Interstitium

by AssaultSloth

Flashbacks, interstitial scenes, and backdoor dealings. A companion to ME2 focusing on characters and worlds, big and small.

21. Chapter 21, Recidivist, Garrus Vakarian

Recidivist – Garrus Vakarian

---

6 months previously…

–

Archangel didn't know how it had happened. He'd kept his face concealed the entire time. It was a matter of privacy and of practicality alike – as soon as he and his team had secured the lower levels of the compound, the slavers had tried to gas them out, slaves and all, through the garbage chutes. The gas – some kind of volatilized battery cell solution – blistered flesh on contact but did nothing to proper hardsuits.

But helmet or no, once the fighting was over and as Archangel and his team were lining the slavers up against the wall of their own control center, one of them had recognized him.

"Archangel." Melanis Tam tossed the bleeding turian at Archangel's feet, settling the retractable talon-crampons of his own boots on the slaver's back. The gas had been dispersed and Tam's helmet was off, his green eyes glittered down through Archangel's visor. "He wants to speak to you," Tam chuffed.

Archangel said nothing, peering down to look at the slaver.

"Mercy, clade-brother, mercy!" The turian scrambled at the floor, apparently unsure whether he wanted to grovel or rise. He tried to crane his neck to look at his captors, but Tam's weight on his back was too great. Still he tried. "I surrender myself to your judgment!"

Tam gave a throaty growl and pressed his rifle to the back of the turian's skull. The slaver gave a whimper.

"You can't let him kill me, clade-brother!" the slaver pleaded. "I am Dekehrus Clade! Teranus Romak, citizen of the fourth tier of Dekehrus Clade of the Hierarchy! I am a citizen! Your brother in arms!"

Behind his helmet, Archangel's brows rose. He placed a booted toe under Teranus' chin, lifting the slaver's face up to peer at his markings. Most turian gangsters scoured off their tattoos to cut ties with home, and Teranus' were hardly well-maintained, but two faded blue streaks ran under his eyes and back. A streak ran across the nasal bridge, and a pair of divided chevrons on the mandibles.

Dekehrus Clade's sigils. And Garrus Vakarian's.

Archangel said nothing.

Teranus' jaw shook. "I s-submit myself to judgment."

"You are a slaver," Archangel said.

"I confess," Teranus said instantly, eyes pleading. "Send me to Palaven to be tried by the exarchs. I will confess my crimes and accept my punishment with dignity. I will stand before Exarch Qatun and be judged."

"You gassed your own slaves to save yourself."

"I did. Let me pay."

Archangel stared at him for a long moment, trying to read the purpose on his face. They both knew if he stood trial on Palaven – under their clade's Exarch Qatun or any other – he would almost certainly be put to death. Turian justice was not about rehabilitation, not for slavers. It was about cleaning. Without a strong vouch of support from a higher officer – and there were few who would risk their careers – Teranus was doomed. It was possible he was hoping to escape before getting there, but somehow Archangel doubted it. Teranus wanted absolution. Forgiveness. The Hierarchy would have him killed, but once the price was paid his name would be redeemed. There would be no dishonor to Dekehrus Clade. No dishonor to Teranus' memory.

Garrus Vakarian had every reason in the world to agree. Even as long as he'd been away from his home, he still wore the Dekehrus blue, still maintained the sigils on his face. Still wanted to preserve his clade's integrity. He could send Teranus to his father at the clade-fortress. Maybe even send Tam as escort, to give the big turian some much-needed leave time on the homeworld.

The condemned and the condemning locked eyes. They were clade brothers. Citizens of the great Dekehrus lineage. Teranus was a little younger, but they might have even served in the same unit. They might have even met before, back home, when they were training. They served the Hierarchy, they served the Clade, they pulled together, they joined their strength. Justice for one was justice for both.

Garrus Vakarian had every reason to agree.

But Archangel shot Teranus between the eyes and got back to work.

---

Presently…

–

Commander Garrus Vakarian stared down at the galaxy and knew how it felt to be a Reaper. From this scale, entire clusters were barely pixels, inching around and around the galactic disc in a great spatial dance. He could see Palaven and the Citadel, Omega and Horizon, Invictus and Virmire. He could see the tangle of relay routes, the shimmering web of comm buoys.

The whole thing moved much too fast, of course. A ninety-thousand light year wheel existed on a scale so vast that half a thousand asari would live and die before it had shifted a single degree. He supposed the humans who'd made the projector didn't have that kind of patience. They needed the galaxy to move, even if only the Reapers lived long enough to watch it happen.

Still, he felt like he'd been watching it for eons.

"How about this one?" he asked for what must have been the thousandth time, summoning up the details of a new star system. A star and its planets bloomed up, magnifying to fill the CIC. There was a green/blue one – the humans called it Peregrine, apparently – and a host of rocky planetoids. A few comets, a century-old telemetry note about a possible platinum deposit, and that was it. No life. No settlements. A dark and empty system.

Next to him, Grunt peered at the holographic planet with a fierce intensity. "Okeer called this planet Goba," he recited. "It is not a suitable planet for krogan. The crust is laden with arsenic and there is nothing to eat."

Garrus resisted the urge to sigh. "Is it a suitable planet for collectors?"

Grunt considered this. "No, turian. This is not the one from my memory."

Garrus went ahead and sighed as he clicked to the next system, this one dominated by a trio of red-brown gas giants, and Grunt started over again. "Okeer called these Sora-tug," Grunt said this time. "Ships can be hidden amongst the planets' rings. Hydrogen argon atmospheres, some liquid helium. No habitable land." He paused, thinking hard. "It is not the planet either, turian."

Garrus clicked again, ignoring Grunt's newest monologue. They had been at this for almost an hour, ever since the krogan had come thundering up to the command deck bellowing about a newly discovered memory. It wasn't the first time it had happened – the crew had gotten used to ignoring Grunt's sudden bursts of passion about ancient topics that had filtered through Okeer's indoctrination – but it was the first time Grunt had had a new memory about the collectors. It was one of the only topics on which Okeer had left Grunt with very little to say.

But now Grunt was sure Okeer had spoken to a collector on a system deep in the Attican Traverse, and he had made it clear he wasn't going to rest until they'd checked the galaxy from one end to the other. Garrus didn't see much use in it – Grunt had angrily admitted he couldn't remember anything about the meeting – but it kept the krogan busy not forcing Cerberus' hand, so Garrus had gone along with it.

And besides, it kept Garrus' mind off his own troubles.

It had been two days and Shepard still wasn't back on his feet. And Commander Garrus Vakarian was beginning to hate his job.

He used to want this. Long ago, before his father had informed him he would be joining C-Sec, Garrus had fantasized about being a career soldier. A military exarch or even a general with forces at his disposal. Even on the SR1 there had been moments when he'd wished he were giving the orders.

But he'd since realized that the rules only got worseas you ascended the rungs, not better. The turians liked to say command was the burden of responsibility over those beneath you. Command was a duty and keeping it was a balancing act – there was never an underling's mistake so heinous the blame couldn't be given to his superiors too. Those ambitious turians iron enough to climb their way up the Hierarchy without falling were respected – adored even – but Garrus had come to accept that he wasn't one of them. On Palaven, Garrus was a citizen of the eighth tier – his father's big name had dragged him a few meaningless rungs above the rank and file – and that was more than high enough for him. Omega had shown him what happened when he overreached.

Garrus Vakarian never wanted to give another order as long as he lived. He would never tell Shepard as much, would never back out of what his friend needed from him, but the prospect of commanding even a ship so small as the Normandy terrified Garrus more than any foe he'd ever faced. He was counting the minutes before Shepard would take the burden back and return him to nice, simple following.

"Next planet, turian," Grunt rumbled, voice impatient with anger. His pupils were slit thin, wheeling in their sockets with their usual intensity.

"Sorry," Garrus muttered absently. He clicked the map.

He didn't bother listening to Grunt's recital, but stared past him, to the humans working the terminals. They cast him and Grunt fleeting glances, distrust written on their faces. Garrus met their eyes without flinching, trying to project the right confidence. A real commander had to watch his crew. Had to set the right tone. Had to look cool, controlled, comfortable in his place.

Even if he wasn't.

Garrus wished he knew better how to read humans, wished he knew exactly what was making them so nervous. Instincts he'd suppressed since Omega flitted through his head as he stared back, trying to gauge threat the crew posed. It was obvious they were uncomfortable with him, but were they plotting something? Planning to ambush him as soon as the Illusive Man gave the signal? Or did they just not like the idea of a turian standing in their commander's spot?

The whole crew had been on edge since Shepard had gone under the doctor's knife. The collector trap had left their ship – their invulnerable marvel of technology – broken and limping, half of its systems burnt out. They'd been drifting for days while the engineers had labored to get the ship back into operation, and Tali had made it clear it could be days more before it was safe to go through another relay. Supplies were dwindling, climate control was gone, and everyone seemed to feel that their troubles had only started.

They were a broken ship and a broken crew. Loyalties were hidden and the only two who could put a stop to things were locked in their rooms.

Shepard had told him to be ready for Cerberus to attack.

Garrus wondered if saying so had made it a certainty.

"I've been to that one before." A voice behind them interrupted Garrus' thoughts and he turned to see Jacob standing by the elevator door. Grunt glowered at the man, but Jacob took no notice, casually approaching the map with a respectful nod towards Garrus. "Not a pretty place," Jacob continued, gesturing up to the planet on the display, "but it isn't uninhabited. It was one of our dead drop locations when we were putting together the resources for Lazarus Cell."

Grunt snorted and pawed at the ground in irritation. "Okeer remembers no outposts."

Jacob shrugged. "It was small, just a few prefabs. Probably gone by now."

"What do you want, Jacob?" Garrus asked before Grunt could fire back. Garrus couldn't deny it - he liked Jacob. The man had principles, and he was as solid on the field as any human Garrus had ever met. But he was still Cerberus, and he'd still spent most of the last two days in Miranda's room. He was best approached with caution.

Jacob looked at him. "Miranda wants to see you about the repairs. In her quarters."

Garrus' eyes narrowed in their sockets. "I'm not sure Miranda is in a position to be making demands of me."

"It's not a demand," Jacob insisted. "She just wants an update on how things are going. When you have a chance."

Garrus stared skeptically at the dark-skinned human, but Jacob was as unreadable as the rest of the crew, and just stared back with an expectant look. Garrus' mind raced. Miranda had admittedly – and to his astonishment – been nothing but compliant since Shepard had banished her to her room. How much of that was because Samara was standing guard was hard to guess, but it wasn't like she'd launched a coup as soon as Shepard was out of commission. Garrus supposed it was possible she was earnest.

"It is a trap, turian," Grunt rumbled.

Garrus nodded. "Of some kind or another," he agreed. He had no delusions. Miranda was dangerous, earnest or not.

"It's not a trap," Jacob said. "Listen. Shepard said you were in charge, and me and Miranda... we're going to try to respect that."

Garrus rolled his eyes. He wasn't about to believe that. "You and Miranda?"

"Well... me," Jacob amended. "I'm..." he hesitated, looking away. "I'm torn, Garrus. Shepard trusts you and so I will too. I'll follow your orders. But this whole situation..."

"Who will you side with?" Garrus interrupted.

Jacob didn't hesitate this time. "Miranda." He held Garrus' gaze, unashamed.

Garrus nodded and turned back towards the map. At least Jacob was honest. He wished the rest of the crew was as straightforward with their intentions.

"Send me," Grunt offered. "I will kill her."

Garrus ignored him, weighing the options in his mind. He wasn't made for this sort of subterfuge. He wasn't made for hidden enemies and hidden agendas. He was a turian, and turians had only two settings. But he had to try.

He made up his mind. He'd find out what Miranda had to say. He'd spring the trap.

"Keep looking for planets," he said, descending the stairs to the elevator. "Jacob will help you with the map." He stared at Jacob and gestured towards the map controls.

Jacob nodded. "Aye aye, sir."

–

Samara let him pass and he found Miranda alone at her desk, tapping at her console. Garrus had never seen the woman's quarters before – they were enormous, easily as large as Shepard's, if equipped with fewer aquariums. Unlike the rest of the ship, the room was spotlessly clean.

Miranda met his eyes as he entered. "Mr. Vakarian," she said, gesturing for him to sit. She'd set up a chair for him opposite her desk – he briefly considered ignoring it before deciding that was pointless pettiness. He sat. Miranda flicked off her console and stared at him. Garrus was no expert on human faces but she looked pleasant enough. "How is Shepard?" she asked.

He imagined she knew very well how Shepard was. "Blind," he said. "Dr. Chakwas doesn't want his eyes put online until the tissue around them has healed."

Miranda nodded absently. "And yourself?"

Garrus' mandibles flickered in irritation. "What do you want, Miranda?"

Miranda frowned. For a moment Garrus thought she would protest, but the frown disappeared as quickly as it had come. "You want to be direct," she said. "Very well. I want to know when you will have the ship repaired. It's been two days."

Garrus didn't answer right away. It was impossible to guess exactly how much Miranda knew about their situation, or what she intended to do when the ship was repaired. The woman had not attempted to emerge from her room since being incarcerated, but Garrus wasn't stupid enough to think that made her any less of a threat. Miranda had EDI, and EDI was the crux of everything. There was no hiding, not for those inside the ship nor for the ship itself. EDI could feed Miranda and the Illusive Man all the information she wanted and there wasn't a thing short of putting a bullet in the AI core that could stop her. With EDI, Miranda could do anything. And she wouldn't be alone – Jacob and the rest of the crew would take her orders over Garrus' no matter what Shepard said. As shaky as his command was already, it'd be gone in a flash if Miranda said so.

Still, she hadn't said so yet. Something stayed her hand. Garrus had some tools at his disposal. He had Shepard, he had Tali, he had Joker. And he had Grunt. The krogan was half the muscle on the ship and not even Miranda wanted to risk instigating him. He had enough – enough that Miranda was biding her time. If she bided long enough Shepard would be back and Cerberus' opportunity would be gone.

In the meantime, the only defense was silence.

Miranda pressed on. "The damage is too severe to fix in space - we need to dock. Is there a reason you haven't attempted to land the ship?" she tried again. "There is a Cord-Hislop facility not eight hours from here that would serve the purpose."

Garrus stared at her. "I would have thought that was obvious."

Miranda sighed. "Ahh yes. You think the Illusive Man will have men waiting for you." She shook her head again. "That wouldn't be sensible. You know that. There are too many variables. It wouldn't be his style." She looked at him. "You yourself could probably hold off a wet squad for days unless they wanted to gas the entire ship."

Garrus ignored the compliment.

"Cerberus has no intention of taking the ship out of Shepard's control," Miranda insisted, voice firm.

"You'll excuse me if I don't believe you."

"I disagree with Shepard's opinions on Cerberus," Miranda continued, "but I understand them. He has a personal investment. All humans do." Her eyes narrowed. "But you are a turian," she said. "You should be able to see past factional squabbles. What is Cerberus to you? Do you really see us as that different from the Alliance?"

"No," Garrus admitted. That was true. It was hard to put much stock in disagreements within other species – the galaxy operated more or less under the assumption that each species would smooth out its differences and present a unified front. The Council dealt with the humans as a whole – how the humans divided power up amongst themselves was up to them. Ultimately, humanity was still new, still finding its place in the galaxy, and while the Alliance had made great strides, there were still humans who sought alternative representation.

But it didn't matter much in the long run. Whether the humans admitted it or not, they were all in the same ship now. All humans were Cerberus, if not necessarily with the group. They wanted to pursue human goals, and there was precisely nothing wrong with that. Cerberus and the Alliance were just two approaches that were still figuring out the balance of power. Extremist splinter groups cropped up in every race – the asari commandos, the salarian STG, even the Council Spectres. Everyone had their own secret weapon, a group that didn't have to follow the rules. (As far as Garrus could see, the only race that didn't do it was the turians, and that was because they were already on top. You didn't need Cerberus when your military budget dwarfed the rest of the galaxy combined.) But eventually it all came into line.

The same would happen to Cerberus. It would be legitimized under the Alliance, just like the commandos had, just like the STG, just like the Spectres. Once the humans had gotten themselves organized, this problem would disappear.

Miranda was staring at him, letting him think, and Garrus immediately felt on edge. Some part of him was impressed at how easily the woman had intuited his thoughts and dragged the conclusion she wanted to the forefront of his mind.

That Cerberus wasn't the enemy. Not really.

"You're a soldier, Garrus," Miranda said simply, and she looked pleased. "You're a pragmatist. You know that this rivalry really only hurts our chances of stopping the real enemy." She paused. "Work with me. Help me calm this situation."

"Shepard doesn't trust you."

"And you wish to follow him. I understand. Shepard is a leader. He's decisive. He's passionate. He went chasing Saren on the basis of a dream. He came back from the death and two hours later he was back on the field killing security mechs. He's a leader."

Garrus just stared.

Miranda stared back. "Your loyalty is commendable," she said. "But you're not a leader. You never have been. You hate regulations. You hate complications. You took on all of Omega and won, and then were brought down by a betrayal. Why didn't you see it coming, Garrus?"

Garrus' mandibles pressed tightly against his jaw. He controlled his breathing, fighting the urge to tear Miranda's head from her shoulders for daring to mention Omega to him. How dare she speak of Archangel? How dare she tell him he should have expected what happened?

But the truth was, she was right. Garrus wasn't stupid. He'd known betrayal was possible. He'd even watched for it. But from one of his own squad. From a turian, no less. It was… almost unthinkable.

"Even now," Miranda continued, either not noticing Garrus' mounting anger or not caring, "you came to me when I called. I'm supposed to be your prisoner, Garrus. A smart leader would not heed the beck and call of his prisoner. It makes you look weak."

"So does being locked in your room," Garrus snapped.

"Perhaps," Miranda admitted. She reached a hand across her desk to a button on the console. "But prisoner or not, one press of this button, one little call, and I could have Zaeed and Jacob running." She locked eyes with Garrus, daring him to push her. "But I won't," she said, releasing the button. "Because I am smart enough to know that further threats will only complicate matters." She paused. "I have tolerated Shepard's treatment of me," Miranda said evenly, "and I have not left this room. But I am not weak."

Miranda pulled a datapad from one of her drawers and slid it across the desk to him. "Now, Mr. Vakarian, I still hope you will be amenable to reason, so I have prepared a list of suggested courses of action. I have arranged for the order of the required replacement ship parts from Hephaestus Cell to be delivered to the Cord-Hislop docking facility. But as little as I like the idea of entrusting the Normandy to you, I am earnest in my willingness to compromise. If you are uncomfortable repairing the ship in a Cerberus facility, then I will have the supplies shipped to an alternative more to your liking."

Garrus stared at the datapad, flipping through it with a few button presses. It was quite comprehensive, full of schematics of the Normandy, repair procedures, along with dozens of facilities capable of extended atmospheric docking of a frigate-sized ship.

"You don't want to betray Shepard's request," Miranda said, voice quiet, "but you know I am right. Work with me."

Garrus was silent for a moment. "I suppose in exchange for this aid you want to be let out of this room…" he said finally.

"No need," Miranda insisted. "All I want in exchange is for you to believe me when I say I want what is best for the mission."

Garrus stood, folding the datapad under one arm, and headed for the door.

"Mr. Vakarian?" Miranda called. "Do you believe me?"

I want what is best for the mission.

"Have your parts waiting on the Citadel," Garrus said, and walked away.

---

6 years previously…

–

The timepiece on Garrus' new C-Sec omnitool read that there were still two hours to go until nighttime – or at least what passed for nighttime on the Citadel – and yet the halls of the Vakarian household were darkened already.

Which wouldn't be so unusual if the lights were controlled by anyone but Atus Vakarian, who'd kept his family on Citadel time – fourteen hours light, six dark – even long after they'd returned to Palaven. All four of them had lived on the Citadel for years and grown used to the Presidium light schedule C-Sec had kept Atus on, and even after a year away, those habits died hard. Garrus knew his father would be up at first light – retired or not – for his morning drills. The lights came on, the lights came off, you woke, and you slept by the clock, and that was it.

So the darkness in his parents' room was more than a little unusual for Garrus. He loitered in the doorframe, head cocked as he listened for anyone awake within, but all he could hear was the metronomic beeping of his mother's life monitors all but drowning out the slow rhythm of her breathing. She was asleep.

Garrus crept away from the door as silently as he could.

Self-doubts still pulled at his head, but he was glad to see his mother getting rest. He'd bother her with them in the morning. He had a few days left before he would be expected back at C-Sec. He'd have plenty of time to find a moment to corner her alone, away from his father.

The rest of his family's home was as dark as his parents' room as Garrus tip-toed for the balcony, passing the closed doors to his father's study and Solana's room. His sister was no doubt enjoying their father's rare lenience and getting a few extra hours of sleep – the two of them had spent the day running themselves ragged touring her favorite parts in the fortress and the city below – and yet as much as he told himself he should do the same, Garrus wasn't tired. It was his first break from C-Sec since his family had finally moved his ailing mother back to the homeworld, but whenever he closed his eyes and tried to relax, his newest failure tugged at his mind.

First had been the turian, thin and dirty, his plates brittle. He'd been so nervous when Garrus and Anla had called him in, but when the blood had started to pool through his lab smock, he'd just looked resigned. He'd known it was coming. Then a pale elcor, its distended stomach criss crossed with scars. Two humans. Another turian. Two of them were too weak to even speak, but the others had the same name for them. Saleon. The elcor had taken Anla to their lab while Garrus rushed to the port authorities.

But they had been too late. Saleon had escaped, practically before Garrus' eyes, and the traffic controllers had just pointed at the regulations book and stared. Like they didn't care at all. The thought of that monster at large in the galaxy made Garrus taste gizzard-bile, and yet they hadn't lifted a finger to stop him. Against regulations.

Garrus had never felt so helpless.

He stepped out onto the patio and made for the railing that looked out over the clade's holdings. Even at night, the view was rather spectacular – the home Exarch Qatun had given his father spared no expense, high up on one of the pyramidal annexes dominated by the clade's finest hospital. They were hundreds of feet above the sprawling foot of the city, and Garrus could trace the roads all the way down to the magtrain stations that connected them to the rest of the planet. Dekehrus Fortress' main peak – where most of the clade's recruits and lower-tier citizens lived – loomed silently overhead, a blackened silhouette against the purple sky. It never truly darkened on Palaven – thirteen moons reflected enough light to blot out all but the most determined of stars and bathe the dark side of the planet in a perpetual twilight – but even then the turian cities were blazingly illuminated by massive mirror arrays that bled the excess energy soaked up during the day.

And yet even with all the light, it took Garrus almost a minute to notice his father sitting on the opposite side of the balcony.

"Too slow, Son" Atus Vakarian grunted. "If I had been an assassin you would be long dead by now." Atus was sitting, his back to the view, and staring at himself in one of the mirrored panels in the wall. He was trim as and polished in his home as he was any other time. He was in full armor – the blue-and-white uniform of the Dekehrus Guard – the only indication he was off duty the missing captain's medallion he normally wore around his neck. He was clearly halfway through taping his face, painstakingly stenciling out the edges of his dark blue sigils.

"Sorry Father," Garrus said, reclaiming his seat against the railing. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Atus snorted and adjusted one of his piece of tape. "Wasn't asleep," he said, checking the tape in the mirror for a moment before nodding his satisfaction. He paused. "You need to work on your situational awareness."

"I didn't realize you were up," Garrus said. "I assumed you'd gone to bed early with Mother." Really, the center of a turian fortress city was about the safest place in the galaxy – the rare turian criminals typically did not bother the fortresses. It was too easy to get caught. But all the same, Atus looked ready for action, like he expected the Blue Suns to drop by any second.

Atus turned and looked at his son. "Situational awareness," he repeated.

Garrus rolled his eyes. "Duly noted. Have you slept at all?"

"You look troubled," Atus said, reaching for the pressure painter on the bench next to him. "You shouldn't let that throw off your skills." He held the painter up to his mandible, pushed down the seal, and pressed. A faint hum filled the air as the machine forced fresh blue ink into his bony skin.

"There are other guards, Father," Garrus said, refusing to change the subject, "You need your rest."

Atus looked at him with the iron-gray intensity that had been so well known back at C-Sec. His mandibles fluttered in irritation, even as he drew the painter slowly down the length of his jaw, filling in the chevron there. "Is there some reason a buck cannot patrol his own home?" he snapped.

Garrus held up his hands in surrender. "Of course not, sir."

"I am the guard captain."

"Of course."

"It's my home."

Garrus just nodded until Atus returned to his painting. Father and son were quiet. It was an old argument. Atus had had to be dragged kicking and screaming into retirement. It was only when Primarch Fedorian himself had all but ordered it that he'd consented to a position leading the Dekehrus city guard. Still, a guard was a fair step down from a C-Sec officer, and Atus had been living the last year like a caged animal, angry and bored.

"It's those damn monitors," Atus admitted to the night, not looking at his son. "They drive me insane. I can't sleep in the same room with her." He snarled. "It's no wonder she's doing so poorly. Has to listen to her own vitals blaring in her ears." He moved the painter to the bridge of his nose and pressed again.

Garrus felt his stomach squirm. Really, his mother's heart monitors were almost silent. But of course he didn't have to listen to them all the time. "You can't take them out?" he asked.

"No." He shook his head slightly. "No. Medics said keep them in. They're good for her."

"Didn't the medics say you should move her to Helos?"

Atus pulled the painter away and stared into the mirror, checking his work carefully. He didn't look at Garrus. "The salarians said that," he said, moving on to his left cheek. "But our clade brothers brought us here for her sake. This is safest." He nodded fiercely, though Garrus wasn't sure for whose benefit. "This is the right course." He nodded again. "She will be fine."

Silence filled the air again. Garrus hoped he was right, but he'd read enough about Corpalis Syndrome to know the rest of the galaxy considered it a death sentence. If the turians had a cure, then the salarians on Helos wouldn't be working on it. Still, he'd always been told the Dekehrus medical corps was one of the finest in the galaxy. Maybe there was a chance. "She will be fine," he echoed.

Atus said nothing for a long time, just alternated re-tattooing his face and checking each mark in the mirror. Garrus watched him work in silence, trying to come up with the right way to say what was on his mind. About C-Sec. About Saleon. He had no delusions – his father loved to talk about C-Sec – but he knew already what he'd say about Saleon. And it wasn't something he could stand to hear just yet.

Atus eventually finished his tattooing and carefully peeled the tape away, revealing his freshened sigils, gleaming blue and perfectly shaped. Turian facial tattoos were quite permanent but they did tend to fade and distort over time, especially in older turians. Still, most turians only got them restored every few years.

Atus fixed his every week. He turned to his son. "Want me to do yours?"

Garrus shook his head. He'd been smart enough to touch himself up before coming home. He'd learned that lesson the hard way. Indeed, Atus spent a moment carefully scrutinizing every angle of his son's work, but eventually found nothing to criticize.

"Youth," he snorted.

"I want to go down to Pescus tomorrow," Garrus blurted out. Technically he didn't need permission – he was a citizen, after all – but it was easier to defer. Atus was not one to suffer any perceived disrespect from his children.

Atus stared at his son, mandibles fluttering in suspicion. His eyes demanded explanation for why his son – a Vakarian – would have business in one of the free cities.

"I want to see Rullios," Garrus admitted, not missing the way his father stiffened at the name. "Just a friendly visit."

Atus stared at him for a long moment, mind clearly racing. He had never liked Rullios – or any of Garrus' friends from his old military unit, really, but especially Rullios. He clicked. "Is he barefaced yet?"

Garrus shook his head. "I don't think so." (In truth he did not know, but Rullios had never been the sort to bend to traditions.)

Atus snorted, his disgust clear, and rose from his seat. He carefully twisted the blue cartridge out of the pressure painter in his hands and held it out. Garrus accepted it, and Atus turned away and stalked back toward the house. "Tell him to take them off," he snarled over his shoulder, and disappeared.

---

Presently...

–

Garrus fidgeted at the doorway to the Kodiak, listening to the sound of its pre-launch diagnostics as he tried to get his gauntlets to stop sliding. The primer gray armor plates he'd been wearing were some new polymer, lighter than he was used to, with a thinner under-cushion that didn't sit quite right on his arms, and for the thousandth time he cursed Grunt for breaking the worn blue C-Sec hardsuit he'd taken to Omega. Shepard had spared no expense on replacing it, of course, but he missed the scars – not to mention the thousand hours of tinkering he'd invested in it over the years. Garrus hardly felt like himself. He was unpainted, undeclared for any clade. It was like being barefaced.

There was no one around to see him fidget – for once the hangar was quiet. Any other day it would be a hive of activity – the Normandy was luxurious but no one could call it overlarge, and only the hangar was spacious enough for any real work that didn't involve a console. And with Jack, Mordin, and Grunt having taken over the storage space on the upper decks, most of the ship's plethora of equipment – and even most of the crew's personal belongings – were stored here.

Or used to be, anyway. The hangar was nearly empty now, its contents having been evacuated when the ship lost power. By now the engineers' tale of how they had rescued the peripheral mass effect systems had circulated ship-wide, but as timely as their repairs had come, they hadn't stopped a half billion credits of cargo from getting tossed into the vacuum. Garrus could see the scratches on the floor where the aircar-sized shipping containers in which Mordin kept most of his laboratory equipment had slid out the open hangar, taking with them food stores, emergency life support systems, most of the ship's repair equipment, a half dozen exploratory probes, and what Kasumi had assured them was a small fortune worth of perfumes she'd 'acquired' on the Citadel.

Now the only thing keeping Garrus and the Kodiak company was the solitary crate that had been lucky enough to be in the loading crane when the fields had dropped (one of Mordin's - full, or so he claimed, of vacuum-sealed samples of infected tissue from the four new diseases he had discovered while on Omega. No one was brave enough to see if he was joking or not). A handful of the payload specialists worked in one far corner, testing panels of electronics Tali and the engineers had pulled out of the ship's ruined underbelly. Otherwise, the hangar was abandoned.

It was for the better. Garrus had instructed Grunt and Tali to make sure nobody left the ship without his say-so. They'd arrived in the Widow system almost an hour before, but Garrus was hoping that fact would stay secret as long as possible. Everyone had felt the ship shudder as Joker had taken her through a new relay, everyone had held their breath in hopes that the compromised safety systems would hold on. But as soon as the crew knew they would be landing at the Citadel, they would want to be let off. He didn't blame them – they had nearly died – but it couldn't be allowed. He had a potential security disaster in the making already. Letting a dozen or so Cerberus agents out of his view was the last thing he wanted to do now. At least until the ship was fixed.

For that they needed a docking bay, and with Cerberus' reputation (not to mention Shepard's) being what it was, finding one was easier said than done. On the first Normandy they'd had leave to land virtually anywhere they wanted with a simple name drop or two, but those days were long over. Calling traffic control was out of the question, especially if he wanted their visit to stay quiet.

He had to find a bay big enough to service a one-of-a-kind frigate in a few days with no outside observation, no paperwork, and without paying for it. That was all.

The Kodiak's VI gave a beep. "All systems operational. Ready for flight." The door slid open with a hiss. Garrus turned. He'd have to make this fast – sooner or later someone would ask why Joker had sheathed all the ship's windows. Garrus sent a quick message to Tali and stepped up into the waiting shuttle.

"Garrus."

The voice almost made him jump. He turned to see Thane, back stiff and hands folded behind him. He gave Garrus his usual brand of respectful nod.

"Later, Thane," Garrus said, reaching to close the door.

"I would like to accompany you to the Citadel," Thane said, undeterred. Garrus stared at him. Thane was unreadable as always. A little paler than Garrus remembered him – he supposed the rumors of the assassin's illness were true – but steady as stone. As if reading his thoughts, Thane held up a hand. "Rest assured, I've told no one of your destination."

"Who told you?"

"EDI," Thane answered.

Garrus didn't bother hiding his suspicion. Thane had never given him reason to doubt his intentions, but the fact that EDI was handing out information he'd rather keep silent made him worry. It was hard to imagine Thane lying or sneaking at all – it just seemed out of character – but that same simple literality would make him easy to manipulate. "I think it's best I do this alone, Thane."

"As far as I know I have no official connection to this ship," Thane said. "I have maintained a small residence on Tayseri Ward for nearly a decade – my presence will hardly cast suspicion. Allow me to join you. At the very least, I can purchase critically needed supplies for the crew. EDI provided me with a list." He stared at Garrus with his dark eyes. "With my own funds, of course," he added.

Garrus chuffed. He waved his hand. It might not be bad to have backup. And besides, even Grunt wouldn't stand out amongst the crowds of the Wards – Thane would be utterly invisible. "Fine. Get on."

Thane bowed and followed him onto the shuttle.

–

The two rode most of the way in silence, speaking only briefly to coordinate a temporary landing site with traffic control. The Kodiak shuttle was unregistered (Cerberus was bold enough to put their logo on it, but no further), but Garrus had a half dozen codes still saved from his time at C-Sec, along with a lie vague enough not to raise undue suspicions. Transport security had gotten a lot tighter since Sovereign's attack, but at the end of the day it was still bored C-Sec officers manning the terminals, and none of them cared enough to verify Garrus' story. They were directed into a holding pattern to await a landing pad.

It was quiet, even as the sound of the weak atmosphere that clung around the Citadel's bulk buffeted the shuttle. Garrus plotted out his moves, absently picking at his gauntlets as he pawed his way through what he was about to do. Even if he went crawling back to Miranda to get Cerberus to buy their way into a private bay, no amount of money could get them in and out without being noticed. There were secure docking facilities near the Presidium that offered just that, but Garrus knew too well how poorly they worked. Someone always talked when a place like that got an interesting visitor.

Which meant he needed to hide the Normandy someplace big. He needed to call in a favor.

And he had burned a hell of a lot of bridges when he'd left this place.

As if to mock his apprehension, traffic control chose that moment to find them a landing pad in a public spaceport on Bachjret Ward. The Kodiak's autopilot runtimes charted the course and there was a tremor as the shuttle slipped through the station's massive gravity well and began its descent. Garrus felt his gizzard tighten.

"I was not entirely truthful," Thane admitted, throaty voice piercing the quiet. Garrus looked at him. "I have personal business to attend to on Zakera Ward," he continued, "regarding my son. It will not take long."

Garrus nodded absently. It seemed almost comical. "That's fine."

Thane nodded back. "Thank you."

Garrus' mind was awash with possibilities. Even as he prepared to step back to a place he'd hoped never to return to, he found his head full of only Cerberus. As big an issue as the ship's repairs were, somehow he felt he was avoiding the real problem on his hands. On Shepard's hands.

Cerberus.

Some part of him just wanted to wait. Bunker down. Hold the line. Fix the ship and keep Cerberus from trying anything until Shepard was fit to return to duty. Then he could step aside and let Shepard deal with it. Miranda had been right. He wasn't a leader. His one attempt at being one had ended in betrayal, ended in disaster. Shepard would know what to do, and Garrus would follow until the day he died. He would be at Shepard's side, no matter what.

It made sense. And yet Garrus couldn't shake the feeling that he would be letting the commander down. There was more he could do.

Above it all, one thought flitted maddeningly in his head. Be Archangel. Don't be Garrus Vakarian, the impotent officer who hadn't been able to stop Dr. Saleon, who hadn't been able to stop Saren. Who hadn't been able to convince people the Reapers mattered.

Archangel wouldn't sit here and wait for Cerberus to attack. Archangel would make sure it never came.

Garrus wouldn't.

Archangel would lock them all in the hangar. Put Taylor and Massani in cuffs. Walk into Miranda's office and put a sniper round in her forehead before she could stand.

Garrus wouldn't.

Archangel would stop the problem before it stopped him. He wouldn't like the killing, but he would do what he had to do. He would do what Shepardnever could. He would take on that burden.

He would kill Cerberus so his friend wouldn't have to. Even if it cost him his friendship. If it saved the galaxy...

No. That's not who he was, not anymore. He wasn't Archangel. He'd played that part and he'd gotten his reward. The lines of loyalty were blurry everywhere you looked. Allies were enemies, enemies were allies. If you weren't paying attention you'd blow a hole in your only way out. Garrus didn't want to be a killer. He'd seen Saren. He knew what a killer was.

But maybe it didn't matter if he wanted to be a killer...

"Something is going to happen," Garrus found himself observing, if only to silence the pounding quiet in his head.

"Indeed," Thane agreed evenly, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Most likely we will land."

"On the ship," Garrus clarified, casting the drell a withering glare. "With Cerberus. It isn't going to end well." Thane said nothing. "Shepard thought they were going to try to take over the ship," he continued. "Half the crew seems to agree."

"It seems unlikely," Thane said.

Somehow Thane's optimism didn't make Garrus feel any better. Worse still, Garrus found himself agreeing. Miranda had straight up said she didn't intend to mutiny, and he actually believed her. He wanted to agree with Shepard. Wanted to share in Shepard's rage, somehow. "If it does happen, what will you do?" he asked, looking to Thane. "If the ship erupts into open warfare?"

"How open?" Thane asked.

"If shots are fired."

Thane leaned back, looking contemplative. His inner eyelids nictated slowly from side to side as he thought. "Shepard has been nothing but accommodating to me," he said after a moment. "And he is a talented leader. I suspect he is a great boon to our chances." He met Garrus' gaze. "But I did not join this mission for his sake. If shots are fired, I will not take sides. I will fight the collectors if I must do so at Shepard's orders or Ms. Lawson's."

Garrus said nothing.

"I apologize," Thane added. "That was not the answer you wished to hear."

"No," Garrus admitted. He turned away thinking. Outside, he could the shuttle's retro thrusters engage. They would land soon.

"You contemplate rash action," Thane observed. It was not a question. "You fear what you will have to do if you are pressed."

"Is it that obvious?"

Thane smiled. "Only to one well familiar with the fear." Garrus stared at his feet. "I would not deign to advise you, Garrus," Thane continued, "but if I may, I would pray for you."

Garrus shrugged.

If his indifference mattered at all to Thane, the drell gave no sign. He closed his eyes and rested his hands together, and Garrus found himself doing the same. "Quetarch," he began, voice a ragged whisper only barely audible over the sounds of a noisy spaceport, "Arbiter of wise sin. Justifier of will. Heed your child, who acts through you."

Heed Archangel, Garrus added in his mind. He was the one who needed it.

–

Garrus' lie got them to the spaceport, but it hadn't commanded much time, and they had hardly set down before a cranky human port worker was trying to shoo them off so the next craft could land. Garrus waved off Thane's attempts to pay for a longer berth and signaled the Kodiak to resume its holding pattern around the station – it was best as few people as possible see an Alliance craft design with a decidedly un-Alliance paint scheme. Civilian Kodiaks were not unheard of (amusingly enough, most often sold by batarian merchants, reverse engineered from captured Alliance craft), but it didn't do to be incautious.

They parted ways, boarding separate airtrams for their own home wards. For Garrus, stepping aboard the tram - leaving Thane behind - was like stepping right back into his old life, back to his morning commute to C-Sec. Garrus shuddered at the eeriness as the craft hissed its way out of the station. Everything was like it was before. The same murmur of the crowds, the same rude graffiti scrawled across the seats, the same high pitched hum and claustrophobia. It was like it was three years ago, before any of this mess. Before Shepard and Saren and the Reapers and Cerberus. Garrus had changed, but the Citadel was eternal. It was like he'd never left, and he found his head filled with old anxieties. Whether he'd have to face Pallin again. Whether the dextro stimdrinks would be burnt this morning or not. All the petty concerns that had troubled him in his old life.

Still, as unnerving as that was, Garrus couldn't help but appreciate the airtram's proper turian seats. They were hard and cheap but still felt worlds better than any of the posh human chairs on the Normandy. He settled into one of the corners and closed his eyes, ignoring the Avina tour he'd heard a thousand times and trying not to overthink things.

The ride was longer than his commutes used to be, but all the same too short, and before he knew it Garrus found himself standing by the ward-side entrance to the Aroch Ward Citadel Security Headquarters. The station was busier than he ever remembered it – a line of a half dozen species wound its way out the front doors into the street – but perhaps that was because he had always come in through the officers' entrance.

He resisted the urge to do so again as he took his place in line. He wasn't an officer anymore. A nearby Avina waved to him. "Greetings and welcome to the Aroch C-Sec Headquarters, NAME WITHHELD BY REQUEST!" she called with her usual sterile cheerfulness. "You are number ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY ONE in line! Please wait. An officer will be with you in approximately FOUR STANDARD HOURS. Have a nice day!"

Garrus did his best to ignore her, even as she greeted each person showing up behind him. He had forgotten how much he hated the Citadel.

He tacked the leg locks on his armor and waited.

–

Avina had overestimated. It was hardly three and a half hours' wait before Garrus found himself in an office in the former wards access tunnel with one Officer Reynolds, a red-headed human man that reminded Garrus of a far less confident Ken Donnelly. Garrus was fairly certain he'd never met Reynolds before, which he supposed was a blessing and a curse all at once. Someone he'd served with might be more willing to help him. Or maybe they'd remember some of the things he'd shouted on his last day and kick him out on his uncomfortably-armored ass.

As it was, though, Reynolds was clearly one of the legions of new officers C-Sec had been hiring since Sovereign's attack. Garrus could see the man's hands waver ever-so-slightly as he handed him a datapad form to fill out – perhaps he was still just nervous around turians. Garrus took no offense and calmly entered his information, trying not to grimace at the familiar red tape.

Reynolds' eyebrows creaked up when Garrus handed him back the pad.

"Mr… Vakarian, your purpose here is… 'shopping'?" He tapped at the field in question.

"For a favor," Garrus clarified, eyes boring into the officer's. "I want to speak with Sergeant Anla."

Reynolds just stared at him like an intoxicated salarian. "Anl-"

"Yes, Sergeant Anla. Asari. One of the street officers. Used to partner around with a turian. She still work here?" Reynolds gaped, and Garrus sighed. C-Sec's finest, right there. "Asari are the blue ones."

"There's a detective named Anla here," Reynolds finally managed.

So. Anla had had a promotion. "Excellent. Take me to her," Garrus said, rising from his chair.

"I can't."

"Sure you can."

"She's busy."

"I can wait."

"It's against the rules."

Garrus' eyes must have narrowed, because Reynolds suddenly looked a little paler. Garrus felt his ire rising, his mandibles pressing flush with chin in frustration. Two years away, and he still felt a piece of him die whenever C-Sec's bloody rules reared their head. "Forget the rules," he breathed, staring down at the man. "I insist."

It was funny. Garrus remembered being on the opposite side of the desk. Now he was the one making things difficult. "I will cause a problem if I have to," he threatened, though he hardly knew what sort of problem he was prepared to cause. Reynolds looked a bit spongy, but C-Sec officers weren't known for being easily cowed. Wrex had always made it look so easy, coming into the station and staring down half the police squad every other week. Garrus had always suspected the krogan just dropped by to piss off C-Sec whenever he needed a place to spend the night. How had he always gotten away with it?

Reynolds' spine was finally showing as he stood up from the desk. "Do you want me to have you escorted from the station?" he threatened.

Perfect. Garrus grinned and put as much flange into his voice as he could manage. "I want you to try."

–

Garrus left Reynolds handcuffed to the bulkhead by his own cuffs, a gag torn from his shirt jammed in his mouth. He was mostly conscious, judging by the way his terrified gaze followed Garrus as he tapped at the office's terminal, as if every keystroke might be a killing blow. Still, he looked about ready to faint. Wrex would be proud.

Garrus ignored the human, navigating through the directory in search of his old partner's new posting. He found her. As Reynolds had suggested, Anla had since been promoted to detective, and was working with – Garrus grimaced – Chellik. The thought made Garrus feel a little ill. He had never imagined his former partner to have any interest in becoming a detective in the first place – Anla had always enjoyed the fighting more than the investigating when he'd known her – but implicitly replacing him with Chellik? That was low.

Garrus sighed. No time for that. Anla's office was with the other detectives'. Garrus saved the location to his omni-tool and rose. He tossed the gagged human a quick salute as turned off the lights and left the room, locking the door behind him.

He set off down the corridor.

Everything around him was new. He knew the area as part of the former wards access tunnel by its position relative to the station entrance, but to look at it fresh he would have never recognized it. The original tunnel was a straight corridor that branched off of the main station with some large waiting areas the Executor had used for everything from officers' messes to waiting rooms for solicitors. Garrus had never warranted his own office, and had spent many a night catching what sleep he could on one of the hard benches they'd used as makeshift cots.

Now it was all gone. The tunnel had collapsed under a piece of Sovereign's hull and C-Sec had taken the opportunity to convert it into a new wing of offices. The keepers that maintained the station were impossible to command, but they seemed to try to accommodate the sentients that lived around them. All it had taken was to put up a few haphazard walls in the tunnel and start using the area for offices and the keepers would pick up from there. Now the whole tunnel was a honeycomb of efficient, tiny offices, each so perfectly integrated into the corridor that it looked like the area had never been damaged at all.

He made his way to Anla's office without any undue attention. The electronic badge he'd stolen from Reynolds fooled the station's internal security computers well enough, and a quick lie about needing to find a restroom that could interface with his new armor worked on the officers. He wound his way to the detective blocks, and as soon as he found Anla's door, he flashed the lock and let himself inside to wait.

–

If Garrus hadn't known better he would have thought Anla didn't notice that her office door was tripped as she stepped into the office. She didn't even pause at the doorway as she tossed her coat on a waiting peg.

But she barely reacted when she flipped on the lights and found Garrus sitting in her chair.

She hardly looked at him as she ousted him with a gesture and plopped herself in his place. Garrus settled into the chair across from her as she called up her console as if nothing was amiss at all.

Still, Garrus could practically feel the chill come off of her. Anla was not a large creature. She was a bit shorter and stockier than most asari, and lacked their usual grace. But Garrus knew she had some of the quickest reflexes he'd ever seen in a non-turian, and the sort of biotics that might even give Samara a pause. She was not someone to be underestimated.

The seconds dripped by.

"Never thought I'd see you again," she observed icily, still not looking at him.

Garrus sighed. "I'm sorry," he said.

Anla didn't say anything. She still wasn't meeting his eyes.

Garrus sighed again. Oh well. "I'm sorry for running off on you," he said, counting out on his fingers. "I'm sorry for calling you a regulations drone. I'm sorry for calling C-Sec a bunch of brown-beaking mercenaries for sale to the nearest politician." Garrus paused, thinking. "And I'm especially sorry for leaving you to be partnered with Chellik."

She had nothing to say to that either, but she did finally spare him a glance, her eyes flitting over the top of her screen with a familiar scowling nonchalance, and Garrus knew he was getting through. "Never thought you'd take off your uniform either," she deadpanned, looking back to her computer screen. "I thought blue was your color."

"Blue is your color," Garrus corrected, but the joke fell flat.

Anla ignored it, swiveling her chair to face him. "What do you want, Garrus?" she demanded, tone all business.

Garrus was fine with that. "A favor. And to go through my old locker. I need something."

Anla shook her head. "Not a chance. After your little tantrum your dad came all the way from Palaven to pick up your things and sign your resignation." She stared evenly at him. "You can take it up with him."

Garrus cringed at that. The 'I quit C-Sec' conversation with his dad had gestated unsaid more than two years already, and Garrus knew putting it off only made it worse, but some part of him had always hoped it would go away. He was not looking forward to when that particular pouch hatched. "Two favors, then."

To Anla's credit, she didn't say 'no' right away like he was expecting her to. Garrus explained his hangar situation.

"No," Anla said, and turned back to her desk.

"We would only need it for two or three days. Just until we've repaired."

"No," Anla repeated.

"I-"

"No, Garrus," Anla snarled, standing from her chair with a jolt. Her biotics flickered. "No. You don't just get to storm off like you did then walk back in here like nothing happened! We thought you were dead! Do you know how upset Pallin was?"

Garrus crossed his arms across his chest. So she was still mad. "I gave up caring what makes Pallin happy a long time ago," he said, "and I've lived better ever since."

Anla pointed to his scar. "Looks like it," she snarled. "You were my partner, Garrus. My friend. And you left us to go play pirate on Omega."

"I'm not a pirate," Garrus growled, pushing his chair back and rearing to his full height. "Or a terrorist, or anything else you've heard." He would dwarf the little asari even out of armor.

Anla didn't care. "Then who are you, Garrus?" she demanded. "Why is your new ship so damn secret? You really think I'm going to help your terrorist buddies hide from whoever scrapped you?"

Garrus' eyes narrowed. "Yes," he breathed.

"Why?"

Garrus didn't answer her, just glowered back as he reached to unlatch the panel on his left gauntlet. It came loose easily and he slid his omni-tool's processing bar out, tossing it on Anla's desk. "There," he snarled, flopping back into the chair across from her. "You want to know who I am? You want to know what I did on Omega? There it is." He waved at it with disgust. "I took notes. Every damn thing I did, everything I saw. You could solve three dozen outstanding cases with what I have in there."

Anla looked at the omni-tool like it might bite her.

"The Serratia break-in we had a few years ago, where they stole that Matriarch's safes?" Garrus continued, "Found them in an Eclipse warehouse on Omega, twenty-seventh floor of Gosu district. Korta Sol, that volus delegate we thought was assassinated? Faked it. He's living under an assumed name under T'loak's protection. I can hand you every twice-damned thug that ever escaped from me, and tell you where I buried those who didn't."

"How man-"

"Dozens," Garrus interrupted. "Hundreds. I don't know. I didn't get this scar sitting behind a desk, Detective. Now are you going to give me what I want or not?" He stared at her with cool anger, hoping she wouldn't call his bluff. If she couldn't help him he'd have to go back to Anderson or – even worse yet – Pallin. He liked to think he wasn't that desperate.

Anla picked up the omni-tool and turned it on. True to Garrus' word, it was loaded to the brim with notes and documentation on the bloody warpath he'd carved through Omega's mercenary populations. "Is any of this going to incriminate you, Garrus?" she asked, voice quieter as she skimmed the thousands of documents with a flick of her hand.

Garrus sighed. "Not if you don't read it until me and my terrorist buddies are gone."

Anla looked at him. "So I have to take it on your word that this thing is worth risking my ass on…"

"Right. Yes or no? Do you trust your old partner or don't you?"

There was a long silence as Anla stared at the computer in her hand.

She tucked it in her drawer. "I'll see what I can do."

Garrus nodded. They spoke no more of it as he showed her the item he'd needed from his locker and she wrote him out a request for the requisitions officer, along with another for a replacement omnitool. He told her about where he'd left Reynolds and she laughed and for a moment they were partners again. Garrus thanked her and rose to leave, but her voice stopped him at the threshold. "Hey Garrus?"

He turned.

"While you were on Omega you ever run into Archangel?"

Garrus hesitated. He sincerely hoped she would keep that omnitool locked up until he was long gone. "Once or twice," he admitted.

"Huh." She shrugged. "The higher ups figured he was dead until we caught someone matching his description sneaking into Zakera Ward under a false identity. Turned out it was just one of his cronies, though. Had to let him go."

Garrus' eyes widened.

Sidonis…

---

6 years previously…

–

It was said only four kinds of turians lived in Pescus; the cladeless, the barefaced, the xenophiles, and the criminals.

Garrus was pretty sure he saw all four on the ride over, and by the time the magtrain slid to a stop in the shadow of Mount Fematus, he was already having second thoughts. He had been through Pescus once before – Pescus spaceport was one of the biggest on the planet, to many of the primary clade's frustration – but then he had just passed through from one shuttle to another, never leaving the clean comfort of the terminal.

On the ground it was a very different story. Garrus resisted the urge to unholster his pistol as he stepped off the train amongst a throng of other turians.

The cladeless, the barefaced, the xenophiles, and the criminals.

Garrus hoped his colors were clear enough as he turned down the main road that bisected the city. He'd been told stories all his life of the laziness and corruption of the free cities, cities full of turians who had turned their backs on the great fortress cities in the north. They were still members of the Hierarchy, but only barely, each having finished his or her required years of public service before retreating away from tradition. They were dangerous, to hear Atus Vakarian tell it. He'd absolutely forbidden Solana from accompanying Garrus, and while Garrus had rolled his eyes at the time, now that he'd arrived…

He hastened his pace.

His old squadmate Rullios was with the Spirit of Entrance, one of the larger mercenary groups that controlled the lower districts of the city. He did not want to spend any more time amongst the mercenaries than he had to – the faster he did his business, the faster he could leave.

Still, it was hard not to ogle the city as he made his way downhill. Everything was so… different. The fortress cities – really, everything the Hierarchy touched – tended to all look the same. They were marvels of engineering, designed from the ground up to trumpet a clade's greatness from the low tier civilizations at the top all the way down to the most lavish of ground floors, where exarchs lived in shaded palaces far from the sun's bite, but everything was uniform. Their construction had been standardized for hundreds of years, regulated to meet every safety requirement ever written, and aside from the clades' differently-colored heraldry, once you'd visited one you'd visited them all.

But Pescus had no ruling clade and it looked the part. The city lacked the great pyramidal turrets common elsewhere on the planet, its structures instead built into the rocky walls left behind by the ancient landslide that had swept away the city that stood there previously. Ships swarmed the spaceport that overlooked the city, from tiny Arakid fighters to superfrigates and trade craft that blotted out the blue-white sky. The city's inhabitants matched their pell-mell city. Turians from every clan and colony made Pescus their home, bringing with them heraldry and colors that painted the town a kaleidoscope of random loyalties. Traditionalists like Garrus' father had made the free cities the only safe haven for barefaces, and accordingly Pescus boasted a large population. Garrus passed a trio of barefaced guards, armored head to heel in the traditional white armor that meant they were cladeless. He passed yellow-robed xenophile monks preaching about the fat human god. He passed a whole regiment of dour Avarrosi mafia troops, their faces brazenly painted in their clade's colors despite being disowned more than three centuries earlier.

None of the strange circus of turians paid Garrus any mind, but all the same he avoided their gaze and continued on.

An hour of walking brought him to the mercenary districts, where a holographic interface helpfully pointed him towards the Spirits' headquarters. He thanked it and continued on, finally drawing his pistol. Really, he knew he was in little danger – the only crime turians had was organized crime, and there was no profit, no motivation in capturing a random Dekehrus citizen. He felt almost foolish – the only one on the street carrying a gun, even as mercenary recruiters propositioned turian soldiers fresh from discharge, promising them riches and adventure running guns offworld. Still, while mercing was considered a completely legitimate profession on Palaven, two years at C-Sec had trained him to fear them.

Many of the older mercenary guilds – the Whites, the Spirit of Entrance, the Three Sisters – were respectable enough – they'd been operating on Palaven so long they were practically clans of their own – but younger gangs and offworlders throve too. It was rare to see any alien on Palaven – most found the burning sunlight much too difficult to endure – but those that did were invariably linked (at least in the Hierarchy's mind) with the criminal element. Garrus found himself imagining Dr. Saleon behind every corner, or the elcor serial killer they'd stopped a few months previously, or the red-crested krogan merc who spent so much of his time threatening their officers.

And yet every corner was clean, professional. Safe.

Garrus ignored those thoughts as he reached one of the mercenary staging grounds and headed for a grounded transport ship that had been set up in a small plaza, ringed with barracks. The ship was the headquarters of the Spirit of Entrance mercs, and had been on the ground since before Garrus was born. Since then it had been modified and added to and built upon until it was hardly recognizable as a ship any longer. Beige-armored soldiers prayed at a small chapel in front of the ship's hangar access as Garrus approached, entreating the spirit of their unit to stay strong.

The guard at the ship's gangplank did not attempt to stop Garrus, but waved him through. The inside of the ship was pleasantly cool, and opened into a welcoming waiting room. A pretty receptionist had Garrus sign in on a datapad before directing him down one of the ship's corridors towards the barracks. Everything was clean and organized, polite and professional. More than one mercenary bowed to Garrus as he passed by.

It was all very turian.

–

Rullios, on the other hand, was not very turian. Garrus found him in one of the Spirits' tech rooms, both of his naked feet propped up on a desk and an omni-tool alight on one arm. He was humming to himself, apparently playing some kind of video game with one hand while the other scanned through a database, when Garrus spotted him amongst the towers of computer parts and holographic displays. Rullios Garell was as messy as his office, his vest wrinkled overtop of the beige smock that apparently counted as his Spirit uniform and a heavy pistol casually holstered at his belt.

He looked up when Garrus entered the room, his blue-painted mandibles flaring in excitement.

"Garrus!" he boomed, springing to his feet and wrapping his arms around Garrus' armored shell. "How you been, big guy?" He rapped his knuckles on the side of Garrus' armor. "I see you're still carrying the heavy," he said, impressed. "What is this, Cipritine Co-ax nine?"

"C-Sec standard issue," Garrus replied. He fingered Rullios' jerkin. "What is this? Burlap?"

"Yeah, yeah," Rullios batted his hand away, turning to find Garrus a place to sit. "I don't wear my tech so much anymore." He dredged up a chair from under a pile of datapads, sweeping them to the floor with a crash. Garrus took his seat, careful not to roll over any of them. Rullios' eyes were gleaming as he dove back into his own chair, propping his feet back up on the desk. "So how's C-Sec?"

Garrus nodded. "It's…" he paused as he realized he didn't know how to finish the sentence. "C-Sec."

"Ha!" Rullios barked, returning to his video game without a pause. "So I hear. Killing the bad guys and such." He drifted off. "Cleaning the scum off of the asari's asses."

Garrus shook his head and resisted the urge to smack Rullios'. The smaller turian had been a friend of sorts, back when they'd been in the Honored Sartriviius Forward Gunnery Division a few years previously. Rullios had had a bad habit of challenging authority, but he was an ace with a hand cannon and a bigger ace with machines of all kinds. Sartriviius division had made him a tech Sergeant without delay. He was even usually a good one, so long as he was kept sufficiently amused with his duties. He'd bonded with Garrus over a mutual love of gadgets, but after their service had ended, Garrus had moved to the Citadel to begin training as an officer while Rullios had headed on for Spectre training, along with-

"Flexibility was asking about you, by the way."

Garrus looked up. "Shara? Really?"

Rullios snickered. "Pfft. No. She's got bigger things to do now that she's a Speeeectre." He said the word with such disdain, it was hard to imagine he'd been the one slobbering over the title when the three of them had been informed they'd been accepted for Spectre courses. He kept playing his game. "So what do you want? Here to finally join up with the Spirits?"

"No," Garrus said emphatically. They'd talked about this before. "This isn't for me."

Rullios sighed and looked up from his game. "Yeah, yeah. Little Garrus still riding in his daddy's bucket. So what, then? What's a Vakarian doing in this part of the world? Aren't you worried you might get something on your boots?"

Garrus hesitated. "I need some help."

Rullios went back to his game. "Interesting help or the boring kind?"

Garrus didn't know what to say to that. He decided to just say the truth. "I made a mistake on a case on the Citadel. A few weeks ago. Lost a perp I really should have gotten. Now he's off the station and C-Sec wants me to drop the case." The shame still burned at him. Still, it felt good to say it aloud.

"So what, you want a hit put out on him or something?"

Garrus recoiled. "No! Not…" he paused. "No. That's wrong. I just want justice."

"Yeah, yeah." The game made little zapping noises.

"I just want… a lead. Maybe I can catch him if he comes back. Or report it to planetary authorities if he's somewhere civilized."

Rullios finally put the game aside, dismissing the screen with a wave. He looked at Garrus. "You make me sad, Buck," he said, shaking his head. "Such wasted potential. You really think this guy's gonna go somewhere civilized? And even if he did - your cops couldn't stop him, why do you think anyone else's could?"

Garrus said nothing.

Rullios shrugged and pulled up to one of his consoles. "Name?" he asked, bored.

"Saleon."

"Salarian, then?" Rullios' talons were a blur on the console. "Any descriptors?"

"Red. Blue line tattoos. Tall for a salarian." Garrus tried to remember. "Sick bastard." He was ashamed he didn't have more. Aliens were still new to him – he'd seen so few of them before moving to the Citadel. Salarians especially had a way of blending together.

It didn't seem to bother Rullios. "Blue line on red, tall and lanky, probably Aimiti clan. He wear any sigils?"

"Not that I saw."

Rullios tapped some more, and Garrus waited.

"There," Rullios said, and turned the screen for Garrus to see. He leaned back in his chair and called up his game again. "Looks like he's Retos Heart now. Picked up a ship in Invictus, then made for the Horse Head Nebula."

Garrus couldn't believe it. There on the screen was Saleon. It was an old mugshot, taken before Garrus had even joined C-Sec, but it was Saleon all the same. The salarian doctor who'd kidnapped his own staff and run for it, escaping right between Garrus' talons. C-Sec had said he was done and gone, but Rullios had hunted him down in two minutes. "How?"

Rullios shrugged, clearly proud of himself. "The Spirits have sources, Buck."

"Shadow broker?" Garrus asked. He knew the Spirits had money but he'd never imagined it was Shadow Broker class money.

Rullios just grinned behind the game screen. "Among others. Turns out I have interesting things to say. Shadow Broker doesn't mind trading with me."

Garrus looked at him in disbelief. "You bought off the Broker?"

"Yup," Rullios confirmed, shrugging again. "Info for info. I clean his scales, he cleans mine."

Something was very suspicious. Rullios was talented – he had been chosen for Spectre training in Cipritine, after all – but he wasn't that talented. He was young. Low ranking in the Spirits. What kind of contacts had he made at the capital? Garrus found himself looking around the room. "And where do you get your info that he wants so badly?"

Rullios looked at him and grinned, utterly satisfied with himself. "That would be telling, wouldn't it?" He waggled his brows, daring Garrus to guess.

Garrus looked at him. Maybe one of the other failed Spectres was leaking him classified intel. Maybe even a Spectre – maybe Shara. Rullios was a gifted hacker – perhaps he'd just stolen it – but it was hard to imagine what he'd have access to that the Shadow Broker wouldn't. The Spirits' plans? Probably not worth much – the Spirits were pretty tame, mostly just gun-runners. Garrus worked backwards. Then he had it.

His eyes widened. "You barefaced bastard. Sartriviius unit."

Rullios' grin just widened. "Oh yeah," he nodded, radiating pride. "Abraxes won't miss it."

Garrus could hardly believe his ears. He stood so fast Rullios' chair crashed backwards. "You are selling Hierarchy military data!" He fumbled on his words. "That's… that's…"

"Yes yes, very illegal." Rullios didn't look concerned. "Listen, it's not like that data just goes into circulation. The vast majority of the info the Broker buys never gets sold again. It's harmless."

"It is not harmless," Garrus insisted. "You can't do that to our unit. What if they found out?"

"Our old unit, Garrus. That we're not a part of anymore. What do you care?" He gestured to Saleon's mugshot on the computer. "It got you your salarian, didn't it? What, are you just going to ignore this info because you don't like where it came from?

Garrus just stared at him, dumbfounded. "You… you're still wearing your colors," he pointed out.

Rullios glowered back. "Yeah I am, Garrus. They're tattooed to my face."

Garrus shook his head, disbelieving. "You're wearing Dekehrus colors while you sell out our clade for all it's worth." It wasn't like turian corruption didn't exist, but most turians had the respect to at least scour off their markings before they betrayed their kin.

Rullios rolled his eyes. "Security details and patrols from one unit. It's not like I've been handing out Victus' playbook."

Garrus reached into the pack on his back and pulled out the painter his father had given him. He tossed it on Rullios' desk. "Take them off."

Rullios stared at the tool with a smirk. "I think I hear Atus talking."

"Take them off or turn yourself in." Garrus snarled.

Rullios smiled ruefully at that, displaying sharp teeth. "Heh. How about 'neither'? You can tell Atus I said rub sand in it while you go off and pop this Saleon guy in the head." He stared tauntingly at Garrus. "You aren't like him, Garrus. You aren't going to ignore the chance to catch this guy, no matter what it takes," he tapped Saleon's face on the screen.

"And you aren't going to turn me in."

---

Presently…

–

He'd hoped that it would, but putting his armor on did not feel like returning to his own skin.

The familiar weight of his heavy armored shell settled over his shoulders, and he felt the whirr of the motors as the waist clamped closed, securing him back into the hermetic shell that had been his only real home on Omega. Still, even as the hardsuit's internal systems flickered to life, Garrus only felt antsier than ever.

Tali's hands worked at his back, adjusting the smaller plates that hooked the chestpiece to the flexible under-weave which protected Garrus' stomach. "I had to replace axial power," she was saying. "Well, I didn't have to, but you let it get pretty wrecked. You should really maintain your armor better."

Garrus grunted. "Never had time," he said.

"If it hadn't been in such a poor state it wouldn't have taken me so long," Tali chided, hands working lower, testing each clasp around his waist. "There is always time for maintenance."

"Of course. Sorry." The suit started to hiss as Tali pushed the seals into place and Garrus felt his undermesh tighten under the vacuum, snugging the suit around his armored body.

Tali stepped into view, her eyes glimmering at him in the darkness of the engineering bay. "Well?" she asked, and Garrus could hear her smiling.

"It's good," he said, nodding. He forced a pleased flick of his mandibles. "Sits better than ever." That much was true. Tali had worked her usual genius and his armor was almost as good as new. The cracked undershell had been melded back together, the broken electronics replaced. The quarian had even buffed and repainted it back to its previous asari blue. She'd left the scars from Omega intact, and where Grunt had snapped the plates the ragged edges still gleamed with the exposed metal beneath, but those were the only testament that it had ever been worn at all. It even smelled new.

Tali's eyespots creased in pride as she turned to get the shoulder pieces, immediately back to babbling about the upgrades she'd made. "The new power source is a little lower," she was saying, reaching up to set the shoulder pads on his back. "Better, too. Finer voltage controls I salvaged from some of the Cerberus hardsuits. Might have to tweak a few settings back from their defaults but the uplink with your omni-tool should be solid." She let Garrus tighten his own shoulderpads and gauntlets, then dropped to a knee to help him with his shin guards. "The interface was mostly wiped, but I think I got it more or less back where it was," she said.

Garrus just grunted, clenching his talons to help pull his gloves into place.

Tali finally quieted, standing to stare at him. Her eyes narrowed to two glowing slits. "What's wrong?"

Garrus looked up and for a moment didn't know what to say. "Nothing," he grunted, looking back to his hands. "Gauntlets are good. Haptic sensors linked right, it looks like."

Tali grabbed his chin mid-sentence and pulled his face back to hers. "Garrus," she said, tone warning.

Garrus hesitated, visions of Sidonis playing in his head. He hadn't told Tali or Shepard the full story behind what had happened on Omega, but he had told them about Sidonis. Some part of him wanted to just tell her the truth, but with all that was going on…

He buried it. "It's Cerberus," he lied.

Tali slid her arms around his neck and squeezed. "It's okay, Garrus. We'll be ready for them. The jump went fine. Joker said he'll be able to pull the ship into your dock in the next hour or two, and then we can get on those repairs."

"Assuming Cerberus isn't waiting at the dock with an army of commandos."

Tali released him, drawing back to arm's length to stare at him with her peculiar eyes. "If they are, we'll kill them," she said simply.

Garrus couldn't help but smirk at that. "Along with the crew? Jacob? Miranda? Zaeed?"

Tali's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "If we have to. They're Cerberus. Shepard told us to push back if they push us."

Garrus sighed, rising from the bench and feeling his leg armatures hiss and readjust under his weight. His knee joints stiffened as he took a few experimental steps. "Could we really run this ship without them?" Garrus asked, tapping a few adjustments into his omni-tool.

"If we had to. We could find a new crew. A new ship, if we had to. Ask the Alliance. Trade the ship for their loyalty. Or if not them, the Flotilla. Gerrel would give us all the crewmates we wanted for a peek at the Tantalus. And they'd be better than these Cerberus bosh'tets too."

"So just kill them, then?" Garrus asked wearily. "And what would Shepard do when he woke up?"

Tali had nothing to say to that. She stared at her lap, fidgeting with her hands.

"Exactly. Shepard doesn't want them dead." Garrus' mandibles flickered. "He'd hate us if we did that," he said, staring at Tali. "And he'd be right. They're our crew whether we like it or not. We can't betray them."

Tali looked at him in surprise. "Betray them? They betrayed us!"

"We can't," Garrus repeated. "Betrayal is… unforgivable." Sidonis swam in his mind.

Tali was silent, clearly searching for the words. "Garrus-"

"Sidonis is on the station," Garrus interrupted, not looking at her.

Tali's words died on her tongue. "Oh... What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Garrus admitted. Neither of them said anything for a moment, just listening to the hum of the Normandy's damaged engines as it made its ponderous way for the Citadel.

"Are you going to take Shepard with you?"

Garrus shook his head. "No. He wouldn't understand."

Tali's eyes narrowed. "It sounds like you do know what you're going to do," she accused, voice quiet.

Garrus didn't look at her. "He wouldn't understand. It's not his world. He doesn't get it." Garrus stared at his booted feet, ashamed of where his mind was going, but he could see no way out of it. He had to kill Sidonis. It wasn't the righteous thing to do. It wasn't what Shepard would do. But he had to do it. It was the only way. He did not look up when he felt Tali wrap him in another embrace.

"He does understand," she mumbled, face buried against his side. "So do I. Or maybe we don't. But we want to help."

Garrus said nothing, just stood there and let the quarian hug him. His restored armor kept her at bay – he could barely feel her at all. He supposed that was a good thing.

"Garrus?" Tali whispered, breaking the silence. He looked down at her. "What do you want me to do?"

"Make sure no one follows me when I go," he whispered back. "I'll take the Kodiak again." She nodded and tightened her grip.

Garrus finally gave in and hugged her back. He hated what he had to do to her, but it was the only way. Betrayal was unforgivable. Sidonis had taught him that. And he would not let what had happened to him happen to Shepard.

Putting his armor back on didn't feel like returning to his own skin.

It felt like returning to Archangel's.

–

Archangel was a killer. Archangel was a villain. And Archangel was a savior.

Archangel was fully armored when he stepped past the meditating asari into Miranda's quarters. It was late at night but, as usual, Miranda was hard at work at her console. She looked up as he entered.

"Mr. Vakarian," she said, nodding professionally. "Fine work on locating a berth. I've had the replacement parts delivered to a private cargo bay on the Presidium. They will be shipped to our hangar disguised as life rations for a deep space mission." If she was at all offput by the fact that Archangel was helmeted, she didn't show it.

Archangel stared at her.

Miranda frowned at his silence. "I assume you're heading after Sidonis, then," she offered.

"You were right," Archangel said, ignoring her. "I'm not a leader."

"Most people aren't, Garrus," she said, smiling. "It isn't anything to be-"

"I'm not a leader," Archangel interrupted, pulling the pair of gas grenades Anla had requisitioned for him off of his belt and flicking off the seals. The loud hiss of the escaping paralytic filled the room. Behind his helmet, Archangel's voice was electronic, passionless. "But I do have some use."

Miranda stared at him.

He dropped the grenades.

The response was quick. Archangel felt a biotic field strike him in the stomach so hard he hit the ceiling. Stars exploded in front of his eyes as he fell in a heap on the ground. Miranda was deadly fast, her motions almost liquid, and by the time Archangel had gotten to his feet, she'd pulled a gasmask over her face. She sidestepped his attempts to grab her with ease, hurdling behind him. He felt her arms thrust up against his vulnerable neck, fingers clawing at the seals that held his helmet on.

Around them, thick smoke began to fill the room.

Archangel did the only thing he could do and, planting his feet, rammed himself backwards against the wall with as much strength as he could muster. Miranda grunted behind her own mask but her grip stayed firm, her fingers like iron as she found his trachea and pushed, hard. She'd fought turians hand-to-hand before. Archangel wretched inside his helmet.

The gas continued to billow as Archangel scrambled to pull the woman off of his back before he suffocated on his own grenades. He thrashed, slamming her against the wall again and again.

It was only a lucky strike that knocked Miranda's mask askew, and Archangel saw his opening. Her grip loosened, just for a second, and he slammed back once more, flipping her over his shoulders until she sprawled on the ground in front of him. Before she could roll to her feet he slammed a booted knee down on her fallen mask. There was the tinkle of breaking glass as it crushed beneath his weight.

Another biotic field sent Archangel tumbling sideways, but this time he was ready and he managed to wrap a taloned fist around Miranda's foot as he fell, dragging her with him in a tangle of limbs. Even the heat vision systems in his mask had trouble cutting through the fog as they wrestled.

Miranda was swift and accurate, passionless as she fought, but the gas exerted its effect on her almost instantly. He could tell she was holding her breath, and dropped an elbow into her stomach, knocking her windless as he grabbed her under the armpits and held on with all his might. She shook in his grip, twisting like a speared fish, but he held fast.

To her credit, it took almost a minute more before Miranda's blows finally started to slow under the gas, and another minute before they stopped coming altogether. Archangel was near the limit of his strength when the human's body went slack in his grip.

He shuddered with exhaustion as he finally released her unconscious form and staggered to his feet. His mouth tasted of blood and vomit but he dared not remove his helmet with the gas still roiling about the room. Hands still shaking, he managed to cuff Miranda's together behind her back, then carefully disconnected the tiny amp at the base of her skull.

With that, he lifted her, carrying her stumbling to the emergency exit Jacob had been using to visit her, and dropped her in.

---

6 years previously…

–

Pescus was one of the Free cities, but that freedom only went so far. The Honored Sartriviius Forward Gunner Division was a respected unit with four hundred years to its name, and there were many who would go to great lengths to see that name protected.

Acting on Garrus' report, Rullios was apprehended attempting to book a transport offworld and taken to Dekehrus Fortress for trial. Less than a Palaveni day later he was convicted of espionage and treason against the Hierarchy and sentenced to three years correctional labor on the colonies. Four of his superiors – including the Sartriviius' division's CO Captain Abraxes Cassius – received demotions for their inaction.

Garrus had never seen his father so proud of him. He spent the rest of the visit at Atus' right hand, being introduced to the city exarchs and practically everyone else Atus knew in the fortress and tried to feel as mighty and righteous as his father described him.

But when he boarded the transport back to the Citadel and he still hadn't deleted the information on Saleon, Garrus knew he'd done something wrong.

---

Presently...

–

Before the Normandy had even fully latched into the C-Sec hangar Anla had acquired for them, one passenger was already disembarking. The Kodiak slipped out of the hangar on silent engines.

Before anyone even knew they'd made planetfall, both of the XO's were gone.

–

---

Codex entry: Excerpts from C-Sec Case Report #J1137808B, from the terminal of Detective Anla C'Tala

C-Sec Outstanding Case Report #J1137808B - originally opened by OF#3121205 Anlata C'Tala 02-15-2184. Investigation closed due to lack of leads on 05-12-2185. Reopened by OF#3121205 Anlata C'Tala 06-01-2186.

VI-transcribed audio - notes from Anlata C'Tala (NOTE: MUST BE RESUBMITTED IN REGULATION FORMAT BEFORE CASE CLOSURE)

AC: Returning to this (inaudible)-king case despite better judgement. In early 2185, a private warehouse registered to the Serratia Corporation and owned by Matriach Iliria was robbed by unknown individuals. Among the stolen objects were eight Silari P3-100 asari-made safes containing objects of unknown value. At the Matriarch's insistence, more than twelve officers were put on the task of reclaiming the safes at all costs. The safes weighed more than four short tons apiece and appeared to have been removed in a single night by multiple thieves equipped with load-lifter mechs. Unfortunately, and despite considerable internal pressure to solve the case, no significant leads were ever discovered and the case was closed the next year. The case failed in no small part due to a lack of cooperation from the Matriarch, who not only refused to divulge the contents of the safes, but also refused to allow C-Sec access to the safes' built-in positioning beacons.

Recent evidence acquired from an anonymous donor, however, suggests that the safes were taken to Omega by members of the Eclipse mercenary group before being seized by vigilantes under the direction of Archangel (see outstanding case 1137741F).

Attached to this report are select relevant data.

VI-transcribed audio - file extracted from evidence #(number pending official submission to system). Annotated audio log of conversation among members of Archangel vigilante group.

*inaudible - likely plasma torch firing*

Ovurd Vortash* (*former batarian slave warrior. Suspected to be former property of Den'den Hrasha. Wanted in Parshara system for assault, minor vandalism. See full profile, attached #44582).: Put that away. Won't need it.

Jaeto Kelaja Et Palan Meki Sensat* (*male salarian, Sensat clan. Last seen on Jaeto, 10-2184. Removed from unknown clan position after change of dalatrass made imprinting obsolete. Previous experience unknown, likely STG. See full profile, attached #44584): You keep saying that. I'm just having trouble believing (cut off)

OV: (inaudible) it'll be open. Weaver's biometric fake worked.

JKEPMS: So why isn't it open?

OV: (inaudible)

JKEPMS: Alright, alright. Well, if you do need the torch...

*a series of clicks - the safe opens*

JKEPMS: Damn. I like the torch. But I like surprises more. What's in the box?

Samuel Butler* (*male human. Former Systems Alliance infantryman in N1 Special Forces program, fought against batarians on Elysium and Torfan. Honorably discharged for classified medical reasons. See full profile, attached #44585): Because you didn't get enough junk from the rest of this place?

JKEPMS: Can never have too much junk. The Ware-home still has room for more credits, or drugs, or fancy guns. Or maybe a new console, one of the JX6's. Or a (cut off)

OV: How about a volus fertility god?

JKEPMS: A volus?

OV: *laughter*

SB: Oh my God.

JKEPMS: Wow. That's... hmm.

OV: Go get Archangel, Butler. (to JKEPMS) I'm sure if you ask nicely he'll let you keep one. Looks like your kind of statue.

JKEPMS: Will take that as a compliment. I've never seen a volus without his suit before. It's even life sized. It's educational. Very lifelike.

OV: (inaudible)

JKEPMS: Also very... hmm... gifted. Not ashamed of status as fertility god, is he?

OV: There's more.

JKEPMS: Also gift- oh Sweet Dalatrass of Mannovai. That is... how does he fit that in the suit?

OV: *laughter*

*footsteps. Unidentified sound.*

Archangel* (*identity unknown. Possibly turian? See speculative profile in outstanding case 1137741F): That... is the funniest thing I have seen in my life.

JKEPMS: I swear, that's how we found it.

AA: So the Matriarch has a volus fetish? And here we thought it would be something harmless like drugs or guns.

OV: Ten credits says the rest of the crates have the same thing.

AA: Check. (to JKEPMS) Mek, is Tam* (Melanis Tam, see full profile, attached #44587) still working over the drug haul?

JKEPMS: Yup. Red sand, mostly. All bulk packaged for export like usual. Three tons to the Citadel, four to Illium, another to Arya, two more for Invictus, two more for the Hegemony...

AA: Good. Tell him to dump it in the vents and put the statues in the coolers. We'll leave them for Eclipse to find. Or their customers, anyway.

JKEPMS: *laughter* Time to spread some cultural awareness? I can only imagine what the Hegemony will think when they dig one of these out of their sand.

AA: Remind me to send the Matriarch a thank you note.

Personal note, Anlata C'Tala - The description of the volus fertility statues match those found in a series of drug shipments seized from Eclipse dealers on the Citadel in the past four months. If you really want to, see the attached pictures (evidence #(number pending official submission to system)) but note that they can't be unseen. Other evidence in the omni-tool pinpoints the location of the above conversation as a warehouse in Gosu District on Omega. Officers have been sent to determine if the safes are still there. Matriarch Iliria has been appraised of the situation but so far has not responded.

–

---

A/N: Bum bum buuummm...

So there we have it. Back when I was writing chapter 6 I was convinced I would revisit Garrus' story by doing a chapter split between him and Sidonis that focused on flashbacks of their time on Omega, but that was before I read Interregnum. Suffice it to say I think The Naked Pen owns those years of Garrus' life now, so I went in a different direction.

Been writing a lot of late, and it's resulted in some chapter rearrangements. Wrote half of a chapter about a different character before my betas convinced me it didn't work and I had to add one before it. So chapter 22 shall be another perspective we've seen before, and something of the part 2 to the troubles of this chapter.

Speaking of Betas, many thanks to both of mine - Angur, who's been with me for most of the story, and Vocarin, who joined us just this chapter. They've both been awesomely useful to me.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Stay tuned for more!

EDIT: One more thing. I hate to advertise, but I was recently asked to do an interview for the N7 Academy forums - a ME fansite - series of 'fan fiction of the month' interviews. It's posted and can be found with a quick Google search for those interested. I had fun doing it and was flattered to be asked.