11 – Strangers

Shepard

"How's it working?" Shepard asked.

"It's rubbish," Zaeed replied in his typical abrasive tone. "Aiming is a crapshoot. Blasted thing damn near has a seizure if I even think about pulling the trigger."

"I said it just needs some tweaking," Jacob snapped irritably. The two of them stood huddled over Zaeed's Vindicator rifle, which lay disassembled on Jacob's workbench. "It's probably just a calibration issue. Once it's fixed, this baby will rip through shields like butter."

"Won't help if I can't hit anything," Zaeed muttered.

Jacob glared at him. "I could do this a lot easier without you hovering over me. Do you want it fixed or not?"

"Don't soil your spandex," Zaeed replied, in what Shepard assumed must be his attempt at a conciliatory tone.

"Don't push me, Zaeed," Jacob growled, turning back to his work.

"You guys gonna play nice?" Shepard asked.

Zaeed clapped Jacob on the back, hard. "Like one big, happy goddamn family."

"Don't touch me," said Jacob.

Shepard decided to leave them to it, heading through the automatic door to the CIC. They'd never be best friends, those two, but he didn't think they'd come to blows. Besides, he had enough to contend with without being saddled with the responsibility of babysitting people.

Kelly Chambers looked up as he approached, pretty as always, her short, reddish-brown hair carefully styled. He smiled at her. "Afternoon, Ms. Chambers."

She smiled back. "You know it's Kelly to you, Commander."

"My mistake," he replied, lowering his head in acknowledgement. "What can I do for you, Kelly?"

Her smile quickly faded. "Operative Lawson asked me to relay a message to you. She'd like to see you as soon as possible."

He frowned. "When was this?"

"Not five minutes ago. Frankly, Commander, I'm a little worried. She sounded… anxious. Uncharacteristically so."

That had to be true enough, considering that Miranda rarely displayed any sort of anxiety at all, in his experience. "Understood. I'll head down right now," he replied.

"I hope everything's okay," said Kelly.

He went straight to the lift, feeling apprehensive. Anything that worried Miranda enough to cause visible distress was probably worthy of his full attention. Maybe she'd finally ask him to get rid of Jack. Things seemed to have calmed down between those two, but it could just as easily get ugly again in a hurry. Maybe he'd been mistaken.

Wouldn't be the first time I misread female body language.

The lift doors opened, admitting him to the crew deck. The mess hall was empty, and he walked straight across to Miranda's door, giving it a sharp tap.

"Come in," she called.

She was sitting at her desk, as usual, but he immediately saw what had caused Kelly's alarm. Her appearance was immaculate, as always, but her eyebrows were drawn, her fists clenched tightly, then suddenly relaxed as if she'd been previously unaware of it. She met his eyes, and matching her gaze, he realized something entirely unexpected.

She's afraid.

"Miranda, are you all right?"

"Shepard…" she began. Awkwardly. Another surprise. "I am… in the uncomfortable position of asking for your help."

He nodded reassuringly. "Don't worry. I'll do whatever I can. What's wrong?"

She explained about the message from her Illium contact, about her sister, her fear of what her father might do. It all came out in a rush, and she was unable to keep her emotions entirely out of the telling. He understood completely. Miranda almost never talked about personal matters – he got the impression that her sister's existence was the single most private aspect of her life. Airing all this out had to be difficult, and if she struggled with it a bit, so be it. Miranda was good at everything she did, but at this, she, like Shepard himself, was out of practice.

Or maybe never learned at all.

It was an appalling tale, and the more he heard of it, the angrier he became. What sort of a man could create children for his own personal use, like breeding pit bulls for dog fighting? What could he possibly hope to gain by taking an eighteen-year-old girl away from the only family she'd ever known?

As talented as she is, he damaged her. It's no wonder she has trust issues.

"I don't know what he'll do," she finished. "I know what I went through when he was still chasing me. Only Cerberus saved me. They've kept Oriana hidden all this time, and now… I've got to get there first, Shepard." Her commanding tone and the fierce determination behind her bright blue eyes brooked no argument. She was more her usual self, now – angry, determined, and completely focused. Masking her fear and concealing her emotions, these were as natural to her as breathing.

"It's crazy," Shepard replied, in disbelief. "What does he think she'll do, just drop everything and magically be his dutiful, subservient daughter? And if she does, what does he gain? It doesn't sound like paternal affection factors much into his motivation."

"I've wondered along those same lines," she acknowledged. "And you can be certain that affection has nothing to do with it. It could be that he's only trying to get back at me for rescuing her."

That word, "rescue." It was obviously important to her to characterize it that way, as if she still struggled with justifying what she'd done, even to herself. He could understand that – taking such direct control over a person's life would hardly be a decision to undertake lightly. Her remembered her grim-faced characterization of herself as a genetically superior human, her description of the way the consequences of her mistakes were inevitably severe as a result. Miranda never took things lightly.

That possibility is tearing her up, he realized. The idea that he's motivated by vengeance. That all of this is somehow her fault.

She was beautiful, even in her distress, perhaps more so because of it. He felt a surge of strong affection for her, accompanied by fury at the unfairness of her situation. Even in this low state, alone and afraid, she was strong, tough, thoroughly in control; but her humanity, her vulnerability, shone through in her passion, in her fear and her anger, and she was extraordinarily, achingly lovely. In that moment, he could scarcely have recalled how he had ever believed her callous or frigid; those blue eyes now smoldered with a fire that should have seared him to the bone. He found himself wanting nothing more than to inflict terrible pain upon the man who had done this to her.

"We'll go right now," he said, their eyes locked together. It seemed to him that an understanding came between them in that moment – she understood the concern he felt for her, the anger he shared on her behalf, understood it and accepted it gratefully. The air between them seemed to thicken until she turned her eyes away.

"Thank you, Shepard," she said sincerely. "This means a lot to me."

He nodded. "I know. Let your contact know we're coming. I'll have Joker get us on our way."

Standing outside her office door, he had to take a moment to collect himself. He had been angry. It was… unexpected.

Don't get in over your head.

He forced his feelings, whatever they were, onto the back burner. He had promised to help her, and he would do everything in his power. She'd proven a terrific second-in-command. A friend, even, as unlikely as that would have seemed several months ago. And whoever this man sent after Miranda's little sister was in for a nasty shock, of the Claymore 300-M variety.

"All right there, Shepard?"

It was Garrus, regarding Shepard with an odd expression on his face. "You look strange," the turian added.

"Just thinking," Shepard replied.

"Yeah, well, if you always look that way when you're 'thinking,' I wouldn't do it too often," Garrus quipped. Shepard couldn't help but grin. His friend was finally himself again.

"Good to have you back, Garrus."

Garrus understood his meaning. He nodded slowly. "Thanks, Shepard."

Shepard nodded back. "Get some rest. We're hitting Illium ASAP."

"Garrus," Gabby shouted, "are you still alive out there? I can't do this by myself!"

"Coming, sweetheart," Garrus called, giving Shepard a rueful shrug. "Duty calls. But I'll be ready whenever you need me, Shepard."

Shepard waved him off, walking back across the mess hall and calling the lift, a certain dark-haired woman once again first and foremost in his thoughts.

We won't let her down.

I won't.

Thane

"You're Thane Krios, aren't you?"

He regarded her impassively from across the table. "It doesn't matter who I am."

The asari smiled at him, a knowing and conspiratorial smile. She leaned forward in her seat and lowered her voice. "Of course not. But assuming you were, I could, say, make a reasonable guess as to why you bought me a drink."

"Interesting," he replied noncommittally. The Eternity Lounge was less crowded at this hour, past midnight, but even at peak hours, he would have been able to hear her voice clearly. The music in Eternity was always low, earthy and subtle; there was never any boisterous behavior or shouting. It was a different sort of club, a very relaxed and sensual atmosphere. The nearest person to the table he shared with Seryna was a turian, alone and wholly absorbed in his cups. No one paid them the slightest bit of attention.

"If I had to guess," Seryna continued, sipping her wine with a sly grin on her face, "I'd say you were… interested… in a former employer of mine. Nassana Dantius."

"Anything is possible," said Thane, returning her smile. Clever, he thought. He liked her already.

"Well, if that were the case, it just so happens that I would be quite willing to help you." She killed her drink in a quick, unceremonious gulp. "But it's late, and I have a busy day tomorrow. What say we meet up some place quiet tomorrow evening and have a chat, you and I?" Her blue eyes twinkled with mischief. She was thoroughly enjoying this. Behind her, the aforementioned turian shuffled off toward the door.

"That would be agreeable," he replied. "Did you have a place in mind?"

"My office isn't far from here," she said, standing. He stood up, as well. "It's over on the cargo transfer level. How about meeting me by the dock at, say, seven-thirty?"

He bowed. "Very well. Until tomorrow, then."

They made small talk for another minute more; then, he walked her out of the bar, and the two went their separate ways. This arrangement would be fortuitous indeed. Seryna had been Nassana's head of security before being fired. He was unsure of the circumstances surrounding her termination, but given her obvious willingness to help him, the tale would likely prove an unpleasant one. He shook his head ruefully. Nassana should have known better. Seryna was young, smart, and clearly willing to get her hands a little dirty – sending her packing and carrying a grudge was a foolish mistake.

A pity she will not live long enough to regret it.

Thane was a deeply spiritual man, but the prospect of Nassana Dantius' death did not trouble him overmuch. She was a herald of suffering, consumed by greed; her merciless influence had ended and broken lives almost beyond count. Thane's hands would bring justice to those she had wronged. He was not a creator; he was a bringer of death, and if he wanted to visit good upon the galaxy, his only option was to do so through the subtraction of evil.

He walked silently through the streets, clinging to the shadowed alleyways purely by instinct. Silence and stealth had been bred in him since early youth, but tonight it seemed an unnecessary precaution. Illium could be a dangerous place, especially for the unwary, but Thane Krios was not afraid of the dark. His death waited off in the near distance, tantalizingly close, a soft, muted light at the end of a dark tunnel. When the goddess Kalihira came for him, he would greet her with a grateful sigh and a lover's embrace. His life had dragged on too long already. Its end was long overdue.

The alley he walked gave way to a market thoroughfare, utterly empty at this hour, the shops and kiosks dark and lonely. Utterly empty… or not. A lone asari stood over by the railing, her back to him, staring out toward the city. His movement must have caught her eye; she turned sharply to face him, and he found himself taken aback. She was a beautiful creature, tall, both slender and voluptuous. He watched her, entranced, for a few moments before turning back the way he'd come. He trusted his instincts, and they cautioned him to avoid her eyes. It was very late – he should be inside, away from prying eyes.

A knife in the back… That would be both an unfortunate and unpleasant end.

He made his careful way back to the hotel, his hidden little home. The stars and intermittent lights of the city guided his path.

Samara

The Nos Astra skyline was a breathtaking spectacle. Massive, impossibly tall towers, gleaming in the night with thousands of glittering lights, like stars in the great empty void of space… it was a glorious city, stretching as far as the eye could see, but to Samara's eyes, that beauty was marred, tainted by the evil presence lurking somewhere in that dazzling, radiant labyrinth. The word was well and truly out, now – a Justicar walked the streets of Nos Astra. Morinth would be afraid, now, but she would be cautious.

The sky above was the pitch dark of the small hours of the morning. Samara preferred the night in large cities to the incessant stir and commotion of the daytime hours. In heavily populated cities like Nos Astra, the night hours could be very peaceful by way of contrast – the distinct absence of the daily-present rumblings of activity augmented her sense of tranquility. Walking these empty streets in the post-midnight hours produced a loneliness in her that was not entirely unpleasant. It reminded her very much of the awe she had felt so long ago, a small child looking up at the Thessian sky at all the countless stars and worlds beyond.

She stood at the edge of the street, staring out at the heart of the city, when the sounds of uneven footsteps reached her ears. A turian male ambled down the street toward her. In her general direction, at least; his gait was halting and jerky, his path meandering and uncertain. He was evidently very heavily intoxicated.

"How much for a favor, pretty lady?" he asked, his voice slurred and distant. She had been prepared to defend herself, but realized she needn't have worried. He was probably harmless.

"Go home," she said, not unkindly.

"Go home, she says," he growled, staggering toward her. She recoiled from him instinctively, and he fell flat on his on his face. The sound of the impact was unbearably harsh, as if someone had dropped an open toolbox from a third-story window.

"Go home! I'm a complete mess! Hahahaha!" he nearly screamed, bursting into hysterical laughter. As he lay there, spluttering, his laughter gradually morphed into miserable, drunken wailing. Samara found herself quite at a loss.

"Let me help you," she offered, kneeling over him and extending a hand. The turian seemed not to hear her; his body wracked with sobs, his face pressed directly into the ground. He folded his claws over the back of his head as if shielding himself from an explosive blast.

"I love her!" he howled. "I love her and she won't even look at me! She won't look at me!!"

Surely he cannot mean me, she thought anxiously, looking around surreptitiously. He must have come from Eternity; this was a business district, and all the shops were closed at this hour. The street was empty, save the pair of them.

"Nobody knows…what it's like…" he babbled dejectedly. "We're meant for each other! Why?!" he screamed again, beating his scaled fist against the hard, metallic surface of the street with a loud clang. "Why did I ever leave Palaven? Why did I ever set foot on this horrible rock!? I wish… I wish I never even heard of quarians!!"

Not me, then, she thought wryly.

She placed a hand on his arm, hesitantly, strangely unsure herself and uncertain what to do. "Please. Let me help you."

He staggered to his feet abruptly and lurched forward, bent over, hurtling onward almost comically, as if intending to tackle someone. She thought for certain that he would fall again, but somehow he managed to right himself and stagger on, sobbing and muttering to himself. He seemed to have quite forgotten her.

She stared after him in silence, trying to sort through her feelings in the wake of this strange experience. Illium was a very alien place to her; as a Justicar, she very rarely left asari space. But it wasn't as if she had no experience in dealing with people. By its very nature, her role as a Justicar compelled her to interact with others, albeit distantly. It had been years, many years, since she'd had a real relationship of any kind with another person – she'd made a habit of giving very little of herself since adopting the Code.

She felt something, though. Of that, there was no doubt. That pitiful, weeping wretch had affected her profoundly. But this encounter wasn't especially unique. Goddess, he wasn't even the first drunken turian who had accosted her in the street.

He spoke to me as a person. As a woman, she thought abruptly, and she realized with a jolt of sadness that this encounter had simply triggered a memory. An old, old memory, of a time centuries gone. A memory of her mate.

Lynaia…

She closed her eyes, allowing the old wounds to tentatively split open. It had been near the end, that night. They had both been there, at the hospital; they had both heard. Their children, their poor children…

"My daughters… my sweet, beautiful babies… Why, Samara? Why!?"

Lynaia had been drunk herself, that night, stricken with inconsolable grief. Many tears were shed between them; they cried in one another's arms, cried themselves to sleep, and in the morning, when Samara awoke, red-eyed and exhausted, Lynaia was gone. She'd left no note; the burden, the guilt, had simply proved more than she could take. Samara neither saw nor heard from her again.

Old wounds, she reiterated silently. She felt a muted, dull version of that pain, of what had once been a terrible sense of loss, but she did not cry. Her tears for Lynaia had long since been shed. But it was strange, remembering those days. She had been a very different woman then. Happy, carefree, full of laughter. It was almost difficult to believe, in spite of her memories. The woman who had danced away countless nights, who'd laughed until she couldn't breathe, she who had greeted every new day with a smile and the promise of some new mischief… Could this truly be the same woman, the same asari who now stood on this shadowed, empty street in Nos Astra, a taciturn follower of the Justicar Code whose people skills were woefully out of practice?

For a brief moment, she pined for that woman now centuries dead. She would have given anything, anything at all, to have those years back, her love and her three children within arm's reach, anywhere but this dreadful, horrible, soulless world, mired hopelessly in an inescapable conflict with the one she most loved but was forever sworn to destroy. For a brief moment… but then it was gone. She stood up straight, eyes straight ahead, the unfaltering Justicar once more.

She caught a flicker of movement to her left and spun around abruptly. There was someone in the alley across the way, watching her. The figure was hidden in the shadows, indistinct, but it looked… human, most likely. Male. They watched one another for a moment more before the human pushed himself away from the building, turned and walked back the way he had come. Samara stared after the figure for a moment, then decided to put it out of her mind.

I've enough to worry me without jumping at shadows.

Whoever he had been, human or otherwise, he was gone. Someone in Morinth's employ, perhaps. More than likely, just another unnamed stranger to cross her path. Not the first, and certainly not the last. She started back toward her rooms, suddenly very tired.

Morinth wouldn't be on Illium much longer; of that, she was certain. Picking up her trail in the wake of her departure would be a simple matter of asking the Eclipse sisters where she'd gone, as she would undoubtedly coerce the mercenaries into smuggling her off-world. She would ask them, and if they refused to tell, she would kill them. Simple. The greatest hurdle would likely be the Illium authorities, even though it was her understanding that nearly all of the Eclipse presence on Illium was asari. She certainly did not relish the possibility of conflict with law enforcement, but she would follow the Code as she always had.

What comes, comes, she thought placidly. She was tired, and would sleep well. Tomorrow, the Justicar Samara would truly come upon this city.

And peace find the souls of any who stood in her way.