Chapter 8

The first thing he noticed when he awoke was the distinctive smell of medigel. At first he thought he might still be lying on the floor of his destroyed apartment but he could hear the soft hum and beeping of medical equipment. He could feel a cool draft passing over his skin and realized he was dressed only in his underwear. The entire right side of his face felt like it was on fire and he could feel a dull, throbbing pain in every muscle in his body. He was lying on an operating table in what he presumed to be a medical facility. Where am I? His vision was still blurry but he was able to make out the white-tiled walls in the harsh glare of the overhead lights. Probably the medbay of a ship, based on the size of the room. An elongated orange hexagon emblem he didn't recognize adorned one wall.

"Subject - turian male, approximately thirty years of age. Subject sustained concussion, second, third degree burns, and extensive facial contusions. Damage only superficial despite appearances. Recommendation – one week rest and continued application of medigel to damaged tissue."

Garrus tried to turn his head towards the voice but found his neck was restrained in a brace. The way the speaker rapidly strung together his words told him it was probably a salarian. Who's he talking to? There didn't seem to be anyone else in the room.

"Injuries unlikely to have long term impact on subject's combat effectiveness. Detailed record of subject's medical history required to make comprehensive prognosis. Cerberus reluctant to share medical data on crew. Unsatisfactory working arrangement. Must raise issue with Operative Lawson…"

Cerberus! Garrus felt his muscles involuntarily tighten and the temperature in the medbay seemed to suddenly drop ten degrees. He'd seen enough nightmarish Cerberus projects in his time on the Normandy to know he didn't want to be in the infamous terrorist group's custody for very long. I need to get out of here. As he tried to roll off the table though, he heard a door slide open and someone walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It seems our patient has finally regained consciousness. How are you feeling?"

I recognize that voice… Garrus turned his head to look up at the speaker and tried to brush the hand off but stopped in surprise.

"Chakwas…?" he heard himself croak. The Normandy's chief medical officer was looking down at him with a smile on her face.

"Welcome back to the realm of the living, Garrus." She took him by the shoulders and gently helped him slowly sit up on the table. "Judging by the expression on your face, I'm guessing you weren't expecting to see me. Believe me, I was just as surprised to see you wheeled into my infirmary."

She gestured over to a salarian standing on the other side of the medbay. He was dressed in a white labcoat and as he turned, Garrus could see that the tip of one of his cranial horns was missing and his weathered face was criss-crossed by faint scars.

"This is Professor Mordin Solus. He's been taking care of you for the past few hours. His methods and treatments are… unconventional but they seem to have worked with you."

Mordin Solus. The crazy salarian doctor with the clinic in the slums. Garrus had heard the stories about the salarian, about him singlehandedly taking on entire bands of Blue Suns and executing them. He'd heard the rumours that Dr. Solus had once served in the legendary salarian Special Tasks Group and from the scars he could believe it. He and his men had always steered a wide berth around the salarian despite the fact they seemed to share a common foe in the vicious gangs that prowled Omega's slums. From the rumours, Mordin Solus had seemed unpredictable, dangerous, and more than a little insane. The huge smile plastered across Solus' face now as the salarian looked at him didn't do anything to change Garrus' last assessment.

"Quite familiar with Archangel by reputation despite never crossing paths. Exceptional tactical planning and execution, although rationale behind indiscriminate strategy to attack Omega's ruling gangs remains elusive personally. But pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Vakarian."

Garrus cocked an eye ridge and glanced at Chakwas but she just gave him a helpless shrug.

"Um… yeah, you too, Dr. Solus."

The salarian flashed another smile.

"Work here appears to be done. Will be returning to lab, if skills no longer required."

"Go ahead, Dr. Solus. I think I can take over from here."

The salarian nodded and left the medbay. As soon as the door slid shut, Garrus turned back to Chakwas.

"Doctor, where am I?"

"You're in the Normandy SR-2's medbay."

"The Norma…? What's going on?" Garrus jumped off the table and felt his legs almost give out from the anaesthetics still running through his system. Chakwas grabbed his arm to keep him from falling. When he'd steadied himself, she sighed and leaned back against one of the beds.

"I think it'd be best if I let Shepard fill you in on all the details."


"What about the Blue Suns? Do you think they'll be a problem in the future?"

"Yes, but not because of anything we did on Omega. They take on at least forty percent of the mercenary contracts in the Terminus Systems and they'll work for anybody. Cerberus has worked with them in the past but we've also had more than our share of run-ins with them as well." Miranda scoffed. "If you're asking if they'll take our interference in their operations personally, the answer is probably no. Their motives are purely business-related and holding grudges is bad for business. That goes for the Eclipse as well." She frowned and turned her gaze back to one of the datapads scattered on the briefing room conference table. "The Blood Pack could be a problem though. This Garm you killed is related to a number of individuals suspected to be senior members of the organization and krogan are known for holding grudges."

"You two killed everything down there. Come on, Miranda, do you really think news about what happened to Garm is going to get out?" Jacob interjected. The ex-Alliance marine had remained mostly quiet for most of the debriefing, seemingly content to allow Shepard and Miranda to continue to play their peculiar verbal cat-and-mouse game. He was either oblivious or feigning ignorance. Probably the latter, Taylor's not an idiot.

Miranda's questions and comments in the mission debriefing seemed innocuous enough but Shepard suspected she was testing him, trying to see if he'd missed anything or if she could cause him to slip up. The way she fixed him with her cool blue eyes reminded him uncomfortably of the eagle-like stares of his instructors on Arcturus when they deliberately threw an impossible scenario at him and asked him to solve it. Every once in a while, she'd quirk her eyebrow at something he said. Does that mean she approves or disapproves? He still hadn't figured that out. Maybe the best strategy is just to ignore her games.

"The news always gets out, especially in places like Omega," he sighed. "I should probably go check on Garrus."

He'd intended to do so earlier, but Miranda had insisted on an immediate debriefing. She'd justified it by arguing it was best to get all the details ironed out while they were still fresh in their minds and he'd agreed, not realizing that Miranda would drag it out over several hours.

"That won't be necessary, Commander. EDI has been sending me frequent updates on his status since we brought him back to the Normandy."

Shepard glanced at her suspiciously. She hadn't left the room or checked her omnitool since the debriefing had begun. Before he could ask her how EDI had been updating her, she brushed her hair back and touched her right ear.

"Aural implant," she explained. "EDI sends me updates on everything of significance that occurs on the Normandy."

"And…?"

Miranda jotted down a few notes with her stylus and set the datapad down.

"He was caught in the blast of an antipersonnel missile at close range. He would have been killed instantly were it not for his armour. Dr. Solus and Dr. Chakwas have been working on him since we returned, but the damage was extensive…"

The door to the briefing room suddenly slid open, cutting Miranda off. A familiar figure clad in blue armour walked through the door. Well, mostly familiar. The right side of Garrus neck and jaw were sheathed in a protective covering and his face was streaked with the familiar pattern of shrapnel scars.

"How bad is it, Shepard? Nobody would give me a mirror."

Jacob whistled in admiration. "Tough son of a bitch. Didn't think he'd be up yet."

"Hell, Garrus, you were always ugly." Shepard grinned wryly. "Slap some face paint on there and no one will even notice."

The turian laughed, his mandibles twitching as he did so. Shepard had forgotten how strange it sounded to hear a turian laugh. Besides Garrus, he could count the number of times he'd heard turian laughter on one hand.

"Don't make me laugh, my face is barely holding together as it is." Garrus grimaced and touched his covered right mandible.

Jacob cleared his throat loudly.

"Garrus, Jacob and Miranda. Miranda and Jacob, Garrus," Shepard nodded to each of them in turn. Long introductions were a waste of time. Things like titles and last names were unnecessary details that were usually forgotten as soon as the introductions were over.

"I've gone over your file a few times, Mr. Vakarian. Your C-Sec records made for some interesting reading, particularly in your later years," Miranda said. I guess the details aren't unnecessary for some of us.

"It's just Garrus, and uh… thanks. Your rescue was very… impressive too."

Miranda smiled politely. "That was mostly the Commander's doing. Shepard's stealth insertion was a little unorthodox but it proved to be effective."

"Well, I'm usually an insufferably stubborn idiot who can't understand the meaning of subtlety, even when it hits me in the face, but this time I thought I'd try something new," Shepard said with mock modesty, enjoying the sight of Miranda's cheeks reddening at his repetition of her words in Afterlife.

Miranda shot him an icy look before turning back to Garrus.

"Jacob and I should be getting back to our duties. If you need anything I'll be in my office on the crew deck, Garrus." Tilting her head at Jacob, the two of them left the briefing room, leaving Shepard and Garrus by themselves.

"Settling in alright?" Shepard asked as the briefing room slid shut. Garrus looked around suspiciously, as if unsure whether they were still being watched.

"Frankly, I'm more worried about you, Shepard. Working with Cerberus now? You remember those sick experiments they were doing?"

"Do you remember what I told you about my mission when we were chasing Saren?" Shepard fixed his eyes on Garrus. "The Reapers are the greatest threat galactic civilization has ever known. I will do anything it takes to stop them. If that means working with the likes of Cerberus, I'll do it."

Garrus looked away, uncomfortable facing Shepard's hard stare. It was a reaction Shepard was used to. God knows I've used it to my advantage enough times in the past.

"Can't argue with that. Hard to believe no one else is doing anything to help. Damn politicians." The turian straightened up. "I'm ready for duty, Shepard. If you need me I'll be down in the forward batteries."

"I'll walk you down."

Walking to the main elevator, Shepard waited for Garrus to enter.

"Engineering deck, EDI."

"On the old Normandy the main batteries were on the crew deck," Garrus commented. Shepard nodded.

"They still are."

When the elevator stopped, Shepard made his way into engineering.

"Engineers Donnelly and Daniels," Shepard gestured to the two engineers without stopping. Garrus barely had time to acknowledge them before Shepard disappeared into the engine core. As soon as Garrus crossed the threshold, Shepard closed the containment door. Garrus arched the plate above his left eye inquisitively.

"This is the only part of the ship not being monitored. The Tantalus core messes with electronics, including bugs and surveillance devices."

The turian pressed a claw against his visor for a moment to check and then nodded. "I should have thought of that."

Shepard shrugged.

"This working arrangement with Cerberus is a marriage of convenience." Shepard sighed. "I'm not an idiot, Garrus. I've seen too many of Cerberus' fuck-ups and crazy projects to consider any kind of permanent association with them."

Garrus frowned. "Shepard, you didn't say why we have to work with them."

We. He said we. Shepard was surprised Garrus had taken the news about him working with Cerberus so calmly. After all they'd seen of Cerberus, he'd half expected the turian to demand to be dropped off at their next port of call.

"Cerberus has something I need, something we haven't had since you put that slug in Saren's head back on the Citadel."

Garrus looked confused for a moment but then his eyes widened slightly as the realization of what Shepard was talking about dawned on him.

"A lead. You actually think Cerberus' theory about the link between the Collector abductions and the Reapers is real?"

"How'd you know about the Collectors?"

The turian did an approximation of a shrug.

"Chakwas filled me in a little while I was in the medbay."

Shepard was glad Chakwas had already explained the Collector angle to Garrus. The situation they found themselves in, working for Cerberus, chasing down an enigmatic race of aliens most of the galaxy considered to be nothing but myth, was difficult enough to believe that it was probably easier to take in a little bit at a time.

"It sounds insane, doesn't it? But in all those months we spent searching for clues after the Battle of the Citadel we weren't able to find anything. The intel Cerberus has collected fits with what little we uncovered. Also, the Collector technology has enough similarities to some of what we dug out of Sovereign's wreckage that I'm willing to give the theory about a connection a chance." Shepard leaned against the safety railing that surrounded the glowing engine core. "Besides, I figured if they were willing to spend billions of credits recovering my body and figuring out how to bring me back from the dead to follow this lead, they've got to be pretty sure they're on to something."

"Resurrecting the dead? That sounds like bad science fiction, Shepard."

The engine core flickered, causing both of them to instinctively recoil. Despite its size, the Normandy SR-2's overpowered engines occasionally taxed even the Tantalus core's output.

"Yeah, I would have thought the same but somehow I'm standing here. If you want the full story, go to Miranda. I'm sure she'll be able to bore you to sleep with the science behind it."

"Have you contacted the Alliance or the Council yet?" Garrus asked, glancing at the containment door as if expecting to find a spy had snuck in. Shepard shook his head.

"They pushed me – us – to the sidelines after Sovereign was destroyed. I barely had any credibility even before I… died." The idea that he'd been physically killed still seemed absurd and he had trouble fully coming to terms with it. "I doubt I'll have any credibility at all if I show up and claim I was resurrected at a top secret Cerberus research facility. I'll contact the Council eventually, but I want something concrete to bring to them when I do. I might only get one shot to convince them I'm right about the Reapers." Shepard laughed bitterly. "I never thought I'd have to convince anybody about the Reapers again, not after one of them showed up on the doorstep of the Citadel and took out half the defence fleet."

"The Council won't be happy knowing you worked with Cerberus and left them out of the loop for so long, Shepard. Cerberus is considered to be a terrorist organization by both the Council and the Alliance."

Shepard shrugged. "Being labelled a traitor is just a risk I'm going to have to take," he said with far more confidence than he felt.

"Then we'd better find them something good," Garrus said grimly. "Hopefully it won't take a Reaper trying to land on the Citadel again this time."


Miranda frowned as she tried to finish her report to the Illusive Man. Like herself, the Illusive Man was obsessed with details and she couldn't leave anything out, no matter how insignificant it might seem at the time. She was finding it difficult to concentrate at the moment though. The two cups of coffee probably didn't help. She might literally be superhuman, but that didn't make her immune to the effects of overdosing on caffeine. She scolded herself for not thinking of that earlier.

"What's eating you?"

She looked up in surprise to see Jacob standing in her doorway. How did I not hear the door open? Did I even close it? Seeing tooth marks in the end of her stylus made her realize she'd been chewing on it again. She discretely slipped it into the wastebin under her desk and turned her attention to Jacob.

"It's nothing. I'm just working on a report to the Illusive Man," she said quickly. "How are things working out with Mordin? I imagine it can't be easy working right next door from him."

Jacob chuckled. He'd always been quick to laugh, easily able to see the humour in any situation. It annoyed her at times but it was also something she occasionally envied.

"No, he's great. There was that time he stumbled on my stack of comics and spent ten minutes explaining to me why Peter Parker's encounter with a radioactive spider couldn't have resulted in anything more than a nasty skin rash, but then that was mostly my fault since I asked."

Miranda rolled her eyes. Jacob grinned. "I just thought I drop by to give you this week's equipment requisition orders."

"Jacob, what do you think of Garrus Vakarian?" Miranda asked as she took the proffered dataslate.

Jacob shrugged. "He seems alright. Mostly keeps to himself. He came by the armoury once to request some specialized equipment. Tried making a joke about him being Omega's version of Batman but it went completely over his head, even after I showed him an example."

"I was referring to the impact of having him on the Normandy, given his past with Shepard. What effect do you think it will have on the mission?"

Jacob's expression became serious. "What are you thinking?"

"I was looking at the list of potential recruits the Illusive Man forwarded to Shepard. I cross-referenced them with Shepard's service record – the parts we were able to find that is – and Shepard had never crossed paths with most of them. That's not a coincidence, Jacob. Shepard has very rarely ever worked with the same team for more than one assignment."

"Maybe this time having someone he's gone to war with before on the team will make things easier for him. Mission like this, it's good to have someone you trust watching your back."

"I was hoping that one of us would become that person," Miranda said. She rested her elbow on the armrest of her chair. "This could pose a problem if Garrus' presence prevents us from establishing any kind of rapport with Shepard."

"You were hoping that if Shepard was alone with a bunch of strangers, he'd form a closer relationship with us because we would have been the ones he'd known the longest," Jacob said slowly, picking up on her line of thought. Miranda nodded.

"Garrus being here doesn't prevent us from forming that kind of relationship with Shepard. What will stop you from gaining his trust is if you keep treating him like a mark." Jacob sighed and plopped down in one of the chairs in her office. "These head games you've been trying to play with him aren't going to work, Miranda."

Miranda arched an eyebrow. "You noticed?"

Jacob snorted. "You've messed with his sleeping schedule and his diet, you've been stealing his smokes, every time you're in a briefing together you treat him like one of your Cerberus trainees…"

She hadn't expected Jacob would catch on to that last part. Was I that obvious? It shouldn't been that surprising, now that she thought about it. Jacob had been one of those trainees for two months.

"What do you think I should do?"

"Shepard's been in this cloak-and-dagger game at least as long as you have. The smoke and mirrors stuff aren't going to fool him. If you're going to gain his trust you're going to have to stop the games and start treating him like a normal person. If you want him to trust you you're going to have to form a relationship with him the old fashioned way. No shortcuts." Jacob got up to leave, but turned and flashed her a grin. "That trick with the champagne and the unbuttoned top isn't going to work this time."

She couldn't help but smile at Jacob's comment. In hindsight, the champagne was a little over the top.

"Thanks, Jacob."

"Yeah, anytime." As soon as Jacob left, Miranda's smile left her face. Jacob made the idea of "forming a relationship the old fashioned way" sound so simple. That's probably because for him, it really is that simple. She'd always had to rely on other methods to get people to like and trust her. A firm grasp of psychology and decent acting could usually do the job – well enough to complete the mission, anyway – but if that didn't work, she was lost more often than she liked to admit. With men (and some women) she could sometimes fall back on her looks but she wasn't sure such a strategy would work this time. Jacob's last comment had been made in jest, but he was probably right – seduction would at best be fruitless and could even backfire on her.

It had been weeks since they'd first met and Shepard still hadn't shown any interest in her in that way. Maybe he's gay. Remembering the personal details of his dossier immediately shot down that musing. Shepard wasn't exactly a hypersexual like she suspected the Illusive Man was, but he never seemed to be lacking in female companionship for very long either. She shook her head at her hubris. Just because he's not into you doesn't mean he's not into women. Maybe you're just not his type. The idea still bothered her though. She'd never thought of herself as the type of woman to feel insecure about her looks but it irritated her that Shepard seemed able to ignore her physical charms so easily. She had been engineered to be every man's 'type'. Was it something she'd done or said?

Miranda sighed. She must be more tired than she'd thought if she was wasting time fretting over whether Shepard thought she was attractive. She could see the bottom of her coffee mug. Another cup can't hurt, can it? She arched her back in her chair and stretched. She grabbed her coffee mug and got out of her chair. She could use a walk to stretch her muscles. The decision over whether to refill her mug could wait until she reached the kitchen.

When she reached the doorway of her room, she almost turned back around. Shepard was sitting by himself in the mess, picking through a plateful of food. Just go over there and talk to him. He's not going to bite. You can't make things any worse than they are.

Pouring herself a fresh cup of coffee from the coffee machine, she walked over to his table.

"Good evening, Commander. Is this seat taken?"

Shepard looked up at her and shrugged.

"I don't see anyone else in the mess."

Miranda forced a laugh and took the seat across from him, hoping Shepard's comment was a joke. To her relief, he shot her a quick grin before turning his attention back to his food.

"Where did you guys find Mess Sergeant Gardner?"

"I'm… not sure. I wasn't involved in recruiting the Normandy crew, other than overseeing the background checks. Why do you ask?"

Shepard stabbed a chunk of chicken on his plate with his fork and made a face.

"I'm guessing he wasn't hired for his culinary skills."

Miranda smiled. "No, I suppose he wasn't. At least that doesn't appear to be yet another iteration of his chef's surprise."

Shepard held up his fork with the mutilated chicken speared on its tines.

"I suggested Gardner try making roast chicken. It's simple, takes no preparation time, and everyone likes a good roast chicken. I thought it'd be impossible to screw up." He made a show of sticking the chicken in his mouth and trying to chew on it. "I was wrong."

A small laugh – genuine this time – escaped Miranda's mouth.

"What's wrong with it?"

Shepard sighed.

"It's overcooked, over-salted, and he mistook dill for the rosemary I told him to use. How the hell do you mix up dill and rosemary?" he asked in exasperation. "He also either forgot or was too lazy to bother trussing up the legs and wings so they've been burnt to a crisp."

An image of Shepard dressed in a chef's smock, starring in his own cooking holoshow appeared in Miranda's mind and she had to bring her coffee mug up to her face to hide the amused expression she was wearing.

"I didn't realize you knew so much about roasting a chicken."

Shepard didn't seem to notice her amusement as he swallowed another chunk of dried out chicken and looked up at her.

"When you go as long as I have without a wife or girlfriend to cook for you, you pick up a few things along the way." Shepard speared a depressingly limp piece of broccoli and grimaced as he put it in his mouth. "So what's keeping you up so late?"

"Finishing up a report to the Illusive Man," Miranda replied. "How's Garrus?"

Shepard finally seemed to give up on his meal and pushed the plate away.

"Hasn't missed a beat. It's like Jacob said – he's even tougher than he looks."

"That's… good," Miranda said lamely, suddenly unable to find a better adjective. Trying to allow a conversation to continue spontaneously was difficult when she was simultaneously trying so hard to avoid steering it along a predetermined path.

"Maybe. It wouldn't hurt him to slow down for a moment – same with Mordin." Shepard absentmindedly played with the knife still in his hand, spinning it around his fingers a few times in a rapid pattern. Miranda was amazed he hadn't drawn blood – either from himself or her. "They were both lucky we got there when we did. I guess timing really is everything."

Miranda nodded.

"Luck does seem to play an inordinately large role on Omega."

"Not your first time on the station then? Did it look any better than the last time you visited?"

"Omega was, is, and likely always will be a pisshole. I've been there on missions a few times and every time I leave I feel like I have to take a shower – in additional to the usual decontamination."

"That's one way of describing it," Shepard chuckled. "Operations on Omega are always a crapshoot. There're always a million and one things that can – and usually do – go wrong."

Miranda took a sip of her coffee. Damnit. Forgot to put in sugar. She was reluctant to get up when the flow of the conversation seemed to be going so well though.

"Perhaps, but I thought the extraction missions on Omega went quite well, considering how little intelligence we had to work off of. You seem to have a knack for those types of missions."

Shepard shrugged.

"You didn't do so badly yourself. I doubt any of the mercs down there were expecting to face a biotic with your kind of abilities. I haven't worked with many biotics with your level of control before. The precision it takes to use a warp blast to shred the turbine blades of a gunship engine isn't something I've seen very often."

Miranda was surprised he'd noticed. Few non-biotics, even soldiers who regularly worked with biotics, were able to appreciate the level of control combat biotics needed to use their powers effectively. Shepard continued. "I find the key to working on Omega is just to keep things simple. Stay alert, keep under the radar as much as possible, and don't draw any attention to yourself until you're ready to strike."

"Is that why you spared that batarian in the slums?"

Shepard frowned.

"He wasn't a threat to the mission. There wasn't any reason to kill him."

"You didn't just 'not kill' him, you actually gave him an application of medigel," Miranda pointed out.

"I needed information and I saw no reason not to. It's not like I was short of the stuff at the time. Why are you asking about that one batarian anyway…" The perplexed expression left Shepard's face as he figured out what she was thinking. Miranda stared at him curiously. "Oh… I get it. You think because of my history with batarians I should hate all batarians everywhere."

"No! That's not what I…" Miranda protested. Shepard put up his hands to stop her.

"It's alright. Batarians killed my entire family as well as dozens of men under my command. I have good reasons to hate them and I used to." Shepard leaned back in his chair. "But I got over it."

"You're saying you… forgave them?" Miranda asked incredulously.

"No. I got my revenge." Shepard's expression darkened. "There were sixty-seven batarians in the slaver band that attacked Mindoir. I hunted down all sixty-seven of them..."

Shepard seemed to be staring through her, as if he had forgotten she was even there.

"For every man or woman I've lost to the squints, I've killed at least ten of them in return. I lost track of how many batarians I've killed a long time ago. Now, I still dislike batarians, but I only hate the ones that get in my way."

The steel knife Shepard had been holding in his hand was bent into an s-shape. Shepard set it down, seemingly unbothered by the deep cuts it had made in his hand. She was suddenly very aware of why before he'd been chosen for the Spectres, he'd been considered the most deadly assassin the Alliance N7 program had ever produced. His grey eyes were cold and hard as granite. His lips were pressed together into a thin, unforgiving line and the sharply-defined muscles in his arms were as taut as titanium cables. John Shepard was a purebred killer, mind and body forged into a deadly, unstoppable weapon. What does it take to turn a man into something like this? Was it Mindoir?

"So… all that killing worked?" she asked, furrowing her brow. The fire in his eyes died and he averted his gaze. Miranda felt her own muscles relax, unaware she had even tensed them in the first place.

"Yes," he said softly, his voice less certain than his answer. That sounds like doubt. He picked up his plate and got up. "I should probably turn in. Goodnight, Operative Lawson."


Councillor David Anderson rewinded the recording and played it again. He rubbed his temples. It was only one in the afternoon and already he felt exhausted. Politics seemed to have a way of mentally and physically draining his energy in a way that a thirty-five year career in the military never had. Not for the first time, he wondered whether he would rather have to spend another day in meetings with the Council or be forced to defend a fortified bunker with nothing but a butter knife. At least in the bunker I was armed. And then there was Udina… The former ambassador had a unique gift for making an already difficult job for Anderson even more miserable. Sometimes I think he actually enjoys it.

"Are you sure this recording wasn't doctored?"

The salarian on the other end of the intranet connection shook her head. Lina had always been reliable in the past but with something like this one couldn't be too careful.

"I spliced it together by combining recordings from mercenary helmet and gunnery cams and Aria's local surveillance net."

"Were you seen?"

"Maybe by a few of Aria's people, but I doubt they recognized me."

Anderson nodded. Hunting quarry like the man he was looking for was difficult and dangerous. One slip-up and he was likely to turn on his pursuers, eliminate them, and disappear back into the galaxy's dark underbelly.

"How old is this?"

"Less than two standard Citadel days. I followed your instructions exactly and sent it to you as soon as I received and reviewed it."

The salarian was fidgeting. It was subtle, but Anderson could see Lina was nervous. He didn't blame her. The only people willing to spend extended periods of time on Omega were those so desperate that they had no other alternative and the gangs that ruled over them with an iron fist.

"Thank you, Lina. I've already forwarded your usual fee, plus a sizeable bonus."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Councillor."

Lina terminated the link. The fact he knew nothing about Lina other than her name, which was almost definitely fake, while she probably knew everything about him made him uncomfortable but there was nothing he could do about it. The galaxy's best information brokers were notoriously secretive and the extreme imbalance of power between them and their clients was just another one of the considerable costs of doing business with them. In a galaxy where information was the most pure currency of power, good information brokers could name their price.

Anderson pushed his chair back from his desk and walked over to the balcony in his office overlooking the Presidium.

"VI, transfer the last recording to my omnitool and delete it and any recordings of my last intranet exchange from your memory banks."

"Deleting data."

The VI beeped, indicating it had obliterated all traces of his exchange with Lina and the recording she had sent him. Shepard was back. Now Anderson just had to figure out how he'd managed it and why he'd come out of hiding.

Anderson waved his hand over his omnitool.

"Tammy, cancel my afternoon appointment with the elcor ambassador and extend to him my apologies. I'm leaving for the day."

"Are you feeling alright, Councillor? Would you like me to call your doctor?" his assistant's voice asked in her usual calm, pleasant tone.

Anderson threw his coat over his shoulders.

"Thanks, Tammy, but that won't be necessary. I'm just feeling a little tired. I might be back later tonight."

"I'll hold your calls then. Goodnight, Councillor."

"Goodnight, Tammy."

Anderson walked a few blocks from the Alliance embassy and ducked into a public intranet access terminal. Looking up a name on his omnitool, he punched in the contact information, occasionally looking around to make sure he wasn't being watched and trying to appear as casual as he could. He should really be taking some time to think about what he should do about Shepard's reappearance but he wasn't sure time was a luxury he had.