Chapter Eleven
The low rays of sun piercing the jungle's canvas feel like spotlights searching me out, while the early morning's haze lends an ethereal quality to the area. I tread on, my thoughts only on the task ahead.
Eventually, I reach my destination. A small nondescript building sat like an immense boulder, a large satellite dish to its side, protruding only slightly through the leaves above. The operation looks much smaller than I imagined it, but then looks can be deceiving.
As I approach the entrance, the salarian's voice comes through an intercom, absent of puzzlement or suspicion. "Who is this?"
"Ryn, it's me. Freya," I reply, playing up my Australian accent. All part of the alias.
"Thought so. Harry said you would be coming. Said you'd been most insistent. Aggressive even."
Harry was the intermediary. Convincing him to reveal Ryn's location didn't take much effort, though it had been a hastier, more 'direct' process than I would've liked.
"He's a good kid. Smart."
"Stay put."
The intercom clicks off and a few seconds pass before the door to the bunker opens to reveal Ryn standing there, shotgun pointed at me. Despite the unusual sight of a large weapon in the hands of a scrawny figure, he holds it confidently.
"That how you greet all your guests?"
"Turn around."
"Turn around, please," I smile as I oblige, revealing that I'm unarmed. Unfortunately, just another part of the cover. Carrying a gun does not endear you to people like Ryn.
"In. Quick," he urges as he backs away, weapon still on me.
The bunker is a cosy lived-in mess of specialised surveillance equipment, whirring and beeping in gentle tones. White noise blanketing the sole circular chamber. It's almost soothing in an odd way. I spy the makeshift bed off to one side and, despite its uncomfortable appearance, my thoughts temporarily drift to those of rest. I haven't slept properly for a good while now.
Not wanting to alarm Ryn, I wait until he instructs me to sit.
"Ryn, put the gun down already. Please." I'm not worried, but if he's nervous, he's liable to have a panic attack. I can tell he doesn't like having to point that thing at people.
He rests it on a large built-in counter nearby, next to scattered bits and pieces of assorted devices. "Why so desperate to see me?"
"I'm trying to track someone, and you're the best eyes and ears for the job."
"Yes, but why rush?" He's agitated, ignoring the compliment.
"It's high priority."
A hand moves to his chin, pensively. "Who's the target?"
"Civilian."
"Who?" He insists.
"Not important."
"Disagree."
I narrow my eyes at him, suspicious. "Why now?"
Then comes a nervous rant, in that irritatingly sharp undulating tone of his. "Trouble. It's too much trouble. Unless I know who, I won't help. Once, someone told me 'civilian', and it turned out to be a Spectre. A Spectre! Soon enough they find you. Asari. Very vicious asari. And that was a good bunker too. Nice location; close to the ocean, good shelter, cool breeze. All gone."
Ryn didn't strike me as someone who enjoyed the outdoors. Perhaps that was why.
"I'm not just 'someone'."
"True, but I can tell you are not yourself. Harry was proof of that."
"Ryn, I've come a long way to see you. Taken a great risk. And this is urgent business. I apologise for acting a little hasty but it feels like we're living on borrowed time. If I could tell you more I would. You know I would. We're both a little outside our comfort zones here." Given how salarians like to operate, an unforeseen invasion of Reapers must be incredibly distressing. Especially so for someone as restless as Ryn. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure this doesn't come back to you. Always have." The sentiment is familiar, though not reassuring. "The less you know, the better."
He relents, "Anything happens and you owe me a base."
"Relax. I just need you to track some ships." I toss a credit chit over to him. "Ten thousand, up front. There's more if you deliver."
My manner may have been relaxed, but it's all pretence. Giving out that much money pains me. I'm placing a huge bet on this search. One I'm not even sure will pay off.
The salarian's face, while not the most expressive, is marked by delight. That amount made it too good to resist, even against his better judgement.
"OK, no more questions. I will help." He takes a seat at the main terminal. "Though I must warn you, Reapers have been playing havoc with my network and activity in general has been...erratic."
"You still have spotters in Knossos, right?"
"Yes, though some are only working sporadically and I'm piggybacking a lot of the Shadow Broker's catchers."
"We'll start there and then I'll get you cross-checking other systems."
There's a certain irony in using Ryn to track Cerberus activity.
He'd always been doing it; logging the movements of all manner of vessels via his own devices or leeching off those of other information brokers. The arrangement with him had been a matter of counter-surveillance. Posing as Alliance and checking to see how easy it would be to indentify Cerberus ships and operations; scrubbing them if the risk of exposure became too great.
Overlooking an old contact like Ryn had been a grave mistake and another clear mark of how careless the organisation had become. Cerberus was rising to a crescendo, with the percussion void of nuance.
I find the relevant information and IFFs on my omni-tool and start transferring it onto Ryn's system. He sets a few terminals running and the screens come alive with snatches of data here and there.
"This could take some time," he says bluntly, his back turned.
Great. An opportunity for some time for rest. And I can't...
I slump onto a nearby surface, head in hand, looking at the floor dejectedly. In the briefest pause, all sense of momentum seems to have left my search. Shepard's out there fighting a war, and what am I doing?
After a few moments, Ryn swivels on his seat and I can feel his eyes on me. "Something's bothering you." Points for observation.
"It's nothing, really, " I lie. "Don't worry yourself."
"Heh," he chuckles, "I worry constantly. Part of life, I suppose. Worry is good for self-preservation. Preferable to pain and not as overwhelming as fear, I should think."
I can't help but smile. Salarians always find the quaintest ways of seeing things. And I probably share that perspective. Not that it's reassuring at all.
"Alright then," I begin. Since brooding won't do me any favours. "What's worrying you now?"
A glint in his eye. "Present company excepted?"
"Charming," I reply, shaking my head in mock disapproval.
"Lots of things. The krogan for one."
"Oh, yeah, I saw that. Interesting times..."
The genophage: ended. Just like that. I recall my mixed feelings on seeing the reports. I was happy for Shepard, no question. But was a cure the right thing to do? I didn't have all the information, so I could only trust Shepard's judgement.
The galactic-upheaval of the genophage had gone a long way towards cementing my initial belief in Cerberus. This was something that had happened long before humanity had even encountered other races. And what had we done on arrival? Initiated a vicious conflict with the turians. What if they had enlisted the salarians to sterilise us? While I respected the work of the STG, we needed to be prepared for all eventualities. The council races made for dangerous bullies.
In typical fashion, the salarian offers a novel, even cynical, perspective. "We shall see. I wouldn't rule out the possibility of it being a hoax."
"Really?" I am intrigued.
"The STG were always fond of subterfuge. They wouldn't surrender that power over the krogan so easily."
"I heard Commander Shepard was responsible."
His tone turns to condescension. "Please. Shepard is not a scientist. Would he even know if it had worked?"
A valid point, but Shepard would know enough. He could even be a co-conspirator. That would be devious. It unveils a painful truth: I can't guess how he'd act. I feel so disconnected...
"I...I don't know," I falter.
Thankfully, Ryn seems to miss a near-slip in my cover; too pre-occupied with his troubles once again. "And, of course, from here, I can see the galaxy go dark, system by system. Though it's all just names and numbers, I think I prefer it that way." He takes a deep breath. "At this rate, old age may not take me before the Reapers. I've heard of people flocking to a safe haven somewhere. Sanctuary, I believe it was called. Sounds too good to be true."
"Usually is." I had seen the adverts for the place. Not exactly war-profiteering but somewhere thereabouts. Unless they were genuinely convinced they could hide that many people from the Reapers. By my estimation, it's a scam set up by a volus. You have to admire how shrewd they are when it comes to business.
"From what I can gather across the network, the Reapers seem to prioritise heavily-populated areas. Civilians, not military. It's safer to be alone. Certainly reduces the risk of exposure."
"Ryn, you have a million and one connections every which way across the galaxy. No matter how alone you feel, they will notice."
"Hmm, then perhaps I will go dark...," he ponders distractedly, the screens having caught his attention instead. "You'd better see this. This is...confusing. I don't suppose your mystery civilian can teleport at will..."
I join him, staring at the screens but not gaining any clarity. He explains how some of the routes and travel times don't correlate; there's no conceivable way for some of the vessels to cover those sorts of distances if they're legitimate. Good and bad news. Had to be Cerberus but, most likely, the ships have been utilising cloned IFFs, or masking them, at certain points. With a group, it would still be possible to determine which had been going where but the picture was still too patchy, with huge blank areas of activity, and could take thorough manual investigation. Joining the dots could yield any number of images.
"OK, hold up," I say, pulling Erin's datapad from my belt and passing it over to him. "There might be something useful on here."
I was trying to keep Erin out of this but I'm running out of options. She'd loaded the device with enough useful intel that maybe Ryn could make something of it. Plus, there wasn't enough on there to identify her directly.
He connects the datapad to another nearby computer and taps a few buttons. A brief flash of surprise crosses his face before being replaced by a purposefully impassive look.
"Something wrong?" I enquire innocently.
"Nothing I can't fix. There appears to be a compatibility issue. Just need to grab something, that's all. Did you want a drink?"
"Oh, that would be nice." If the shotgun-greeting wasn't a clue, Ryn did not make for the best host. I had been a little parched ever since my trek here from Aegohr. "None of that strong stuff though. Water would be fine, ta."
"Understood. I have some I filtered myself."
He moves behind the large central counter and ducks down, reappearing with a couple of bottles.
"Resourceful."
"Thank you. I had considered giving all this up, and what you said made sense. I could shut down this whole operation. Disappear pretty much. No one would know I was here, no one would have reason to bother me. Perhaps even the Reapers would leave me be." Maybe it's the paranoia again, but I get the strange feeling he's trying to imply more than he's saying. He walks round and passes me my drink while he continues, "I can adapt. I could quite happily subsist, cultivating the land."
"An agrarian salarian," I jest, fiddling with the bottle lid.
"Ha!" He laughs, as he deftly twists the other bottle in his grip and strikes me hard in the head with the body of it. Caught off-guard I go down, dazed but not out. By the time I'm able to refocus, I'm on my hands and knees, Ryn standing over me, having retrieved his shotgun from the counter. I didn't think the joke was that bad...
My head throbs but there's no cut; the bottle was thick and heavy, didn't even smash. Mine's rolled out of my grasp and reach.
"Who were you trying to lead here? Why do this? Why me?" Come the questions, fast and irritated.
Still on the floor, I raise my hands and slowly lean up to look the salarian in the eye. "Ryn, slow down. You're not making sense."
"Who are you really? The Alliance wouldn't dare do this. Whoever they are, your friends won't find you."
The impulsive voice in my head screams to snatch the shotgun off him and batter him with it, but I need answers. I need him lucid.
"Cool it, Ryn. I...I don't have any friends. What are you talking about?"
I can see doubt emerge in his expression. My words seem to be getting through. Even he's after an explanation before action. We both seem pretty lost, looking like a pair of idiots. I can't believe I got knocked down by a salarian.
"Don't lie to me!" Timidly, his fingers reaffirm their grip on the gun. "The signal's already been bounced over ten kilometres away. I could kill you right now and they'd never find you."
"Then do it." I pull myself up, confident he won't act, then address him firmly, "What signal, Ryn?"
He narrows his eyes at me and his lips increase their pout before he utters in a low voice, "On your device."
"The datapad?" A dozen thoughts race through my head, they can wait until I'm not conducting a conversation from the wrong side of a gun. "Think about it for a second. Why would I get Harry to give up your hideout, come here unarmed and then hand you a bug?"
"It's...it's an elaborate ruse." He's not far from the truth. Maybe not right here, in this moment, but there's definitely something going on. Can I trust Erin? Do I even know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was still dealing with her?
"Sure. One where I might end up shot to pieces. Trust me, I'm not looking to hurt you, Ryn. I need you, now more than ever."
The gun doesn't move, but his posture loosens a little. My sincerity seems to be winning him over. "Go on..."
This is frustrating. I'm still wandering in the dark, tripping over questions and mistaking them for answers. But, with Ryn's help, I could leverage this knowledge in my favour and throw some illumination on those after me. Even a spotlight narrows back to its source.
"The pad came from an informer. That's not my tracer, but I'd very much like to chase it back. Now, once again, I'll kindly ask you to put the weapon down and help me figure out this whole mess."
"It'll cost you," he warns, smile on his face.
I sigh, "Always does."
A/N: Dramatic irony all up in here!
Yep, I hadn't forgotten about the story. In fact, I'd be tearing my hair out trying to make sure all the pieces will fit together in a satisfying way. Fortunately, it's starting to come together well in my head, so progress should be a little quicker and I should be enjoying the process once again.
As usual, reviews/criticism/feedback all very welcome!