Chapter Nine

Surprises

Shepard gave the quarian a smile. "If that's what you'd prefer, sure." She turned her gaze to Massani, who grunted.

"Why are you even going through with the rendezvous?" he asked pointedly. "If it's gone to hell, it's gone to hell."

"It hasn't gone to hell completely," Shepard told him. "It's just gotten… complicated."

The Old Man gave her a look. In the three years since he'd joined the Reds, Shepard had gotten many of them. She knew she didn't have to explain herself, not had to. But something about that look always loosened her tongue anyway.

"I still want to talk to Fist," she said, successfully keeping the defensiveness from her voice. "I want to know more about this deal he made with Saren."

"The deal he made with Saren will die with him when you turn him over to the krogan," rasped the Old Man.

"And I want to be sure of that," she said firmly.

"I didn't think there'd be this much trouble," the quarian said in a tiny voice. "I thought the Council would listen to me."

Shepard shrugged, and Massani barked a harsh laugh. "The Council couldn't find its collective ass with its collective hands," Shepard said dryly. With a curious tilt of her head, she added, "How did you come by this information, anyway?"

The quarian… Tali's… shoulders lifted under her pretty envirosuit, patterned in swirls of silvery grey. "I heard that geth had been sighted in the Exodus cluster," she said. "I managed to follow a patrol and waited for a scout to get separated from its unit. They usually flash their internal memory core when they're destroyed, but if you know what you're doing and you're fast, you can sometimes salvage some of the data."

Shepard felt her jaw sag a little, and her eyebrows leap. "You were following a geth patrol?" she said with disbelief. "Why?"

Tali seemed surprised at the question. "Yes," she answered simply. "I was hoping to gather new information about them. The geth haven't been seen outside the Veil in centuries. It was an opportunity I couldn't ignore." Her voice was matter of fact. "I'm on my Pilgrimage."

"T'Soni mentioned that," said Shepard doubtfully. "What's a Pilgrimage?"

It was the Old Man who answered. "It's a coming-of-age thing," he said folding his arms over his chest. "Quarian kids get pushed out of the nest for a while." He shrugged. "You know, go out into the world, have the corners knocked off a little... and then bring things back. Salvage, mostly."

The quarian tipped her head and looked at Massani. Though her expression couldn't be seen through the tinted visor of her helmet, her voice sounded surprised. "How do you know about the Pilgrimage?"

Massani shrugged again. "I've kicked around the galaxy a bit. Met a lot of your people. It's a bloody good idea, if you ask me."

"Alone?" asked Shepard, stunned. "All by yourself?"

The helmet turned to face Shepard, and she got the feeling that its owner was glaring at her. "Yes, by myself," Tali said pointedly. "And we aren't just 'pushed out' of the Fleet to fend for ourselves. We receive training and gifts to help us before we leave."

But… you took on a geth patrol by yourself?" Shepard seemed stuck on the idea, despite the fact that the quarian was wearing an older but well-cared-for shotgun at her back.

"No," said Tali patiently. "That would have been suicide. I told you. I waited for one of the geth to be separated from its unit. They loose processing power when they're alone, you know."

Shepard shook her head. "No, I didn't realize that. I don't know much about the geth, really." Her expression took on a slightly fascinated, hungry look. Shepard had been reminded of the fate that befell curious cats more times than she could count, but it hadn't dampened her enthusiasm for asking questions yet.

The Old Man stopped her. "Not now, Shepard," he grated.

She closed her mouth with a snap and a glare in his direction.

Tali glanced from one to the other of them, uncertainly. After a moment, she spoke again. "After I realized what I had," she admitted with an odd catch to her voice, "I got help from another quarian on Pilgrimage." Tali looked down at her hands. "He… died. Saren's men killed him."

"I'm sorry," said Shepard quietly, studying the quarian again. "That can't have been easy."

The quarian's shoulders were hunched, curling her in on her grief. "It wasn't," Tali replied softly. When she looked up again, her eyes were burning brightly behind the faceplate. "He died because of me. Because of the information I found. Information that the Council wouldn't even look at." There was bitterness and anger in her voice.

"Coming up on the drop point, boss lady," Joker informed them from the pilot's chair.

"Bunch of bureaucratic assholes," Shepard snorted, rolling her eyes for emphasis. "Listen to me. T'Soni isn't anything like them. Whatever this information of yours is, she'll give you what it's worth. And you'll be safe." Impulsively, she reached forward and laid a hand on the quarian's twisting fingers. "I guarantee that."

Tali met her eyes, and nodded once. "I believe you." Her head tipped, just a little, and Shepard thought that she might be smiling tentatively behind the visor. "And thank you."

"At the drop point now, Shepard."

Shepard stood up and performed a quick check of her weapons.

"Take care of her, gentlemen," she said sternly as the shuttle door opened.

The Old Man nodded once, brusquely. "Watch yourself, Shepard."

"Don't I always?" Shepard grinned confidently and vanished from sight.

In the small cafe in the spaceport, Garrus paused with a fork halfway to his open mouth. Nihlus was on the opposite side of the wide concourse, talking… no, liaising with a Systems Alliance representative in an attempt to access any private security footage of the private shuttle berth.

"Hmm."

Carefully, he set down the utensil and paused the algorithm he'd been running on flight data into and out of the spaceport. He'd been watching the traffic patterns from the algorithm with half an eye and Nihlus with the other half, and something had tripped the equivalent of a mental sensor. Garrus wasn't sure what it was just yet, but he was going to find out.

He stretched a little and leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic seat with as close as he could get to an air of nonchalance. His eyes scanned the area around him, the visor he wore over the left feeding him a constant stream of information. Now, what was it…

There. An asari wearing the liveried uniform of one of the commercial transport companies was idly toying with a drink while her sharp eyes watched Nihlus. It could be simply that she found the Spectre attractive - she appeared to be in her maiden stage still - or perhaps she was simply curious. But neither of those explanations accounted for her spiking vital signs. That was what had triggered his sense of wrongness - a mere blip on his visor, but a blip that he'd learned not to ignore.

He feigned scratching at the side of his head and opened his comm.

"Kryik," he said softly, "I hate to interrupt you, but I think you've got a pair of unfriendly eyes on your back."

He picked up his fork again and put a tiny sliver of meat in his mouth, for the look of the thing. Nihlus, he noted, made no indication he'd heard Garrus's transmission, but his reply came back almost immediately. "What do you see?"

"Asari," he answered, skewering another bit of meat and delivering it to his mouth. "Wearing a Tevura Galactic Journeys uniform. Apparently enjoying a drink and not-so-coincidently keeping her eyes glued to the Spectre across the way. I say apparently because her vitals are off the charts."

"Drugs?" suggested Nihlus shortly.

"Not one I'm familiar with, if so." Garrus coughed gently. "Not that I'm an expert, but things like sand leave a distinctive pattern…"

Nihlus gave a dry chuckle. "I'm not worried that you have a closet sand problem, Vakarian. I want your opinion."

"Yessir."

"Let's test your hypothesis, shall we?" With a few last words to the Alliance official, the Spectre checked his omni-tool and moved off briskly. After a few moments, the asari finished her drink and also rose, her stride seeming unhurried but nonetheless covering distance quickly.

"Following," Garrus said. "I think she's taken the bait."

"Good," said Nihlus, his subvocals thrumming with satisfaction. "Come find me."

Fist groaned a heartfelt groan. It took a few moments for him to recollect what had happened, and then he gave an even more heartfelt groan and opened his eyes.

He didn't like what he saw.

"Zorra?!" he spat, trying to blink away the fuzziness at the edges of his vision. "Shit."

Pressure on his chest suggested that the bitch had put a boot on it.

"Talk to me, loverboy," she said, and if he'd had any doubts that it was really her, the voice dispelled them. It was the same voice, seductive and arrogant by turns.

"You know this fuck?" said another voice; harsher, bristling with barely controlled anger. Fist vaguely recalled last hearing it promising his destruction. It belonged to the small tattooed biotic he'd last seen ripping through his Suns mercenary squad.

"Oh, we go way back," said the bitch, giving him just enough of a shove with her boot to squeeze the air from his lungs and make him gasp. "Don't we... Finch?"

"That's Finch?!" exclaimed the biotic with a wolfish grin, crossing her arms over her mostly bare chest. "Oh, this should be fun."

Finch squinted up at his captor. "What do you want, Zorra?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

She stepped over him delicately, as if he were a bit of rotting refuse, and leaned over, grasping him by the chestplate of his armor and swinging him up against the wall. She was stronger than she looked.

"I told you I'd kill you if I ever saw you again, Finch," she said pleasantly, as if commenting on nothing more ominous than the weather.

"I'm nowhere near the Tenth," he protested, sitting up weakly and grasping his side painfully. It felt like he'd cracked every single rib. "I know the rules."

"Those were Vido's rules, Finch," she reminded him. "We play by my rules now."

"Yeah," he said, wondering how he was going to get out of this in one piece. "I heard. Congratulations."

Yeah. Congratulations on setting me up, bitch, he thought. I lost a nut thanks to you. But at least you killed that sonuvabitch before he finished the job.

"You're welcome," she answered, as if she could hear his thoughts. For the skin of a second, Finch wondered if he'd spoken aloud, but the expressions on the other faces around him seemed to indicate he hadn't. They were all there - the biotic, the krogan, and the big blond merc. The krogan spoke next.

"Are you finished with him yet? I've got a few questions of my own- like who planted that bomb?"

"Not yet," she answered with a little half-smile.

God, she was still hot, even after all these years. The armor she wore must have been custom-made just for her, it fit her curves so perfectly. The deep red finish was just a few shades darker than her hair, and made the green of her eyes even brighter.

"What?" he asked, realizing he'd missed something she'd said.

She cocked a hip and put her fist on it. "Still like what you see?" she asked, again with almost preternatural accuracy.

Finch tried to play it off cool. "Not bad," he said easily. "If you like your women on the older side."

Zorra laughed this off for the bluff that it was. "As opposed to little girls, you mean?"

"Dammit, Shepard," growled the krogan, pulling his shotgun off his back. "Stop trying to mate with him and ask your damn questions or you won't get the chance."

She held up one hand. To Finch's surprise, the krogan backed off, muttering under his breath.

"My new friend's getting a little impatient to finish his job," she explained casually. "The Shadow Broker wasn't happy with you changing sides so precipitously."

Finch drew a sharp breath. Fuck.

"But maybe we can cut a deal," she went on, stepping closer to him. He could see the flecks in her green eyes as she gazed down at him levelly. "If you tell me what I want to know."

Finch licked his lips nervously. "I guess that depends on what you want to know."

She leaned down so she could look him in the eye. "Tell me about your deal with Saren."

He snorted. "And what do I get out of it?"

Zorra traced a gloved finger down his cheek and over the scar that split his lips. "I forget I ever saw you here on Earth."

Finch swallowed with difficulty. Women had always been his weakness. "And if I want more than that?"

The bitch gestured over her shoulder with one thumb. "Then I let him ask the questions."

Shit, piss, and fuck. He was screwed. But if he could get out of this, maybe find out who planted that bomb - it had to be a trap by that fucking asari - maybe he could cut a new deal with Saren…

"He wanted the quarian. Was willing to pay me a lot of money to get her for him. Said he didn't care if she was dead or alive, but that he wanted her body intact - no looting the corpse. She was carrying something he wanted," Finch admitted, figuring that getting out of the bitch's clutches was the most important part. Staying alive right now, so that he could maybe stay alive tomorrow, that was the thing.

"And is that it?" she asked, frowning.

"That's it," he affirmed.

"And the bomb?" grumbled the krogan.

"I don't know anything about the bomb," he said. "If I'd have known, do you think I'd have been stupid enough to be caught when it went off?"

"Damn," said the krogan, disappointment in his voice. "Now I have someone else to kill."

"That's really all Saren wanted? He didn't say anything about a turian named Kryik?"

"Who? I swear... it was just the quarian, dead or alive."

"And Saren himself?" the bitch asked softly. "Where is he? Here on Earth?"

"Right now?" Finch said in surprise. "How the fuck should I know?"

"So how were you supposed to deliver the quarian, hmm?" Zorra let him see the disbelief in her eyes. "Do you really think for a moment that I believe he'd trust the quarian to another agent, especially the way you fucked it up the first time?"

"I don't know, honest!" he declared. "I was supposed to contact him when I had her." His brow furrowed suddenly. "Wait… how do you know.."

"Nevermind how I know," she said, straightening up and letting her thumb just brush, ever-so-lightly, the pistol at her hip. "I wasn't looking for questions from you, just answers."

"Shit," exclaimed Finch, dread opening a yawning pit in his gut. "You're an agent for the Broker too, aren't you?"

Zorra gave him a wide smile in response.

"Ah, fuck."

She shook her head. "You really do pick the worst enemies, don't you, loverboy?"

"But you're going to forget you saw me, right?" he said, a shade desperately. "That was the deal."

"Yep," she said. "I never saw you." With a jerk of her chin to the others, she started walking toward the door, the biotic and the merc falling in behind her.

Thank god. For a minute he thought she had set him up aga…

Finch looked up into the barrel of a shotgun. His eyes widened.

"Goodbye," said the krogan, and pulled the trigger.

When Garrus caught up with Nihlus, it was to find the other turian crouched over the asari's unconscious form, hacking her omni-tool.

"Wha…?"

"Nothing. Damn." Nihlus straightened up. "Come on."

Garrus looked from the Spectre to the asari and back again. "But…"

"Bring her, of course," Nihlus said with a flare of his mandibles and a tip of his head to indicate the asari. "We just need somewhere a little more… private."

"Wha…" Garrus began, but closed his mouth with a snap. This wasn't the time for questions.

Nihlus caught the action and gave a tiny nod of approval, leading the way as Garrus hefted the asari over his shoulder.

They hadn't gone far when Nihlus gave a grunt of satisfaction, and stopped in front of a door reading AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY: NO ADMITTANCE. He bypassed the lock easily and stepped through, startling three humans enjoying what appeared to be a surreptitious smoke break.

"Hey," said one. "You can't come in here!"

"I'm afraid I can," replied Nihlus, command vibrating in his subvocals. "Spectre authority."

"Spectre?" said a different one. "Shit."

"What's a Spectre?" asked the one who'd spoken first.

"It's like the Feds, only worse," his friend replied. "Just shut up and do what he says."

"I'd listen to him if I was you," Garrus suggested.

The third of the group turned narrowed eyes on them. "How do we know you're Spectres?" he said suspiciously. "You're just a couple of aliens. You could be the ones behind the bombing. I think we should call Security…"

Nihlus exended his hand and a narrow arc of energy leapt from his omni-tool to the man, who stiffened and jerked spasmodically before dropping bonelessly to the floor.

"Good man," said Nihlus. "Got a good head on his shoulders. But I suggest the two of you take him to contact Security personally." His silvery eyes traveled from one to the other of the remaining men. "Now."

"Y-yessir," stammered the one who'd suggested they obey without question, trying to salute and failing. He and his friend took the unconscious man by the shoulders and dragged him out of the room and down a long corridor in the less public part of the spaceport.

"Idiots," muttered Nihuls with a shake of his head. "Never hesitate, Vakarian. It'll get you killed."

"Yessir," said Garrus dutifully, setting the asari on a stack of crates. "What are you planning on doing with her?"

"Oh, nothing too drastic," replied Nihlus, searching through some cannisters on his belt. Garrus had assumed they held nothing more than a backup supply of medi-gel, but Nihlus unclipped one with a faint hum. "Just going to ask her a few questions."

He popped the cannister open with his thumb and shook out a pre-loaded hypodermic syringe. "With a little help."

Garrus felt his mandibles gape. "Drug-assisted interrogation? Didn't the Council outlaw that seventy years ago?"

"Yes," said Nihlus, handing him the hypo and rolling up the asari's long sleve.

"But…" Garrus suggested, handing the hypo back when the older turian gestured for it.

"The ruling doesn't apply to Spectres," Nihlus replied around the plastic cap covering the needle, pulling it free with his teeth. He turned his head and spat it out. "Watch where that goes. We'll want to pick it up when we're done." Deftly, he inserted the thin needle into a vein on the inside of the asari's pale blue arm and began depressing the plunger slowly.

Garrus stepped over to where the small bit of plastic had rolled into a dusky corner and picked it up. Didn't apply to Spectres? If it didn't apply to the Council, why was the ruling passed in the first place? He remembered his father's voice, heavy with disappointment in more than one press release, explaining that a criminal had been allowed to go free due to a lack of evidence. Couldn't C-Sec make good use of the technique as well as Spectres? Or even more?

"Let's hope she's not up-to-date," murmured Nihlus, unaware of Garrus's discomfort.

Garrus glanced over his shoulder. "Up-to-date?"

"Implanted allergies," explained the Spectre. "We have our own lab in Special Tactics - mostly salarians, a few asari - dedicated to keeping development ahead of the countermeasures. Ah…" his mandibles flared slightly in a wry grin, "it appears not."

The asari stirred, and the pale blue eyelids flickered open. The pupils were hugely dilated, even for the relative dimness of the room. She made a faint sound and raised her free hand to her head. "I…" she said, her eyes roaming blearily around the room, "My head… hurts."

"Minor concussion," Nihlus told her. "What's your name?"

"Syleen. Syleen Majet," she murmured. "What… happened?"

"What do you remember, Syleen?" Nihlus was using a soft, low voice, projecting calming signals in his subvocals.

Her hand wavered in the air. Nihlus captured it gently and brought it down to her side. "I… I was watching…" her forehead crinkled, and her unfocused eyes fell on Nihlus's face. "You?" she whispered.

"Do you remember anything before that, Syleen?" Nihlus prompted in the same near-croon.

The asari's head moved a little from side to side in agitation. "I… yes… I…"

"Yes, Syleen?"

"No, I… there was… I was supposed…" her voice faltered, and her vital signs began to ratchet upwards. She was trying to fight the drug.

"Nihlus…" Garrus murmured in warning.

"I'm aware, Vakarian," he answered quietly. "What were you supposed to do, Syleen?"

"There was… a transport," she managed, as if the words were being dragged from a very deep pit. "I was… supposed to…" she paused, and her eyes closed.

"Tell me what you were supposed to do to the transport, Syleen."

"I was supposed to… supposed to…" The asari's eyelids tightened, and her face showed signs of intense strain.

"Were you supposed to destroy the transport, Syleen?" Nihlus offered gently.

Some of the stress lines eased, but the asari didn't answer immediately.

"Is that it, Syleen?" Nihlus prompted again. "Is that what you were supposed to do?"

"Yes." Very faint, a mere whisper.

"And who were you supposed to do this for, Syleen?"

"The… I… I…"

"Tell me who, Syleen."

"The Shadow Broker." It was a breath, no more.

"And what else were you supposed to do for the Shadow Broker?" Nihlus asked. His voice hadn't changed.

"Watch." In the corner of his eye, Garrus saw the asari's hand bunch into a fist, faint, insubstantial flickers forming between her fingers. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but Nihlus was already moving, grabbing both wrists and crossing them on the asari's chest.

"None of that, now, Syleen," he chided. "The Shadow Broker. What else were you doing for him?"

"Watching."

"Watching who, Syleen?"

Her eyes flicked over his face.

"Watching me?"

"Yes."

"Anyone else?"

The asari struggled weakly. Nihlus increased the pressure on her wrists and she subsided. "Who else, Syleen?"

"An asari."

"Who?"

"I… There… I wasn't given a name."

"And how were you supposed to recognize this asari?" Nihlus asked.

"There was… a photo."

"Was?"

"It was… I… it was erased."

"I see." Nihlus was silent for a moment. "Where is the asari now?"

"I… don't know. I never… there was… no one matched… I—"

"You're doing well, Syleen. One last question. Besides bombing the transport and watching me and the asari, was there anything else the Shadow Broker wanted you to do?"

"No."

"Tell me again, Syleen. Besides bombing the transport and watching me and the asari, was there anything else the Shadow Broker wanted you to do?"

"No."

Nihlus searched the asari's face for a few long moments after her final response. "Thank you, Syleen. You've been very helpful," he said softly, rising to his feet, and turning his head toward Garrus. "Did you see where that cap we…"

But Garrus was scrabbling for his sidearm. Syleen was struggling weakly into a sitting position, but her entire torso was alight with biotic charge.

In a movement faster than Garrus could even follow, Nihlus had drawn his pistol and fired a single shot. Syleen's body slumped back lifelessly, a spatter of purple coating the crates behind her head and a small hole just to the right of the center of her forehead.

"We'll need her omni-tool," the Spectre said calmly. He held out a hand to Garrus.

Wordlessly, Garrus placed the cap in it.

A/N: Yes, I know that Fist and Finch were most definitely not the same person in the game. But I did say this was AU and that characters' backstories would be changed, in some cases significantly.

A further note: No, I've never been able to play a pure paragon Shepard. Why do you ask?