Things slowly went back to normal. Octavia went back to Cipritine. I got out of the hospital. The Citadel rebuilt.

There were changes, of course. The physical changes of reconstruction were obvious, but nearly seamless–the Keepers took care of that. The changes in the way the Citadel's populace worked were both more subtle and more fundamental. Charity was in vogue. Some of the wealthiest areas of the Citadel had been hit the hardest, and a whole class of people had just woken up to what it was like to be a victim. Aid workers poured in, many of them human. You saw whole crowds of them in neighborhoods where you'd only see them scattered one or two at a time before. Other people who'd been there longer didn't like it, and we saw more assault cases involving humans than we'd ever had before.

It probably wouldn't have reached that point at any other time—the Citadel is cosmopolitan by its very nature. But the battle had disrupted our sense of security, left everyone feeling uneasy and afraid with no real way to fix it.

I was no exception. Those days under the rubble had shaken something loose inside me. A bullet or a traffic accident can make you think you're about to die, but it's a brief and private thing. There's that shocking, icy moment of realization, and then it's over. One way or another.

Coming back after being listed MIA lets you see what happens next. It turns out that a few people will miss you, but for the most part, things will go on the way they did before. Your death isn't that important.

That's a lesson the Hierarchy tries to drill into you from the moment you enlist. Life and death are unimportant. Deeds are what matter. It's a trite saying that instructors and recruits memorize because it sounds good. Like a lot of things you learn as a kid, it takes the right kind of experience to really understand what it means.

Shepard was killed a month after the battle. I hadn't thought much of her when I met her, but you couldn't deny that there was someone whose deeds had mattered. Vakarian quit a month later, surprising no one. Whatever good Shepard had done him was undone with her death, and what was left was an angry man with too little patience and too many targets. I was glad to see him go.

Things settled, and six months after the attack, you could barely see the scars on the Presidium. Life resumed its normal rhythm, and if you'd never visited the Citadel before, you might have thought it had always been that way.

But I knew better. That sudden, profound glimpse of mortality had sunk itself deep into the heart of the station and it wouldn't go away any time soon.


The comm chimed, the code for the Zakera docks lighting up the console. I eyed it warily. It was a rough district, but the kind of trouble Zakera brewed didn't typically warrant a call to my office.

I picked up and the visual came in. It took me a moment to place the face—Alin Talax, a quiet junior customs officer with a steady, unremarkable record. Not the sort to habitually bypass the chain of command.

"Report, Talax."

He shifted nervously in place before replying. "Uh, sir. Might have a situation down here. Someone just walked through my post claiming to be Commander Shepard."

I blinked. "She's dead."

"Dead ringer for the publicity photos and the DNA scanner says it's her. I passed her through based on that before I got a good look at that ship she came in on." Talax shook his head and his voice went flat. "Sir, it's got a registration from some backwater Alliance agricultural colony, but it's the real thing, top of the line military hardware, and it's flying Cerberus colors."

I hissed out quietly through my teeth. "No one else gets on or off that ship. Stall them if you have to."

"Yes, sir."

"Where's Shepard now?"

"On her way to the tower. Saw her get in the shuttle myself. Two others with her—male turian in blue with some bad scars and an older male salarian, missing a horn."

I spared a moment of curiosity for that. A non-human presence was a significant departure from Cerberus' usual MO. "Noted. Be on the alert and stand by for further orders."

Cerberus on station with a Shepard imposter headed for the tower. I was going to kill Bailey.

I keyed in the code for the tower squad on my console.

"Ratil."

"Three suspicious persons en route to your location. Human woman, red hair, posing as Commander Shepard. Accompanied by a turian and a salarian, both with visible scars. Detain and hold for questioning."

Ratil's forehead creased. "Sir, they're already here. We had orders from the human Councilor's office to pass them through."

What?

"Patch me through to the Councilor's office."

"Yes sir."

The display faded, and a plump human face came into view. "Councilor Anderson's office."

"This is Executor Pallin. Get me the Councilor. Now."

The man blinked rapidly. "I'm sorry sir, but—"

There was the sound of a door opening and the secretary looked off-screen, saying something the microphone didn't pick up. A moment later, the display jostled and another human face appeared, this one familiar.

"Anderson speaking."

"Councilor, C-Sec received a report of a person claiming to be Commander Shepard entering your office."

"That's correct. Commander Shepard was here to meet with the Council for reinstatement as a Spectre."

I paused. Human faces were normally expressive, but Anderson's was giving nothing away. "You're saying that really is Shepard."

The corner of the Councilor's mouth twitched. "Rumors of her death have been greatly exaggerated."

"She came in on a ship with Cerberus stamped all over it. I'm hoping there's a good explanation for that."

Anderson hesitated, and something shifted in his expression so quickly I almost didn't catch it. "I'm afraid that's Spectre business, Executor. I can assure you that no danger is posed to the Citadel. I'd request that C-Sec not hinder Commander Shepard in any way."

I stared at him for a moment, but he didn't budge, so I gritted out a "yes sir" and cut the connection. I eyed the console, trying to turn the situation into something that made sense, and made another call.

"Sparatus."

I didn't bother with a preamble. "I've got a Cerberus ship on Dock 24 with a dead Spectre aboard. The human Councilor's office claims she's the real thing."

He grimaced, mandibles clenching and releasing. "That's accurate. She appears to be who she says she is, and the Alliance wants their Spectre back. They're willing to push on this one."

"You're saying Spectre rights and privileges still apply."

"Correct."

I stared at him for a second before speaking. "With all due respect, I don't want anything to do with Cerberus on this station."

Sparatus shook his head grimly. "I don't like it either. I like it even less when the Alliance pushes for us to turn a blind eye to it."

I waited, as Sparatus tapped his fingers absently on the desk, thinking. After a minute, he spoke. "Shepard has a Spectre's immunity. But the potential involvement of Cerberus in Alliance official affairs is troubling, and can't be allowed to go unexamined." He met my eyes. "Investigate. Cautiously. If Cerberus is becoming active in Alliance politics, we need to know about it. But keep it quiet—no additional C-Sec involvement without prior clearance. This is a political nightmare if it gets out."

I nodded slowly. "Understood."

"Then good hunting, Executor."

The call terminated. I did my best to get the sour taste of politics out of my mouth before getting back on the comm to pass down the orders on Shepard.


Afterwards, I reviewed Bailey's security footage. It looked like her. Talked like her, from what I remembered of our brief meetings. And the turian with her was definitely Vakarian, if somewhat worse for wear. Vakarian was a lot of things, but "gullible" wasn't one of them. If that wasn't Shepard, it was a damned good facsimile.

Maybe Shepard's death had been some kind of cover story, but the involvement of Cerberus was still a puzzle. The association with a prominent Alliance figure was startling, but what really got my attention was the lack of subtlety. If Cerberus had wanted to stay unnoticed, all it would have taken was a new coat of paint on that ship.

Maybe it was just braggadocio. Maybe Cerberus believed they had the political capital to operate openly.

Or maybe they were trying to deflect attention from something else.

So I began sifting through the activities of the Alliance embassy, looking for patterns. I was half convinced that the whole thing would evaporate on scrutiny. Most conspiracies do. But gradually, I began to find traces of something big. Administrative personnel rotations bypassing C-Sec immigration screening. Money earmarked for projects which vanished into thin air. A handful of messages using non-Alliance-standard encryption protocols. None of it was enough to make a case, but the discrepancies were pervasive enough and organized enough to make me think again about that surge in human immigration after the battle. The station had been operating under emergency conditions at the time and we'd needed all the aid we could get. We hadn't had the time or resources to follow our usual immigrations process. It would have been easy for Cerberus to slip onto the Citadel without anyone the wiser.

The more I dug, the more I found, and the more nervous I became. It got so that I was uneasy leaving my notes in my office. Much of C-Sec was human now, hired after the battle to fill out the ranks. I put the information on a datapad and started leaving it in one of the storage annexes. In retrospect, it sounds crazy. Paranoid. Even at the time, it felt slightly ridiculous. But I was increasingly sure that I had stumbled onto something dangerous.

Everything I had was circumstantial. Naturally. Nothing solid enough to hang anything on, especially not a case potentially implicating a Council member. All I could do was wait and watch. Big organizations all screw up eventually. It's in their nature. I just had to be ready to catch it when it happened.

I thought I had it when Anderson stepped down from the Council and Udina took his place. The activity I'd been monitoring tripled in volume. The spike was alarming enough that I took a few more chances than I had before, hoping to finally get something concrete.

I came in one day to find my office had been searched.

It was a clean job. Careful, but not quite professional. Whoever had done it didn't know Hierarchy common script – they'd put my files back in reverse order. Slowly, I sat down, and went to work as usual, trying to ignore the chill up my spine. When the midday break came, I headed for the storage annex where I kept my information on Cerberus.

When I got there, I dug the datapad out of its hiding place and forwarded everything on it to Sparatus, along with a note on the state of my office. Case or no case, the situation had become alarming enough to take action.

The door hissed open and shut, and I froze.

"Executor Pallin?"

Two human men, both in C-Sec uniform. It explained how they'd gotten the door open, at least. They stepped forward into the room's lighting and I recognized them. Smith and Wallace were a good street team who had a regular patrol in the sector. I relaxed fractionally, but kept my distance.

"Smith. Wallace. Is there an issue?"

Wallace, the smaller of the two, shook his head. "Sir. We caught sight of you ducking in here and just wanted to make sure there wasn't a problem."

"Your diligence is commendable," I said dryly.

"Thank you, sir." He nodded to the datapad. "Can we assist with anything?"

"No, thank you, I have everything well in hand. Return to your patrol."

Smith lunged forward. I snapped backwards, but he was faster than he looked, and seized my hand, armored thumb digging at the vulnerable gap between the bones of my fingers. I dropped the datapad and hissed, trying to get my other hand on my weapon, but Smith saw it coming and yanked forward, throwing me off balance. He caught my arm as I pitched forward and spun me, twisting my hands behind my back.

"Get off me!"

Smith ignored me, but for a grunt as I tried to twist my hand through his thumbs. "Got him. Hurry up."

"Looks like it's on here," said Wallace, examining the datapad I'd dropped. "Convenient."

"Then stop screwing around and plant the stuff. I can't hold him forever."

"Don't rush it. It needs to look good," Wallace grumbled, but opened up his omnitool interface and initiated a connection with the datapad.

I shouted and twisted, hooking my left spur under Smith's knee and heaving. It felt like someone had taken a set of pliers to the joint, but I felt the spur dig into the gap behind the knee armor and Smith went down hard, freeing one of my hands. Wallace shouted something and fumbled at his sidearm. I drew faster, and put a bullet through him before he finished sighting. Smith's hand wrapped around my aching knee and pulled me down.

For a long minute, we wrestled for the gun. Smith was heavier and about twenty years younger. I was taller and pointier. I got lucky and managed to dig my elbow into his solar plexus. Smith's grip on the weapon loosened fractionally, and I wrenched it free.

I shot him point blank between the eyes.

For a second afterwards, I lay under the body, breathing hard, the buzz of adrenaline wearing off and the ache of my knee and hand coming back. I closed my eyes once, slowly, then rolled the body off me and limped over to check on Wallace.

I'd gotten luckier than I thought. My shot had skated under his jaw and through his neck. He must have bled out in seconds. The corpse was still holding the datapad.

The door hissed open again, and I ducked behind a storage unit.

Three cautious footsteps, and then a pause and the rustle of cloth as the intruder bent over Wallace. I risked a look out.

Bailey. Not an officer I would have picked out as being on Cerberus' payroll. I wasn't fond of him—too many things in his district happened off the books. But he didn't suffer fools or thugs, and he didn't distinguish between criminals or victims of difference species.

He picked up the datapad, and I weighed my options. I decided to take my chances and came out, pistol raised. I needed that evidence.

"Stand up slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them."

Bailey froze, and then complied, still holding the datapad. For a moment, we stared at each other over the still-warm bodies.

"Why are you here, Captain?"

Bailey's face remained carefully neutral. "Got a line from Councilor Udina that you might be mixed up with some unsavory sorts. He sent me over to see what you were keeping down here."

My mandibles flared out wide at that, and I quickly controlled my expression. Maybe Bailey wasn't knowingly involved with Cerberus, or maybe he was. Either way, I didn't trust him with whatever Wallace had downloaded onto that datapad. I nodded towards it. "Put that on the floor and slide it over. Gently."

He edged forward and did as I said. I took the pad and tucked it under my arm one-handed, watching for any suspicious movement from Bailey. Nothing came. He was between me and the door, and I motioned him to step aside. I hesitated a moment before speaking again. Maybe Bailey was just as guilty as Wallace and Smith had been. But if he wasn't, he deserved the warning.

"Don't trust Udina. He's dirty."

He stepped aside, watching me carefully. "He said the same about you. And it's you I found with two dead officers and a datapad with your picture all over it."

"This isn't what it looks like," I ground out.

Bailey watched me, his eyes narrow and hard. For a moment, his gaze flicked back to the bodies, and then some of the tension went out of his face. "You know, I'd tell anybody else to save it for the arresting officers. But nothing about this smells right. I've worked for you for a while, and you're a cold, uptight son of a bitch, but you're as straight as they come." He paused. "And I've worked with enough turians to know you guys can't lie for shit." He looked me right in the eye. "Get out of here. Get off station. Don't come back."

Under any other circumstances, I would have torn a strip off him and broken him back to officer for that. Things being what they were, I said, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just don't make a liar out of me."

By the next morning, I was off-station and officially dead. Again.