Chapter Seven: Cowboys
Shepard froze, staring down the barrel of the pistol. It was a heavier, semi-automatic model designed for armor penetration, but not GDI issue. However, even at the extremely close range of the car's interior, the barrel didn't quite extend far enough to reach inside her suit's barriers. The first round would smash into her shields and be stopped flat.
Unless it was a phasic or photon round, which she suspected they had loaded. In that case it would simply lose the majority of its momentum bypassing her barriers, and then cave in her skull. There was a reason assassins and hitmen preferred that kind of loadout.
Beside her, she could feel Anderson tensing up. Options were grim. There was no way she could draw her sidearm fast enough to shoot the passenger. Biotics were too slow and too visible; even a small, quick flex of her power would be accompanied by the characteristic pulse of dark energy and the vertigo of shifting gravity fields. He'd get a shot off before she was a quarter of the way through.
"Unholster your weapon," the passenger said, his voice filtered but distinctly male. That ruled out asari. It also didn't have the guttural resonance of a batarian, either. Human. "Hand it over, nice and slow. Butt first."
She narrowed her eyes, considering. She wouldn't be able to draw the weapon and shoot him – not before he'd get a shot off, and there was no room to dodge in the tight confines of the car. Even if he missed with the first shot, he'd hit with the subsequent ones. But if she could keep his attention locked on her, even for an instant, Anderson could grab the weapon and at least lock it down long enough that she could use her biotics.
Though she did her best to keep her face and body language still and unreadable, the passenger seemed to pick up on her plotting. He shifted in place, leaning a bit back, and pointed his pistol at Anderson. The Captain's uniform didn't come with barriers or any defensive measures beyond standard military ballistic weave. Without a helmet, a single shot from that range would blow his skull to pieces.
The situation didn't present her with any immediate options. She shifted gears, considering the enemy's possible affiliations and motivations. They didn't want her dead, that much was clear; they had access to a GDI vehicle and uniforms, so they could easily have just flown in a drone-controlled car with a bomb, or spun around and hosed the rear seats with a submachinegun.
She slowly reached down and removed her pistol from the magnetic clamp on her thigh. Stalling for time was unlikely to work; Kaidan and Jacob might miss them, but it would be a while, and they'd be less able to track the car the further away it got from the embassy. C-Sec was out of the question; GDI would take a while slogging through the process of getting their disappearance reported and getting a response mounted.
Once they had her weapon, she surmised as she lifted it up, they'd take them to wherever their hideout was, probably using Anderson as a check on her behavior until they could restrain her. Interrogation would likely ensue. The pistol rose, unfolding automatically, and both the passenger and the driver visibly tensed up until she turned the weapon around, handing it butt-first to the passenger.
Whoever this enemy was, if they were kidnapping them for intelligence or as hostages, then she couldn't allow them to be taken; they likely wouldn't survive anyway. If she acted, however, Anderson would likely die. That meant it was either Anderson, or both of them.
She made the decision.
The passenger reached up to take the pistol from her fingers with his other hand. He grasped the handle of Shepard's sidearm and started to pull it back, when her hand darted forward, grabbing his forearm and yanking as hard as she could.
Anderson reacted faster than she expected, twisting sideways. The pistol went off, intensely loud in the cramped quarters. There was the sickening, squishy slap of a round penetrating human flesh, and the smell of blood. Shepard twisted her wrist as she pulled, turning the passenger's own hand and squeezing as hard as she could, while her other arm shot forward, hand flattening into a palm aimed for the helmet's chin. Her armored palm hit and snapped the passenger's head back, and his pistol discharged again, while Shepard's sidearm clattered to the floor.
Then every display in the car exploded.
Glass and plastic and bits of metal careened around the interior of the vehicle, scattering off barriers and scoring against armor. Shepard jerked back as electricity arced around the tiny space, reminding her of the discharge from an overload or other ECM grenade. The car twisted in midair, the driver shouting something in shock or panic, while the passenger fell backward against the door on his side, shaking his head. Shepard spared an instant to glance at Anderson, and saw blood weeping from his left upper arm. He was otherwise unharmed, if dazed by the sudden explosion, and she surged forward toward the passenger, dark energy twisting around her as she prepared to hit him hard enough to splatter him across the windshield.
The pulse of raw force went into the windshield instead, as the car twisted sideways, the blast cracking the transparent barrier. The vehicle tumbled and spun, careening out of control, the driver screaming something about electronics being disrupted. Shepard was tossed against the rear driver-side door as the vehicle spun, Anderson flopping over her, his blood splattering into her face.
Then, out the window, she saw the façade of one of the Ward's skyscrapers rising up toward them, sapients of every shape and size scrambling out of the way before-
They hit. The transparent barriers crashed inward, deforming under the impact and absorbing the energy of the car. Shepard felt rather than heard the crash, shuddering through her body, and was chucked forward against the driver's seat. An eyeblink later, there was another thundering impact, and then . . . .
Stillness.
" . . . is now element zero. Confidently: anything is possible when . . . ."
Pain rolled through her body as Shepard slid back into consciousness. She shook her head, which made the pain worse. She could hear sparking cables, a laboring engine, and in the background, what sounded like an advertisement of an elcor droning on about body wash.
"Smug: I am on a rachni."
Shepard pushed off the floor of the car, looking up, and as the passenger-side door was forced open, the armored man on that side of the car kicking viciously in an effort to get free. The driver lay slumped, blood sheeting over his or her torso, a hand-sized shard of glass embedded in his/her throat. Anderson lay beside her, the captain looking as if he'd taken a beating; blood pulsed from his arm wound and he lay unconscious, a nasty welt across his forehead.
The passenger-side door crashed open, and the armored figure scrambled free. She had to make a decision. The driver was down. Not likely to be recovering but not certain. Help would be inbound in minutes, so the Captain would likely survive. She didn't have time for a medigel application. She looked up at the passenger as he scrambled out of the car.
"No," she growled.
Reality twisted around her fingers, and the passenger was lifted off his feet and hurled three meters into a holodisplay showing an absurdly muscular elcor wearing some sort of white loincloth and blue towel draped over its shoulders, sitting atop a big insect-like creature. The man went straight the display, shattering it into a dozen pieces of glass and plastic and thin metal, and went sprawling.
Now she had time for a medigel application. It took only a second to open and spread the pack and its associated bandage over the Captain's wound, and once she finished, Shepard scrambled over him. She glanced around for her pistol, but the sidearm was nowhere to be found. Probably had flown out during the crash. She dismissed it and kicked out the rear passenger-side door, then clambered out of the vehicle right as the passenger started to stand. He glanced back toward her, his movements a bit drunken and loose, and then bolted toward the shattered windows of the building.
The jetpack he wore on the rear of his armor flared to life.
Shepard snarled, bolting after him, and her biotics flared up again, blue light coiling around her as she closed. She didn't have the energy or focus to create a powerful mass effect field so quickly after generating the last one, so she settled on making a quick, weak one. Gravity twisted around the passenger as he ran and just as he fired the thruster, he was suddenly spinning around, weightless for a brief moment.
The jetpack fired, but now he was oriented toward the ceiling. He went straight up, spinning wildly in mid-air, and body-planted against the ceiling. He then went tumbling down to the floor and crashed with the impact of ceramic on metal.
Shepard dashed toward him, knowing that without her pistol she was going to have to do this the old-fashioned, dirty way with brutal hand-to-hand violence. In the distance, she thought she heard sirens, and the sounds of incoming aircars.
He was starting to stand again - had to hand it to the man for sheer resilience - as she closed in. He looked up, saw her approaching, and snapped up his pistol. The sidearm flashed - one shot hit her shields, and then she was on him, right shoulder pivoting to lead into a body-check while her left hand rose up, grabbed the wrist of his gun hand, and lifted it up and out. He went tumbling backward, and Shepard went with him. They pitched over a metal bench and a concrete planter, and crashed to the floor on the far side.
He pushed up, his free hand balling into a fist and swinging. Shepard ducked her head, the blow clipping her on the cheek, but she grit her teeth through the jarring impact and pushed down, pinning his gun hand. Her right arm coiled in tight, fending off another punch, and she shoved her forearm down across the man's throat.
He gasped in surprise, free arm pumping and trying to hit her and drive her back, but she pressed all her weight down on her right arm, choking off his air supply. He gasped for a couple of seconds, and then his legs shot up, scissoring around her waist and locking in tight. She blinke din confusion, not sure what he was attempting - the rigid armored plates would prevent him from contracting his legs and squeezing her.
Then his whole body twisted in a single, jerking, spasmic movement to her left. It wasn't enough to throw her off, but it let him rise up, for just an instant.
Then there was noise, and she was spinning around and tumbling through the air.
The flight was brief, only lasting an instant, and as Shepard rolled away, she understood. He'd twisted around to give his jetpack an angle to fire at, and triggered the thrusters on his left side - spinning them both around and allowing him to improvise a leg-toss.
"Clever bastard," she muttered as she rolled up to her feet. He had flipped himself all the way over onto his stomach with the violent, brief burst from his jetpack, and was starting to stand, pistol rising again.
She focused, snarled, and another biotic pulse rushed through her. Once again, Shepard didn't have the focus or energy to create a powerful blow, so she instead focused on making it count. She sent the shove low, the altered gravity hitting him across the knees.
He lost his balance, falling forward and dropping to his knees. His free hand slapped down against the floor to arrest his fall, and he looked up, raising his pistol again.
The tip of Shepard's boot swept up into his helmet's chin, snapping his head back. He fell backward, then his feet sliced out and hit her in the knee of her other leg before she could regain her balance. She dropped to the floor, and immediately planted her hands and feet, pushing back up.
Shepard barely managed to rise to her knees before he body checked her, knocking her to the ground. His free hand slapped down over her face, pushing her head to the ground and the pistol-
Thwoom!
The man suddenly went limp, his armored body collapsing down onto Shepard, blood and other matter erupting from one side of his hlemet. She blinked in surprise, and pushed the sudden corpse up off of her chest. From there she had a good angle with which to see the neat, bloody hole that had been blown in one side of the man's helmet, and the much more ragged and gory hole on the other side.
Shepard stared for a second, recognizing a well-placed round from a long rifle, and pushed the corpse the rest of the way off her. A shadow fell over her, blotting out one of the holographic lights, and she looked up.
A turian loomed over her, clad in blue-black armor. In his hands he held a scoped carbine, and mounted on the left side of his head was a wraparound holographic visor.
"Shepard?" he asked. "Commander Shepard, I take it?" He reached down, extending a hand toward her. She took it, and the turian hauled her up. As she rose, she could see his face more clearly; the mask-like visage was bare, save for some conservative blue markings along the mandibles.
"Yeah," she said as she rose to her feet. "Good shot . . . ."
"Vakarian," the turian said. "Spectre Garrus Vakarian. And you're welcome, Commander."
Shepard scowled as the C-Sec medic checked her out. Behind her, the thrumming of an ambulance's engine could be heard as it lifted off, carrying her unconscious Captain into the air to a hospital, a pair of C-Sec armored cars following it in escort.
Garrus Vakarian stood a short distance away, having spoken to the C-Sec officer in charge of the scene. They'd arrived with their usual timely efficiency - less than two minutes after the fact, and set up a perimeter around the crime scene. He suspected that they would have arrested Shepard immediately, if he hadn't been present to essentially tell the police to lay off.
His mandibles tightened against his jaw as he walked toward the crashed aircar. He'd been an officer for C-Sec for a year, after he'd mustered out of the military and following in the footsteps of his father, but the rigidity of the system had grated against his sense of right and wrong. Procedure, he felt, should never stand in the way of action. He'd had countless arguments with his father about that.
When the Council had begun expanding the number of Spectres several years ago, in response to GDI's belligerency and the Verge War, he'd taken the opportunity to join up, and to hell with what his father wanted.
Garrus crouched beside the air car, peering at the corpse in the driver's seat. Clean puncture through the throat from crash-glass. No way the driver had even a hope of surviving. He fired up his omnitool and accessed the car's navigational computer, and found it was locked down with GDI security protocols.
Interesting, he thought. The attackers here had access to GDI encryption.
Encrypted or not, the data was easy enough to copy. Once he got past the security protocols, he could determine where these two disguised assassins were attempting to take Shepard and Anderson.
His eyes flicked to the two corpses in GDI uniforms. How were these men connected with the dead quarians? And why were they interested in a GDI naval officer and a Commando?
Well, why don't you just ask?
Garrus rose and walked toward the sitting Shepard, who was scowling as a salarian EMT was checking her over.
"No apparent injuries," the salarian medic said as he checked her over with his omnitool. "Mild concussion, but nothing that some medigel and rest can't take care of."
She nodded, politely thanking the medic but refusing any of his treatments. He packed up and stood, and backed away as the armored specter of Garrus strode over toward them.
"You picked a hell of a time to show up," she said, rising. The turian nodded, and gestured toward the car.
"To be honest, I wasn't looking for you," he said. "I was looking for them."
"I'm not going to look a gift turian in the mouth," she said, and the Spectre barked out a laugh. "Though this is pretty convenient for us to meet like this. I was getting set to go looking for you instead."
"Why?" Garrus asked, curious.
"I have a lead on one of your fellow Spectres," Shepard said. "Former compatriot, actually."
"Saren," Garrus said, growling, and nodded. "I have to admit, I was a bit elated to hear he'd turned traitor. Always thought he was dirty. What kind of lead?"
"Seven dead quarians," she said, and he slowly nodded.
And there's the connection. Maybe that year as a C-Sec detective hadn't been all that useless.
Shepard sat in the passenger seat of Vakarian's car as he weaved through traffic. He moved calmly, almost sedately, as he drove her toward the GDI Embassy. He'd been kind enough to give her a lift, but when he brought up the navigational data on the GDI aircar, she understood why he was eager to get her to the Embassy. They both wanted to know where the would-be kidnappers had been headed, and they both knew that he wouldn't get GDI assistance on the matter without someone to help him get in.
She thought she saw data flicking across the eyepiece the turian wore. She thought about what Kane had told her. It was still hard to believe, even when her guts were telling her that it was true. But the implications . . . .
No. She could puzzle through them later. They had a lead to follow up on, and a turian ex-Spectre to track down and ventilate.
"What's your interest in the quarians?" she asked, and Garrus muttered something. After a few moments, likely spent considering exactly what to tell her, he started to explain. He told her about what he'd found regarding the quarians: the shoot-out, the executions, the wounded quarian taken away as prisoner, and their weapons.
"Okay," she said, after a while. "Sounds like Brotherhood weaponry. You said you were tailing the guys who grabbed us?"
"Yeah," the Spectre said, nodding. "I was fortunate I caught them right after they ambushed the two soldiers sent to pick you up. Otherwise I never would have known they were after you."
"You let them land at the Citadel Tower?" she asked, and he nodded.
"It was a risk, but I needed to find who they were after," he said. "Fortunately, I did."
"How did you track them?" she asked, and he grunted.
"Long story, lot of leads," he said. "Starting from the massacre of those quarians."
"What leads did you have?" she asked.
"None, at first," he said. "The weapons didn't lead anywhere, because there were no serial markings on the shipment and no one on the Citadel that I knew of was moving lasers on that small a scale. Like you guessed, I suspected Brotherhood involvement, but otherwise had no immediate leads. I decided to run down the possibility of mercenaries being hired to hit the quarians. I didn't expect much, but I knew if anyone knew about financial movements on the Citadel, it would be Barla Von."
"Who's that?" she asked.
"Volus financier," the turian said, bringing the car around onto another lane of airborne traffic. "He keeps an eye on important people on the station, tracks money transfers, and works for the Shadow Broker as a free agent. I've used him a lot to get leads I needed."
"What happened?" she asked.
"Ah, Spectre Vakarian," the filtered voice said. "What an unexpected surprise."
Garrus strode into the volus' spare office, his mandibles widening slightly in the turian equivalent of a polite smile. It certainly wasn't a surprise to the little enviro-suited money mover; if a Spectre was coming to visit him, the volus knew it the moment they set foot on the Presidium.
"Barla," he said quickly. "I don't have much time, so I'll get to the point. A merc squad was hired today to do a hit on some quarians. Do you know anything about it?"
"Blunt as always, Spectre," Barla Von said, nodding. He inhaled on his suit's gas rebreather. "Indeed. Many mercenaries were hired this day, across the Citadel. But that is business as usual."
"Do you know who hit the quarians or not?" Garrus asked, his mandibles tightening.
"No," Barla replied. He inhaled again, his tri-digited hands moving over the haptic interface of his multi-screen display. "But with some deduction, I can figure it out."
Garrus walked around to peer at the volus' screen. Barla Von was not usually worried about what information the turian saw, as most of it was financial coding and graphs that revealed very little to those ill-trained in the arcane lore of accounting. To garrus, it might as well have been hanar acid-glyph-scrawls.
"I have records for monetary transfers for seventeen different groups of mercenaries who were hired over the last five days who had the numbers and equipment to hit a group of that size." Inhale. "None of them fit's the profile, however. They received payments or moved off-station before the quarians were attacked."
"Then it wasn't mercs," Garrus said, to which Barla shook his head.
"Not necessarily," he said. His fingers tapped the display, sifting through more data. "I have no financial records as well. Weapons or drug transfers, perhaps. They may have been paid in material, not money." Inhale. A few moments passed.
Barla went still, and Garrus blinked.
"What did you find?" he asked.
"Saren Arterius," Barla mumrued, his filtered tone curious. "One moment."
Data flashed across the display, almost too fast for Garrus to follow it. Of course, even if it could, it was in the damned accounting language and coding he'd never begin to understand.
"A shell company for Binary Helix made a transfer of weapons, iridium, and element zero to a subsidiary of a Citadel-based mercenary group, the Iron Jaws," Barla said. Inhale. "Transferred by a criminal by the name of Fist. Known associate of Saren and the Shadow Broker."
"What relevance does this have?" Garrus asked, curious.
"The Shadow Broker recently hired a bounty hunter to kill Fist," Barla said, glancing up at Garrus. "Apparently, Fist did something most foolish." Inhale. "For a lot of money, it seems.
"Transfer occurred yesterday," Barla continued. "Lot numbers for transfer indicate one half of shipment was sent today while the rest remains in a cargo transport in dock."
"Half now, half on delivery," Garrus said. "Suspicious, but not proof they were involved in this."
"Twelve Iron Jaw agents received payment for services rendered today an hour after the ambush on the quarians," Barla continued. "Credit transfers. They did not move off-station to carry out the operation that got them the payment." Inhale.
"That can't be coincidence," Garrus said.
"No," Barla said. "Wait. Checking . . . Interesting. Cross-checking known sellers associated with the Iron Jaws." Inhale. His next words were intrigued. "Ah. They are attempting to find potential buyers for human-made weapons mods. Laser modules, designed for Werewolf-style systems. Looted from dead quarians, I would suppose."
Garrus straightened, mandibles twitching.
"Then I need go pay these mercenaries a visit."
"Was that the proof you needed?" Shepard asked. Garrus shook his head.
"Spectres don't need proof," he said. "Just evidence. There's a difference."
"What happened?" she asked. "There's the chance you might have been wrong."
"If I was, I would have ended up killing mercenaries," Garrus said. "No loss to the galaxy anyway, right?"
"Maybe," Shepard said, shrugging.
"But I wasn't wrong," Garrus said, his voice tight but satisfied. "It just took me a while."
"So you went after the mercenaries," she said. "How?"
"I couldn't just walk up to them and ask," he said. "So I did the next best thing."
The warehouse wall exploded in with a deafening crash of metal, ceramic, and screaming engines. Debris careened around the room, glass rained from shattered panes, and a cargo hauler plowed into the room. Cargo crates went scattering, tumbling down with resounding crashes and crunching impacts. The hauler, seven meters tall and eight wide, came to a halt.
The Iron Jaw mercenaries recoiled in shock and surprise. Two of them were sprawled on the floor, hit by flying debris, while the other two went for their weapons.
Garrus stepped out of the hauler's cab, assault rifle shouldered, and he fired two quick tech grenades, one after the other, from the launcher on his omnitool. Flashes of blue anr reddish lighting played over the two standing Iron jaw mercs, overloading their weapons and suit systems. His assault rifle barked as he strode forward, hitting one mercenary in the knees with two precise shots that dropped him to the floor. The other managed to get a shotgun up, only to find the weapon to be convinced it was overheating.
Garrus strode up toward the mercenary as he futilely pulled the trigger and beat him across the face with his rifle.
He walked around, kicking weapons away from prone mercenaries and doling out quick knee shots to those who weren't already blessed with them. Finally, he singled out the senior most mercenary of the group, a batarian, and hauled him to his feet.
"I'm in a hurry today," Garrus said, meeting both sets of the batarian's eyes. "So I'll be right out of here if you just tell me where the quarians are."
"Subtle," Shepard said, and Garrus shrugged. "You find the quarians?"
"They didn't know," Garrus said. "Pity. Would have saved the whole group a lot of trouble."
"What happened next?" she asked, and Garrus chuckled.
The warehouse wall exploded in with a deafening crash of metal, ceramic, and screaming engines. Debris careened around the room, glass rained from shattered panes, and a cargo hauler plowed into the room. Cargo crates went scattering, tumbling down with resounding crashes and crunching impacts. The hauler, seven meters tall and eight wide, came to a halt, its front scarred from impact damage.
The Iron Jaw mercenaries recoiled in shock and surprise. Three of them were sprawled on the floor, hit by flying debris, while the other four went for their weapons.
Garrus stepped out of the hauler's cab, assault rifle shouldered.
"Ah," Shepard said. If it worked once . . . . "How many warehouses do the Iron Jaws have?"
"Quite a few," Garrus said, his tone a bit weary. "That group didn't know either."
"What happened next?" she asked. He glanced to her.
The warehouse wall exploded in with a deafening crash of metal, ceramic, and screaming engines. Debris careened around the room, glass rained from shattered panes, and a cargo hauler plowed into the-
"I get it," Shepard said. "How many warehouses did you crash?
"Six," Garrus said. "That hauler got pretty battered. I eventually got some information I could use from those idiots."
"What did you find?"
"The survivor of the attack was a male quarian," he said. "They handed him over to the criminal who hired them, Fist. They didn't know where he'd taken him, but there was a batarian who did. Name was Dorman Kint. Turns out he was the leader of the mercs in the first warehouse I visited. I figured if I hurried back, I might catch him."
The warehouse wall exploded-
"Again?" Shepard asked.
"I've yet to encounter a potentially dangerous situation that can't be defused by smashing through a wall," Garrus replied.
"Just get the important part," she said.
It took Garrus a few kicks to knock open the battered door of the cargo hauler, but he got it open and strode out, assault rifle in hand.
The warehouse was empty of mercenaries. Across the room was the large hole he'd battered in the wall the first time he'd arrived.
"Well, shit," he muttered.
"Turns out one didn't need one's legs to operate an aircar," Garrus said. "So I went after him. Tracked him down through C-Sec."
"You hit him with the cargo hauler while he was airborne?" she guessed, and he scoffed.
"Of course not," he said.
Dorman Kint landed his aircar at the lot outside the docks the Iron jaws operated. He clambered out, wincing as he limped across the landing zone. The medigel dulled the pain and had closed the gunshot wounds from the insane turian who'd been hitting their warehouses for the last couple of hours.
He'd been in touch with his men, warning them of the turian's involvement, and had sent a message to Fist to alert him as well. He didn't like the human, but he was a business partner who kept-
Noise hammered Dint, and he was lifted up and tossed a dozen meters away. He flopped down onto the ceramic surface of the aircar lot, his armor crunching and dizziness sweeping through his body. He rolled a couple of times before coming to a halt, ears ringing and all four eyes blurry. He blinked a couple of times, and looked to his car.
It was on fire.
The ground shivered, as if some powerful hovercraft was nearby, and he tried sitting up. Nausea rolled through him, and he nearly vomited.
Twelve meters away, a hover tank with C-Sec markings settled to the ground, and the door on the side opened.
Garrus Vakarian emerged, assault rifle in hand.
"Being able to requisition any Citadel vehicle has its perks," Garrus added.
"And Dint?" Shepard asked. She had made a conscious choice to stop being surprised by Garrus' antics at this point.
"Talked," Garrus said. "Truthfully, this time. Didn't even need to lift a hand, except to give him some medigel. Disappointing. But he told me where they took the quarian. I paid Fist a visit."
"How many people died?" she asked.
"Fewer than you'd think," he said with a shrug.
Garrus stepped over a half-dozen bodyguards, a couple of them still breathing but with ragged, bleeding holes in their legs and arms where he'd been able to place incapacitating shots. Of course, there was no truly "safe" place on a person to shoot (unless one was a krogan) but Garrus had taken pains to try to put shots where fatalities were least likely to happen. Even so, seven of Fist's guards wouldn't be making their next paycheck.
He strode into the back room of Chora's Den, the club that had until a few minutes ago been a bustling morass of writhing bodies, illegal substances, and bad dance music, at least until Garrus had triggered the fire alarm. Once the civilians had cleared out, he went in, and Fist's guards had opened fire on him.
As the human saying went, hilarity ensued.
He was being subtle this time. He didn't crash a vehicle into the building, at least.
Fist exhibited the same level of wisdom as his guards.
"Die, you fucking skull-faced Spectre fuck-head!" he had yelled as Garrus entered his office. The human criminal hefted an assault rifle, while auto-defense turrets rose on either side of his spacious desk.
Garrus exhaled, the noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl, and his omnitool auto-executed a series of EW programs he'd coded that overloaded the shields and shut down the guns on both of Fist's turrets. Garrus raised his rifle and sent a few bursts into either turret, blowing them apart, and as Fist gaped in surprise, Garrus shot him in the knee.
"Should have spent a bit more on security," the Spectre said as he walked around the desk to where Fist lay, writhing and reaching for his dropped weapon. Garrus kicked it away from his fingers. "At least then, this might have taken some work."
"What do you want?" Fist asked, his bravado fading into terror and pain.
"The quarian," Garrus said, and dragged Fist up to face him. He shifted his stance to make sure Fist's weight was on his injured knee.
"I don't know where he is," the human muttered, face contorting in agony. "But I know where you can find him!"
"So . . . You know where he is," Garrus said, and Fist let out a whimper of pain. "Where?"
"If I tell you, they'll kill me!" Fist protested.
"Fist," Garrus said, shaking his head, tone amiable. "You already told me you know where they took him, and now you're going to hold out on me?" He put the barrel of his rifle against the criminal's knee. "You've got another kneecap, along with some elbows you really are going to need in the future. After all, you betrayed the Shadow Broker. You're not going to do a good job outrunning his assassins without any knees."
Fist continued to wince, but slowly nodded.
"Okay, okay," he whimpered. "Look, I don't know where the quarian was taken. I just know the guys who I handed him over to."
"Who? And what did they want with him?" Garrus asked. He didn't make it into an intimidating snarl; he didn't need to.
"Some humans, some turians," Fist said. "I know where they are, but I don't know who they're working for, or why they-"
Garrus shot Fist in the kneecap. He waited for the scream of pain to die down, which took a moment, and heft the human back up to his feet.
"Fist, we're all adults here," Garrus said. "Let's not lie to each other. It'll just lead to tragedy for your limbs. I know you're working for Saren. Now tell me why."
"The quarians had information!" Fist whined. Garrus glanced down at the pooling blood on the floor. Fist might not last much longer. "Information that could hurt Saren! But there were others besides the group they ambushed. At least one more, who had the data, but they didn't know where she was!"
"So they need him alive to tell them where the last one is hiding," Garrus said, nodding. "I see. Where?"
"Apartment on Zakera Ward," Fist gasped. He flubbed out the address, his words slurring, and passed out a few moments later. Garrus dropped him to the floor, carefully stepped around the pool of blood, and strode out of the Den.
"Did you call for a medivac?" Shepard asked.
"Yes," Garrus replied. "I didn't like it, but . . . ." he shook his head. "I headed for the apartment address he gave me. Scoped it out. There were only two humans inside, and after they left I went in, looking for information. Nothing was there; they'd scrubbed the hard drives on their computers. Pulled a copy anyway, I'm going to give that to the techs to see if they can piece anything together. I tracked their vehicle and followed them, and caught up just in time to find them having finished with ambushing your people. Professional hit, no blood, just tranquilizers and broken necks. They stole the uniforms and vehicle. I tailed them, found out they were after you, and intervened."
"You nearly got us killed," Shepard said again, and he shrugged.
"Calculated risk," he said. "Plus, your resistance pushed me to act."
"How'd you do it?" she asked.
"Simple enough," Garrus said. "Omnitool is loaded with specs for several thousand vehicles, including that model of aircar. From there, I could access manufacturer override, hack the remote guidance systems, and force a landing. Simple stuff, really." He chuckled. "Up until you started fighting back. Then I had to blow the guidance systems, and, well, everything else on that car to keep them from maybe killing you, and force it to crash."
"Thanks," Shepard said.
"Is that sarcasm?" he asked, and she shook her head.
"You were trying to help," she replied. "And it was partially my fault."
"Nonsense," he said, shaking his head. His mandibles clicked once. "We all act on imperfect information."
Beneath them, Shepard could see the GDI embassy approaching. Garrus brought the aircar around toward the building's landing pads. As the car descended and settled down, a pair of figures jogged out toward them, clad in full body armor, save for their helmets, and Shepard could pick out the green crystals jutting from Lieutenant Alenko's skin well before they reached the car. The second figure was, naturally, Lieutenant Taylor.
"Commander," Kaidan said as they stepped out of the car. His eyes flicked to Garrus, but she held up a placating hand.
"We got word about the crash," Jacob said. "But they didn't tell us anything else."
"Where's the Captain?" Kaidan asked.
"Hospital. I'll brief you when we get inside," Shepard said. She gestured to Garrus. "This is Spectre Vakarian, he's with me. He'll be working with us."
"Understood, ma'am," both Lieutenants said, at roughly the same time. Kind of uncanny, she thought.
"Admiral Parker will probably want to talk to him anyway," Kaidan added, and Shepard stopped.
Oh hell. She'd forgotten. Oh hell.
"What?" Garrus asked. "Who is Admiral Parker?"
"Hell," Shepard said, shaking her head. "I forgot Admiral Havoc was going to be here."
Her mind reeled, remembering everything the Spectre had told her about how he handled things, and then about everything she knew about how Admiral Nicolas Parker V operated, and realized that putting them in the same room would result in . . . well, havoc. On the one hand, there was an elite covert operative whose general approach to problems was apparently "Overkill?" and "Kneecaps!" On the other was a special operations commander for whom orbital bombardment was the first resort, and was unsatisfied when an operation was completed and at least two buildings were not demolished.
Her mind treated her to horror scenarios, where "hostage rescue" and "strategic ordnance deployment" were used in the same sentence. Words like "collateral damage" and "unspecified urban renewal" followed.
"Is this going to be trouble?" Garrus asked, to which Shepard shook her head.
"No," she lied, and wondered if there was some way to avert this. "He might even like you." Which was a terrifying concept.
Admiral Nick "Havoc" Parker V and Spectre Garrus Vakarian in the same room. She suppressed the horrified shudder running through her.
Codex - History - Brotherhood of Nod (General Extranet History)
The Brotherhood of Nod is an ancient human society that claims to have existed throughout human history. Little official knowledge is available regarding their activities prior to the incursion of Tiberium in 1995, though Nod agents claim that they were instrumental in guiding human technological and social development - a claim that is denied by GDI. After the initial discovery of Tiberium, the Brotherhood emerged to the public as a political, economic, social, and religious force, acting to aggressively unify various downtrodden nations in a loosely-aligned coalition opposing wealthier states. Preaching an ideology of self-determination, selfless devotion, and unity, coupled with drawing upon resentment and anger from disaffected portions of the population, the Brotherhood's beliefs spread rapidly. Most importantly, the Brotherhood developed and spread technology to harvest the initial forms of Tiberium, allowing the nations unified under their banner unheard-of economic power. Following the command of a single messiah-like leader known only as Kane, the Brotherhood became a superpower only rivaled by the United Nations and the Global Defense Initiative.
Military conflict between the Brotherhood and the Global Defense Initiative was inevitable, and erupted within a few years. A series of military conflicts known as the Tiberium Wars rocked Earth, while the planet succumbed to the alien material. Kane himself was reportedly killed three times during the conflicts, only to reappear at the start of each new war. Eventually, by 2049, the Third Tiberium War saw the incursion of the alien Scrin, who were theorized to be behind the Tiberium transformation of Earth. After a massive, devastating war, the Scrin were expelled, and the Brotherhood of Nod were apparently defeated militarily, with Kane having been declared dead once again. Brotherhood armies were disarmed, surviving generals were imprisoned, and the globe was firmly placed under GDI control. The Unified Human Armistice Treaty was signed, which officially disarmed the Brotherhood while still allowing for freedom of religion, and Nod communities were allowed to govern themselves so long as they remained armed only with self-defense forces. Despite the UHAT, periodic acts of terrorism by Nod extremists persisted throughout the next century.
As humanity expanded off of Earth, Nod followers founded many new colonies throughout the solar system. Though GDI retained nominal authority over these human colonies, the Brotherhood communities remained largely independent. Extremist sentiment grew on many outer colonies, particularly in those on Europa and the rings of Saturn, forcing GDI intervention in 2102 when they were linked to terror attacks on Earth, Mars, and Luna. These conflicts, while not as destructive or as prolonged as the Tiberium Wars, were bitter and bloody.
After the discovery of mass effect technology on Mars, a Nod pioneering colony on Charon discovered the inactive mass relay apparently hidden in Pluto's moon. During the subsequent expansion rush to get out of the solar system, Brotherhood pioneers claimed and established colonies on many worlds. After the First Contact War ended, many enclaves of Nod humans sought refuge throughout Citadel space, and a mass exodus of Nod followers took place to unclaimed (or in some places, claimed) worlds in the Terminus Systems.
Currently, there are thousands of Nod enclaves scattered throughout human, Citadel, and Terminus space, ranging from small hamlets to continent-spanning metropoli, though the latter are restricted to human space. Colonies of between ten and a hundred thousand are commonplace in the Terminus, and on some worlds, Nod followers wage open conflict with alien species who claim the same resources and territory. Though GDI alleges that the Brotherhood does not maintain a major unified military force, InOps units maintain a regular vigil over known Nod colony worlds to ensure the UHAT remains enforced.
Author's Notes: As you may have noticed, Garrus is a bit...different. This is kind of what happens when you take someone whose solution to uncontrolled crime and restrictive police procedure was to become Sniper Batman and give him free reign to prosecute crime his way - without providing the baseline sense of restraint that a police force would instill. You get, well, the unholy fusion of turian Jack Bauer and the Kool-Aid Man.
Next chapter, we have quarians, Wrex, Havoc, and havoc.
Until next chapter . . . .