarian answered. "But heard rumours. They want to use Shepard's body. The enemy... like Saren... ah..." The salarian's body slumped down. Then he bolted up once more. "Must - save him!" With that he collapsed on the floor. Rentola did not need to check to know he was dead.
The enemy? The enemy behind Saren... Reapers! The Reapers wanted Shepard's body for their own purposes? But even according to Shepard's own theories Sovereign had been the Reaper vanguard. There should currently be no other in the galaxy. Still, the mere possibility of it was terrifying. Omega... he had to go there. As soon as possible. He would have some time, probably. The Shadow Broker loved to haggle, even with his 'allies'. And his allies were always changing rapidly. The STG knew that he and Shepard had actually always been on very good terms. So even with his allies, the Broker would make some big auction about it all, to maximise his profit, and this would take time. So there still was a chance for him to go to Omega and retrieve Shepard's body. Yes. New mission aim. Retrieve Shepard's body.
Salarian minds were quicker than the minds of asari, turians or humans, nevermind elcor or Keepers. That did not mean they were more intelligent, but rather that they were able to adapt to new situations more quickly. Also, it meant they went through emotional processes far quicker than other races. That was why Rentola was able to already formulate new plans more or less immediately after having gotten the shocking news. Still, even salarians were just organics. Even they still had emotions that could distract them. So Rentola was actually somewhat shaken, and he was in a hurry to leave the scene. After all he had thousands things to do: Organize a transport to Omega, prepare for such a journey, read up on the Shadow Broker - he was so lost in thought that he forgot his usual precautions. Inattentively, he left the building and did not notice anything on the street - until the bullet hit him.
His shoulder burst into pain. Sniper! he realized. Once again, his instincts took over. He stumbled along the residential tower's front and dove across its corner. He doubted the enemy, whoever it was, would use only a sniper. In this bad part of the town, they most likely could afford to openly send thugs to make sure he would be dead. Clutching his shoulder, he ran towards the nearest bush, an assortment of several huge ferns. Hopefully, they would provide him with cover. Besides, basics in fighting biotics: Surround yourself with loose material. If they can't aim they will hit it, instead of you.
He heard people running. The sound came toward him. He hoped his aim would still be good enough, despite his shoulder. And when he saw asari running by, he fired. Most likely it were the enemy's enforcers, and if not... Rentola preferred not to think about it. He had to get out of the situation, get the information about Shepard's body out. This had precedence. He had to suvive, the information had to survive. By any means necessary.
The asari group stopped and sought cover. A firefight erupted. The asari obviously still had no idea just where Rentola had placed himself under the farn. All of their shots missed, while he took out one after the next. Finally, he shot down the last of the thugs - but not before a lucky stray bullet did hit him. First the shoulder, now his knee. It was clear, and Rentola's quick working salarian mind immediately realized that, that there was no way he could go to Omega fast enough with those injuries. He had to get the information out.
He crawled to the nearest public extranet access point. Fortunately, he knew whom to contact, and he had her Instant Messaging adress. Her face appeared on the screen, a typical, blue asari face. When she saw him in his bloodied state she looked shocked, but she did not end the call. "Listen," Rentola croaked. "You must save Shepard's body..."
She still looked shocked, but Liara listened.
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Nothing new so far, just setting the scene. And yes, I know 'prologue' literally means 'foreword', despite using both.