Interloper 2: Chapter 4

I still had the badge of a Spectre's Deputy that Jenkins and I had stamped out of thin steel. It sat pinned to the chest of an Alliance uniform, creased from long storage in the bottom of a footlocker as I made my way from the crew quarters to the flight deck meeting room. Upon exiting the surprisingly swift elevator, I turned to pass through the armoury and continue on to the briefing. The door refused to open. I stood there and waved at it a bit. It still didn't open. I looked back over my shoulder to make sure no one had seen me. While I was looking away, the door moved quietly open.

"Can I help you?" the buzzing voice of a drell asked. I looked back, meeting large circular eyes set in a pale green, almost reptilian face.

"Oh, thanks, Thane," I said without thinking. The drell laughed, it was a gurgling sound that seemed to rattle from deep in his chest.

"You do me an honor, naming me one of the Compact, but no. My name is Feron." The name slid into place somewhere in my brain.

"You work for the Shadow Broker?" the drell's placid face gave no sign of surprise, but his voice seemed less modulated when he spoke.

"I did, until recently. Now, I am Shepard's. Tell me human, how is it that you knew this?"

"Shepard told me, of course," I bluffed. It seemed to work.

"I see. You are on the way to the briefing then?" I nodded. "Then allow me to join you, this is the way." We both walked down the short corridor that bridged the science lab to the armoury until a door at the midway point opened, revealing a lively discussion in progress. We stepped inside and the doors closed smoothly behind us. Shepard stood at the head of the room, flanked by Miranda and Garrus. The salarian who could only be Mordin Solus stood to the side, muttering to himself. On the other side of the table, there stood a strange man that I didn't recognize. He wore a solid black suit of armour with a glossy finish and bore the look of a man who didn't suffer nonsense. He wore his blond hair cropped close and his face remained locked in a look of constant disdain. Beside him stood a bald man with a narrow goatee; his eyes were shifty and his demeanor nervous. Something about him struck me as familiar. Shepard was currently talking to the surly blonde.

"And that's another thing, four security officers is not nearly enough," she finished.

"Commander, this isn't a military vessel. Four is plenty enough to secure the vessel in the event of a boarding, and that's ignoring the group of specialists we have been tasked with building," Miranda interceded.

"Yeah, and I'd be able to do my job much better if that has-been merc wasn't set up in my office," the man said.

"Look, Daniels, Miranda; I see where you're coming from, but that's not how I run my ship. Is it possible to increase the size of the security contingent?"

"I'm afraid not, Commander. All of Cerberus' security assets have either been targeted by the Broker or are otherwise engaged," Miranda chimed back in.

"Okay, I guess we'll have to make do." Shepard looked down at a datapad. "Next on the agenda, our new recruits." The room paused and looked at me. "Liddle will need some armour. Wilson, see that he's taken care of." She shot a sidelong glance at the goateed man. "Now, to get to the meat of the issue, I think it's time to bring everyone up to speed on the mission. This is what we face." She tapped something into the briefing room's table interface. An insectoid form sketched itself in thin red lines of light in the air above the table. I stared at the thing, its bipedal stance, wide, four-eyed face, and long curving cowl that swept back across its head and ended in a point. "The Collectors, insectoid aliens that have been spotted in known space for decades. No one knows who or what they are, all we know is that about six months back they started targeting Human colonies. Whole populations gone with no evidence of a fight or struggle. We caught them in the act though, on the planet Watson. A Javelin missile silo managed to get a shot off and damage one of their smaller ships. The data we recovered points to them coming from beyond the Omega-4 Relay. Our mission is to find a way to traverse the relay, strike the Collectors where they life, and make sure they don't threaten another human colony again." The room was silent, each member running the facts through their heads. "There's another thing, we have cause to believe they may have a connection to the Reapers."

"So what's our next step, Shepard?" it was Garrus who asked.

"I'm glad you asked. Here's what's going on…."


The meeting broke up shortly afterwards. Everyone had an assignment of some form, be it familiarizing themselves with the ship's weapons systems, to my own job of suiting myself up. I followed the shorter bald man out towards the armoury.

"So Wilson," I began, trying to avoid the feeling that I was forgetting something crucial, "How'd you end up on the Normandy?"

"Easy, really. I was part of the Lazarus Project; I'm also a fair hand at mech programming. Ship needed a Mech Chief, and I'm it."

"Are there a lot of mechs aboard?" I asked as we stepped through the doors into the room stacked with guns of all shapes and sizes, not having remembered any in the game.

"Of course, with Cerberus manpower being what it is, we had to replace the security detail with my mechs. Not that you'd know, the way the Commander goes on. She's old fashioned like that I guess." He finished nervously. "So, you'll be needing armour." He brought me over to wide opening in the wall about the size of an oven. The inside shone like fluid mercury. "Of course we fabricate all our own armour, cheaper that way once you break the copy protection. Here, I'll show you. The baseline model's up to Alliance N7 specs, but you can swap out just about any part." He brought up a shimmering menu in the air. I flipped through, picking parts as they struck my fancy.

"Here, I think that'll do." I stepped back and looked at the resulting suit of plates.

"Yeah, you'll have to add an extra power pack to work those though." Wilson pulled another component and placed it on the assembly. "Right, let's fire it up." The hole in the wall pulsed with a light similar to that of an Omni-tool. Tiny filaments of metal and ceramic began to stitch themselves together in the center of the device, suspended by the purple-black of a mass effect field. Finally, a folded suit of hard plates and rubbery underlayer clattered noisily to the bottom of the shelf. I pulled it out and spent the next half hour familiarizing myself with the process of putting it on and off again. It was the same dark green as my last suit, the colour of polished bloodstone, with red highlights around the shoulders and waist to match. The chest plate, of Armax Arsenal design, was molded in a split v, with a prominent ridge that ran from navel to throat. The shoulders bore the rings of shield amplifiers, as did the belt harness. Also hanging from the belt was a leg pouch that held hot-swappable ammo blocks. A spare supply of thermal clips was belted to my upper arm. The helmet in my hands was a smooth grey and completely opaque. The Kestrel headgear gave the impression of some massive dragonfly. I stood bedecked in the full suit when Garrus walked in, wearing his own, heavily scarred armour.

"Suits you, Liddle. You look like a soldier again," he noted appreciatively.

"And you look like a mess. Get in a fight with a Gunship while I was gone?"

"Good guess. Turns out the gangs of Omega don't take kindly to having their affairs messed with." The turian walked the length of the room and picked up an equally scarred sniper rifle. "Looks like this one needs scrapping, Wilson."

"I'll get you a new one as soon as we take on more platinum," The man said, taking the rifle from Garrus' hands.

"I'll miss that gun," the former C-Sec officer said, shaking his head sadly. "We've been through a lot together." He wandered across to the off white Mattock that sat on a nearby table, "This yours?"

"Yeah, I've been working on it for a while," I said.

"An odd choice. At least this means you can stop mutilating poor undeserving sniper rifles."

"My thoughts exactly." I smiled. "So how've you been?"

"Hunted across every inch of Omega, and you?" Garrus said with a chuckle. "Apart from that, I've been good. Ever since I left C-Sec I've been getting things done, really accomplishing things. I've lost some people, yes, but they knew the cause was just. I even spent a few weeks in a Blue Suns prison about five months back after they cornered me in my headquarters. You should have seen it." He looked off, as if into a great distance. "And I hear you took up farming."

"Gotta keep yourself busy." I said weakly. "So how'd you get out of the prison?"

"Fun thing about the Blue Suns' Purgatory prison ship, it's in space. There's literally nowhere to run. Now, to your run of the mill thugs and screw-ups, that alone is enough to keep them in line, but the guards aren't used to dealing with a brilliant tactical mind like mine."

"So how'd you get out?" I repeated.

"Well you see, I sent a message to my father, and he ended up calling in a Hierarchy cruiser..."


It was early in the next duty cycle when we found out where our next destination lay. I had spent the small hours either reminiscing with Garrus or comforting Liz. Fortunately, her father had pulled through; the ER staff on Cook's Landing performing a miracle. He would lose the arm, and without the money for a vat-grown would need cybernetics, but he was alive.

"Good morning passengers, this is your pilot speaking," the voice of Joker echoed on every deck, "in about half an hour, we'll be pulling alongside beautiful Zakara Ward. Please keep all arms and legs inside the spaceship until we come to a complete stop. Thank you."

"Are we really going to the Citadel?" Liz asked cheerily, "I've always wanted to go." We sat at the small crew table in the mess area, eating a tasteless brew of oatmeal and what was advertised as apple.

"It's alright," I muttered, distracted. I had been trying to find a way past the Normandy's firewalls for much of the night, but the computer worm I had been given by one of my contacts just wasn't up to the task. It was annoying to be cut off from my yellowjacket data.

"Yeah, it's only the seat of galactic government," She said, "Do you think the Commander'll let me bring back some souvenirs?"

"I'm sure she'll let you keep a few things." The resounding *clunk* of the docking tube pulsed through the hull. "Ready to go?"

"Am I." we both pulled ourselves to our feet and dropped off our bowls with the surly Mess Sergeant. He grunted gruffly and we were on our way up to the airlock. Shepard intercepted us on the elevator.

"You know you're going to have to check that thing while you're on the Citadel?" My hand went protectively to my hip holster. "You won't have all the powers of a deputized citizen until I meet with the council."

"I… uh… yeah. I suppose." I said glumly. I hadn't thought of that.


"A Devlon Stinger, can't say I've seen one of those in a while." The turian C-Sec officer said as she took my sidearm. Her eyes followed the two scars that stitched their way down one side. "I bet this one's seen some stories."

"You have no idea." I said, accepting the receipt. Shepard had been ushered off into a side passage after being recognized as dead, leaving the small shore party to its own devices. Without orders to attend the Council meeting, Liz and I had made plans to go out into the shopping district a few floors up. But before I left for that, I had some over business to attend to. I unfurled my Omni-tool, now free of the steel cage of the Normandy's cyber-defenses and with access to high speed extranet for the first time in an age. I covertly opened up my yellowjacket application, flipping through the queued actions. A few were routine, a bribe here, some flattery there, my customary flowers for Admiral Hackett's aide and the governor of Cook's Landing's favorite chocolate's to be sent and a packet of data to be received by secure dropbox. More importantly though, was a drafted letter to the Admiralty Board of the quarian Migrant Fleet. The letter I had agonized over for some time. It accused one of their number of illegal experimentation with Geth parts. The charge would most likely be treason. Part of me worried about how Tali would react to her father's work being shut down, but another part remembered how torn up she had been over her father's death. In the end the latter won out, and I sent the message spiraling away over the comm. buoys. I was about to back out and join my friend from the Landing when I noticed a flashing icon, not in yellowjacket, but in my conventional mail program. I opened it up, curious.

I have seen the evidence of your sting. I have heard the buzz of your passing. I'll be seeing you soon.