20.

They find the turian cargo ship where Vido told them it would be, but there's no sign of Cerberus, and Garrus wonders if there's any truth to that part of his story.

No support ships have arrived to escort the Austere as it continues its plodding course, and with the military forces on board, warning them directly isn't a risk Shepard's willing to take. Garrus can't blame her. If Cerberus does show, the Normandy will be on it's own to help. So, they hang in space, hidden by their stealth systems, passively drifting well beyond short-sensor range.

Garrus sits in Miranda's office, waiting for a secure link between her terminal and the extranet, tapping his talons in an uneven rhythm on her desk. He doesn't see the point in thinking of it as his desk or office, not with the inevitable surrender of the ship looming. No point in getting used to the bed in here either. Most nights, if he doesn't fall asleep on the couch, he ends up on his cot next to the Thanix.

An icon on the terminal blinks and he pulls up his account, unsurprised by the forwarded message from Thane. The drell had told him to expect it, briefly outlining the contents. Garrus is almost through the first screen when the door chimes.

He's been expecting Shepard; she still makes her rounds, but it's not quite the same. Before when she wanted something she'd just walk into the battery without warning, always with the same line, always expecting the same response.

"It's open," he says, minimizing the display. "But I'm in the middle of some—"

The doors slide apart, but it's not Shepard standing there.

"Hey. Sorry, Krios." Garrus gestures at the terminal. "You here about the file?"

"In part. May I?" Thane tilts his head toward the threshold.

"Yeah. Come in."

Thane walks to the window and stares out into the darkness, hands clasped behind his back. Unless Garrus is imagining things, he hears a new rasp to his breathing. He wonders if Shepard has noticed it, then decides that's probably none of his business.

The drell is silent so long that Garrus wonders if he's slipped into one of his memories. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

"How is the injury to your leg?" Thane asks.

"Bone weave's set." He touches the side of his mouth. "Face still hurts."

"I imagine," Thane says, dryly.

"About this..." Garrus nods at the terminal. "Thought you blacklisted this contract?"

"I did. That someone has accepted it... well, call it a lack of professional courtesy."

Under different circumstances, Garrus would have smiled at the undercurrent of annoyance in Thane's voice. It was a safe bet pissing off other assassins didn't lead to a long, lasting career.

"How worried should I be?" he asks.

"He has some measure of skill," Thane says, "but is young and lacks patience. I doubt he will survive a year." He seems to consider his next words. "Not that this matters to your father."

Garrus frowns, glancing at the minimized screen. "And all I can do is sit here and wait."

"His impatience will lead to mistakes. Now that his identity is known, the right person—one with the correct resources—could pursue him without endangering your family." Another pause. His breathing is definitely more labored, there's no mistaking it. "Although I am no longer in a position to do so, there are such individuals who are in my debt."

"People you trust?"

"No," he answers. "Not precisely."

Garrus chuckles humorlessly and runs a hand over his fringe, scratching at the back of his head. It's one thing to work with an assassin, another to ask him to call in a favor.

Thane shifts, meeting Garrus' eyes. "But I would place my son's life in their care."

Garrus lowers his hand, nodding slowly. "Fine. And thank you." Something else occurs to him, and he asks carefully, "Have you told Shepard?"

Thane blinks, inner eyelids remaining closed for a moment. He faces the window again. His hands tighten, one around the other and he answers in a single terse word: "No."

"Yeah," Garrus says. "She's got enough to deal with right now."

Thane doesn't reply and Garrus drags a finger over the display, restoring it to full size. He's a little surprised to see that the assassin who accepted the contract is turian. The image included in the file is grainy, probably from a surveillance vid, but there's no mistaking his own species. It's not unheard of, but it is rare.

"You said this was only part of the reason you were here," he says. "Doubt you came to find out how my leg is."

In his peripheral vision, he sees Thane shift and wonders just how bad this next bit of news is going to be.

"Before," Thane says, "I assured you I would not allow myself to become a liability in the field. If boarding the cargo ship becomes necessary, I will remain on the Normandy."

Garrus stops reading, eyes fixed on the screen. "Sorry to hear that."

"There is no need to be. I have accepted this eventuality. But that is not what I wish to discuss with you. I..." He pauses. "You have never doubted Shepard."

Garrus narrows his eyes and doesn't bother to hide the flash of irritation the words bring. "Of course not."

"You have stood with her from the beginning."

"That's right. From the very beginning."

When Thane continues, his words sound flat. "I have known for some time how deeply you care for her."

Garrus' jaw tightens, teeth scraping together. It makes sense that if someone like Gardner had spotted his feelings for Shepard, the professional assassin had too. And he has no idea how to handle this conversation.

"What do you want me to say, Krios? Deny it?" He twists to stare at the drell's back. "We both know I can't lie for shit."

"You misunderstand. It is not an accusation," Thane says, quietly, turning until Garrus can see his profile again. "She is very precious to me. I trust that you will watch over her when I can no longer guard her steps."

Of all the things Garrus might have expected to hear, this isn't one of them. He takes time choosing his words. "You know, the way this conversation usually goes, you tell me to keep my distance. Or threaten to knock my teeth down my throat."

The corner of Thane's mouth twitches. "Even were I so inclined, I believe Shepard would react poorly to the gesture."

"Yeah. She would. Kick both of our asses." Garrus exhales slowly, trying to force away some of the tension. "Look, Krios—Thane. I'm not going anywhere."

If Thane replies, Garrus doesn't hear it, but he sees the way Thanes expression closes off, hands tightening once more. He'll never be an expert on other species' emotional responses, but he knows grief. He looks away uncomfortably, trying to focus on the data on the screen.

The door pings and this time it's Shepard. She's in her armor, helmet in one hand, Locust in the other, and her lips are is set in a grim line.

Garrus pushes back from the desk, not needing to be told that it's time.

"Shit's about to hit the fan," she says, tossing the gun to him. If she can tell that something's not right between him and Thane, she doesn't comment.

He catches the Locust, snapping into place. "You understand what my translator did with that?"

Thane faces them, watching her without a trace of emotion. Shepard gives him a slight nod.

"Take care of my ship. Don't let Joker do anything stupid," she says.

"Of course," he answers, and something passes between them that definitely isn't Garrus' business.

"Meet you at the elevator, Shepard," he says, stepping around the desk, heading into the mess hall. Gardner is missing from his station, and that's fine with Garrus. He's had enough advice from the cook to last him the rest of his life, and after the conversation with Thane he's not in the mood for more.

He's still waiting when Shepard comes around the corner. She stops next to him, facing the doors.

"There's a ship five minutes out from the Austere. We're at least fifteen. Tried to warn them, but they're blocking our signal," she says, the words clipped short. "And it's just you, me, and Jack for this one."

He looks over her head, toward Miranda's quarters. "Yeah. He told me. How bad is it?"

The elevator doors open and she steps inside, waiting for him to follow before pressing the indicator for the CIC deck.

"Some days are worse than others. Chakwas thinks it's a flare-up, not—"

Her voice doesn't waver, but she doesn't finish the sentence either and Garrus knows when to let a subject drop. They ride in silence, the only sound the hum of the ship around them.

"Nice of Santiago to donate that shuttle to the cause," he says. "But it's too bad Zaeed couldn't stick around."

"Couldn't give Vido too much of a head start, could he?" she says, pressing the controls again.

"Guess not. Surprised Massani didn't kill him when he had the chance."

"Makes two of us. Gave up on understanding Zaeed a long time ago," she replies, looking at the floor indicator, impatient.

"You know, I think they designed elevators just to aggravate you."

Deflecting with humor isn't anything new between them, and she snorts.

"You're not the first person to tell me that," she says, as the elevator stops and the doors part. She gives him a half-smile as they step out, walking side by side past the galaxy map. "Ready to go kick some ass?"

He grins back, mandibles wide. "You have to ask? It's what we do best."

21.

Kaidan's had his share of bad assignments. The worst being when he'd first received his commission and did a year-long rotation as an instructor at the Amundsen-Scott station. Antarctica was cold and windy, but it was the students who made life miserable. The only time he got frostbite was when a group needed extraction from an ice shelf collapse in an off-limits area; the surgeons had to clone three new toes on his right foot.

Almost as bad was the time he spent as part of a good-will mission to Ekuna. The elcor needed help clearing decades of waste from illegal colonization—Kaidan and a team were volunteered by the Alliance. The gravity wasn't quite strong enough to make small falls dangerous, but even so, living inside a powered exoskeleton for a month straight hadn't been pleasant.

There were other stints that made the list. A short time in a pressure suit on Irune. Tour on a swampy world in the Verge. Being stuck on a turian cargo freighter as it made its way through the Abyss shouldn't have been so bad. It was warm enough, and mandatory armor and arms didn't come close to the discomfort of of a grav-suit.

The problem with being on the Austere was the boredom. The marines assigned to him were professional soldiers and got along well with Lieutenant Amicus' squad, but there was only so much to do on the freighter. Didn't help that quarters were tight.

Less than two weeks in and the marines were on edge.

Then they found out that turians dealt with excess stress by sparring. Which somehow ended up with him agreeing to go a few rounds with Amicus.

He might have had his share of bad assignments, but he can safely say this is the first one where he's had his ass kicked by a female turian.

It's still early when he walks into the mess hall, but he sees that Amicus is already at one of the tables, datapads spread out around her, cup of tea at her elbow. She waves a hand without lifting her eyes from her work, and Kaidan makes his way to the serving counter. Although the levo rations are depressingly bland, he will give the Austere's cook one thing: the man has figured out how to make decent coffee.

The cook eyes him, dropping one mandible a little, and a week and a half on a turian ship has taught Kaidan to spot a smirk.

"Spectre Alenko," the cook says, setting a tray between them. A mound of something off-yellow is heaped on the tray, and Kaidan guesses it's meant to be scrambled eggs. The cook gives him another grin and adds a mug of coffee and a packet of creamer to the tray. "Can't believe no one told you she was top-ranked."

"Yeah. Me either," Kaidan says dryly, picking up his breakfast. "Maybe the odds your crew had against me should have tipped me off?"

The cook's mandible drops again and Kaidan chuckles, then turns and makes his way to Amicus' table. She pushes the datapads away from the seat opposite her, still not looking at him. Maybe because she's trying to hide the amused flare of her mandibles.

"Spectre."

"Lieutenant," he answers, sitting down, tray in front of him.

Amicus reaches across the table and picks up the packet of creamer, tears it open, and holds it out without speaking.

"Thanks," he says, taking it and stirring the powder into his cup. It turns the coffee a dirty brown as it dissolves. Good thing it tastes better than it looks.

"I feel I should apologize. Again. I haven't spent much time around your species." Amicus finally looks up. She takes in his black eye for a moment, mandibles flexed in a smile. "I had no idea humans could be bruised like that."

"Yeah," he says, taking a sip of coffee before smiling at her. "We do. But, it's okay. At least you didn't break my nose, right?"

Her mandibles flare a bit more. "During military training we're told that they can be broken. Didn't really believe it." She makes an indistinct gesture toward his face. " They seem so... malleable."

Kaidan laughs. "Cartilage, not bone. Yes, it can be broken, and no, I'm not in a hurry to give a demonstration."

"Fair enough," she says, returning to her data. "It did earn you respect. From both my team and the civilian crew."

"I think it's more likely they were happy taking credits from marines." He takes a bite of eggs, chewing as he watches her reading, then uses his fork to point at her datapads. "How's it going?"

"Slowly. Last night I decided to approach the problem from a different angle. Storing the amount of pyrite we've discussed would require several large locations..." She frowns at the pad, taps it with a talon, and then sets it aside to search through the others. "What do you know about the planet Klencory?"

It sounds familiar. Given all the places he'd followed Shepard, that wasn't surprising. "Might have heard the name?"

"It's most notable feature is the network of mines and the wealthy volus who apparently abandoned the venture." She finds the right datapad, and keys in a command. "Several months ago, there was an insurance claim filed by an asari merchant in the Newton System. She maintained a collision with another freighter resulted in pyrite contamination of her shipment when the hulls ruptured."

"Pyrite?"

"Yes. The crew disappeared before the insurance adjusters could speak with them, and they were unable to trace ownership. It was taken to a shipyard within the system. " She scrolls down, highlighting lines as she goes. "I contacted the manager and received the following report on the assets recovered from the ship."

She pushes the pad across the table. Kaidan takes it, presses the icon to translate to English, and begins to go over the information. He finishes and passes it to her again, picking up his coffee, taking a drink as he considers what he's read.

"There wasn't much fuel left on that ship. Couldn't have made it far," he says. "It had to be headed somewhere nearby to drop its cargo and refuel. You're thinking Klencory?"

She shrugs, pulling the pad toward her, stacking it with several others. "Possibly. I've had several leads like this. None have yielded positive results. If this trip proves uneventful, I plan on visiting Klencory. I'll likely spend days scouring the planet without finding anything, but will still be required to complete a lengthy expenditure report for my supervisor."

"They never tell you about the paperwork when they offer you the job, do they?"

She laughs and picks up her tea. "No, they don't."

A comms channel on her omni-tool blinks and she taps the interface, tilting her head as she listens.

"Wait. Spectre Alenko is here with me. I want him to hear this." She keys the omni-tool again. "Repeat what you just told me, Captain."

"Spectre Alenko," the captain says. "Short-range sensors show a distortion in our radiation discharge."

"Another ship?" Kaidan leans forward, setting his cup carefully on the table. "Thought the closest thing to our position is a turian carrier."

"Yes, the Undaunted. But it's several hours from us," the captain says. "Running diagnostics on the sensors to ensure it wasn't an anomaly. I'll notify you if—"

A tremor runs through the Austere, the movement setting off the repetitive buzz of alarms. The captain's voice follows from the overhead comms.

"All personnel, we are under attack. This is not a training exercise. Report to stations immediately."

Kaidan and Amicus are out of their seats before the announcement finishes, heading for the exit.

"Leaving the mess hall now," she tells the captain as they step into the main corridor running the length of the ship, passageways branching off right and left at regularly spaced intersections. As they approach the nearest of these they can see two of the Austere's crew waiting impatiently.

Behind them, a door opens and closes again. The cook nods at them as he jogs past, an assault rifle held in one hand. He joins the waiting turians, and the three of them disappear into a passage that leads to engineering. Kaidan has to hand it to the Hierarchy; mandatory military service meant the civilians aren't helpless.

"Captain," Amicus says, "does it look like Cerberus?"

"Unknown," he replies. "Having some problems getting a reading. They're shredding our defenses."

"How long can—"

The ship lurches again, this time hard enough Kaidan's forced to brace himself against the bulkhead. The lights cut out briefly, and when they reactivate, it's with the weak glow of emergency lighting.

Another of the Austere's crew, a turian with purple markings, sprints toward them and they step to one side to let her pass.

"Port side, over the hold! They've fired locking clamps." The captain's voice distorts over the comms. "Thirty seconds."

"On our way now, Captain," Amicus says sharply, breaking into a run, heading for the mid-ship stairwell.

"All personnel!" the captain barks. "We have contact! They're going to break directly into the hold!"

Kaidan follows close behind Amicus, unclipping his assault rifle. Adrenaline rushes through him, along with the familiar sting of his biotics. The only continuous stairwell, connecting all of the decks, is at the far end of the ship, near the maintenance bay. They'll have to take the long route, winding their way down deck by deck.

They reach the closed hatch for Deck Three without incident, and Amicus' omni-tool blinks with an incoming transmission.

"Captain?" she asks.

"That ship. We just got an ident signature on it." He pauses, consulting with one of his crew, their voices muffled as they debate something. When he returns to the comms he says, "It's the Normandy."

"The Normandy?" The muscles in Kaidan's jaw tighten. If it's the Normandy, then he can assume Shepard lied to him and faked her own death on the Citadel. And if it's Shepard, the situation the Austere is facing is far more serious than they thought.

"At least we know who we're up against," Amicus says, hand over the door controls.

Each deck on the ship is a duplicate of the same blueprint. One main corridor, branching side passageways. This corridor is filled with smoke, ventilation systems spreading the acrid haze from the deck below, the ever-present alarm even louder on this level. At least the movement of the door doesn't draw fire. If Cerberus troops have made it this far, they're showing unusual restraint.

Amicus takes a step forward, freezing when the alarm abruptly cuts off, mid-pulse, and the emergency lighting dims to a brown glow, before brightening again to its previous level.

"That's not good," he says.

She raises a plate above her eye. "No, it's not."

Then the lights abruptly power down, leaving them in complete darkness. The sudden stillness is unsettling, surrounding them like a physical thing. Now Kaidan can hear the sound of a firefight in the hold beneath them, the rapid cycles of machine gun fire punctuated by occasional cracks as grenades detonate.

"Shit," he says softly, the only sound a faint ringing in his ears from the alarm. The auto-light on his assault rifle clicks on, casting its beam on the floor beside him.

"That translates extremely well." Light from her weapon forms a circle on the wall. Her features are hard to distinguish, but from the way her head is tilted, she's listening to her comms. "We need to clear this corridor and get down there. Cerberus brought more troops than expected."

Kaidan nods. "I've got our six."

Amicus cautiously shifts her weight enough to check the corridor, light sweeping left, then right.

"Clear," she says, stepping out.

He follows, and together they start for the next set of stairs. They're only a hundred feet further along the corridor, but moving through the smoke, black pressing around them, it seems like more. Knowing they'd be easy targets for anyone with thermal-vision equipment doesn't help.

Checking their rear, light casting harsh shadows, he thinks he sees a movement in a branching corridor and snaps his rifle up.

"Hostiles?" Amicus asks, an edge to her voice that wasn't there before.

Kaidan stares into the dark, but nothing materializes and he shakes his head. "No. Jumpy, I guess."

"Understandable," she answers.

She doesn't say anything more until they reach the stairwell, but there she stops, playing her light through the open hatch.

"One of your marines," she says, light moving over the soldier's armor.

"Jackson," Kaidan confirms. The marine is sprawled on his back, one of his arms bent behind him, head resting on the riser above him. When Amicus' light hits his eyes, he doesn't blink and his skin has pale cast to it. His throat has been cut; blood pools under his head, almost black in the dim light, dripping slowly from one tread to the next.

Kaidan crouches down, tipping Jackson's chin to one side. Whoever had done this had almost taken his head off.

"I don't see bullet wounds," Amicus says.

"No," he answers. "No defensive wounds, either," he says lowering Jackson's head, standing up slowly. He's seen the classified reports on Shepard's odd collection of crew, and the drell that had been involved with her disappearance from the Citadel. It didn't take a genius to put it together.

She taps her omni-tool again, opening the channel to the bridge. "Cerberus made it past the cargo hold."

"Understood," the captain responds. His voice flanges around the word, stress taking a toll. "We have—"A sparking noise fills the channel. "Electrical problems across the board, but that's not..." he pauses. "There's a second anomaly on our scans. I think it's a second ship."

"Another Cerberus vessel?" Amicus asks.

"Unknown. I'll—What? Who authorized—" He's cut off by the sound of a flash-bang grenade and indistinct shouting. There's a wet, choking sound, and the channel goes silent.

"Captain?" Amicus asks.

That this goes unanswered is no surprise, and Amicus curses under her breath, something that doesn't require translation, trying to raise him again. When she can't, she looks at Kaidan. "My comms are out, but we can assume Cerberus has control of the ship," she says. "We need to move now."

"No argument here," Kaidan says, standing. He steps around the dead marine and leads the way down, light shining into the dark stairwell below him, Amicus covering their rear. They reach Deck Four without incident, and this time he takes the lead through the hatch.

Just as with the deck above, they're facing another long, tense walk down a smoke-filled primary corridor. Their objective is located off the second passage to the left, and as Kaidan leans around the last corner, he can see that the double doors of hold are closed.

Signaling that the way is clear, he hurries down the corridor, and he and Amicus take position to one side of the doors. He clicks off his auto-light, and the lieutenant does the same. The sound of brutal, bloody combat is clear here, but that doesn't quite prepare him for the scene that greets them when he triggers the controls and the doors slide open.

Muzzle flashes from gunfire and jerking, erratic light from hardsuit insets and rifle attachments turn the scene into a nightmare of shadow and noise. And it's impossible to ignore that there are far, far greater numbers than they expected, with more pouring from the boarding tunnels.

"Raiding parties have never included this many. I need to get my men out," Amicus says, raising her voice to be heard.

"There." Kaidan points to a metal storage container, overriding the light on his rifle. The container should offer a fair amount of protection, if they can get there without being seen.

They crouch, trying to avoid being spotted as they rush forward down a narrow aisle formed by crates and equipment, dodging into cover just as another light appears, coming from the rearmost tunnel, near the shuttle docking area. This one is so bright it illuminates the entire hold like a beacon, pyrite billowing in great clouds through the beam.

Even through the chaos of the hold the mechanical voice is clear.

"Target acquired," it intones, beginning a rapid countdown of clear tones. That's followed by the whump of a rocket launch and a second later comes the sound of an explosion and shattering crates.

Amicus inhales sharply. "They brought a heavy mech."

As if in answer, the guns on the mech fire up, chewing through everything in its path as the Cerberus line advances. From the sporadic return fire, there aren't many of their men left. The situation is grim at best, but retreating to the escape pods without remaining troops clearly isn't an option.

"Do you see anyone?" Amicus asks, pressing against the container.

Kaidan shakes his head, coughing. "No," he answers, checking the firing chamber of his rifle. Not enough pyrite in the air to bind up the eezo. "Need to move up."

The mech is still working through the crates, the overlapping shots ringing through the hold, and a turian voice screams in agony for brief moment. Amicus' mandibles flex and then tighten against her jaw.

"Ready," she says.

Kaidan shifts, looking around the corner of the crate, but his timing couldn't have been worse. The mech's light shines directly in his eyes. He jerks backward, shouting a warning to Amicus, but it comes too late.

The missile hits the container and explodes, the force of it swatting him to the deck as the container is blown apart. The wreckage rains down around him and chunk of steel catches him in the back of the skull. Light blooms across his vision. Another piece of the container lands across his shoulders, and all he can do is lay there in the dust and gasp, clinging to consciousness.

The sounds of the fight come to him, far-off and indistinct.

The mech thumps forward, servos grinding. "Primary defenses online," it drones, launching another rocket.

An absurd thought strikes him before he passes out. Of all the bad assignments he'd ever had, this topped the list.