MASS EFFECT: INTERCEPTOR

*Episode Twenty-One*

Yaro stepped between the thick streams of pedestrians flooding through the busy midday market, cursing as he went.

The market was at the far end of the Zakera ward arm and outside a window to his right, the Presidium ring linked them all together, silhouetted against the light beyond the nebula. From Yaro's left came raised voices as a volus ship salesman haggled and bartered with a customer, no doubt swindling them out of every credit he could.

Yaro pushed roughly between a pair of hanar and they paused mid-conversation, their flanks rippling with anger at his lack of manners. He did not care and simply ignored them, his eyes scanning for his partner amidst the rabble.

Despite the thick press of passers-by, Yaro picked out the C-Sec colours of Brasca's armour at the corner of his vision and immediately pursed his lips in irritation. The turian was at a ramen kiosk, standing eagerly as steam welled up around him from beyond the counter. The noise of the crowd was too great to be heard, even if he shouted and so Yaro forced his way through the mass without consideration, almost knocking over a volus in the process.

Ahead, he saw Brasca laugh out in pleasure as a heap of noodles were hauled from a large pan and into a bowl in a single great mop, sending flecks of hot water in all directions. The chef looked up at him, grinning mischievously.

'Hey, watch it there!' Brasca chuckled as he ducked beneath the scalding spray. 'Come on already, I haven't got all damn day!'

The chef, a scrawny, golden skinned old human, roared with laughter and yelled something back, the words a string of gibberish to Yaro's ears. He was an odd one for his race, with thin, dark eyes that glimmered with amusement at his alien customer.

Yaro approached, his mouth twitching with the effort of keeping his annoyance in check.

'What the hell are you doing?' he hissed.

Brasca looked at him with an almost pompous air of achievement. 'This place went dextro-friendly last week. Always wanted to try this stuff.'

'You were supposed to meet me at Delan's place thirty minutes ago. Instead I find you here, more interested in shoving this human junk down your gluttonous throat than this amazing plan of mine that'll make us both millionaires by the end of the week! I mean seriously, what about this place is so fascinating? What the hell is that stuff?'

'Humans call it 'ramen',' Brasca replied as he fiddled awkwardly with two thin wooden sticks, attempting to clutch them between his three clumsy digits. 'Supposed to taste good but damn if I'll ever be able to eat it. How are you supposed to-'

The chef laughed and uttered a humoured response in his strange language, picking up two sticks of his own. Yaro frowned impatiently as the human attempted to show Brasca how to hold them, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his customer was short two fingers. Yaro looked down at the bowl his friend huddled over and cringed in disgust at the sight of what looked like pale worms and soft, slimy brown lumps.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' he snapped in the turian's ear, straining to be heard over the clattering of plates, 'I didn't realise it was 'learn to eat revolting crap with twigs' day! Do you want to get rich or would you rather I left you here to your alien fetishes?'

'Oh, so you just…' Brasca muttered to the chef, sticks in hand before turning his head to Yaro. 'Come on man, it's been a long shift. Apedd wouldn't pay his protection fee so I had to get a little rough. Worked up an appetite setting that little prick straight. You should try some of this, you know, get a little variety in your life. Sample some new things. Maybe you'll loosen up a little.'

'I feel plenty loose as it is right now,' Yaro replied as he looked out on the market crowds. 'Since you're obviously dying to know, I activated the VI no problem. As soon as someone uses that machine in Flux we'll be seeing our first profits within the week.'

'I know,' Brasca replied, his words muffled as the food sloshed in his mouth. 'You said all that already this morning, remember? I thought you were gonna wait around anyway? You know, keep an eye on things?'

Yaro brought a hand to his smooth forehead with a slap. 'I was waiting around. Unfortunately, the plan involved you meeting me there and, as I already pointed out, your presence was distinctly lacking!'

Brasca's brow twisted and he looked at the salarian quizzically as a long, wet noodle dangled from his lips. 'What?'

Yaro's hand remained on his forehead for a moment before slowly moving down to cover his eyes. 'Oh man…you are getting me so angry.'

Brasca ignored him to focus on stuffing another wad of lunch into his maw. He spoke again, this time spraying a generous portion of it into the air.

'So, are you going to tell me your source yet? I just think it's funny that this guy you know is so connected and smart but he hasn't tried to do what you're doin'. Why isn't he out there already on Illium, living it up with alien babes on the beach?'

'He ain't as smart as me. I'd have thought that was obvious. Besides,' Yaro paused to take a seat next to Brasca, 'the guy owed me. He blew two grand on the pit varren ring I run for Fist down on level fifteen. It was easy. I threatened to haul him in and let Fist take it out of his hide, or he makes it up to me somehow and that lout never gets wind of the debt. Spawn's play.'

'So he's not a friend, like you said?' Brasca grumbled.

'They're all friends with Yaro,' the salarian replied with a mocking gesture. 'Don't you worry about the details, good buddy of mine, I got everything covered.'

Brasca hid his disapproval by scooping up the rest of his ramen, tilting the bowl to angle the soft mass down his throat but Yaro could read him like a datapad. He had known Brasca for years, since the brutish turian had joined the force and it was Yaro who had shown him how to use the pent-up aggression he'd carried from his legion discharge to turn a profit.

Brasca set down his bowl and belched loudly, prompting a chuckle from the chef. 'All right, all right, you know best. Let's go and see this thing quickly then, I want to get across to that pissy little used shuttle salesman in Tayseri before our shift ends.'

Brasca slipped from his seat and Yaro twitched irritably as he was forced to his feet only seconds after sitting down.

They had taken only a few steps before a sharp, hacking shout rang out behind them.

'Hey!'

The pair turned back as one to find the ramen chef leaning over the counter, his hand resting on the bowl Brasca had just used.

'You eat, you pay!' he yelled out. His voice was an indignant snap and his forehead glistened with sweat. 'You pay now!'

Brasca glanced at Yaro and a flicker of amusement passed over his eyes before he began to stalk his way back towards the kiosk.

Yaro shook his head. He could only hope this would not take too long.

The turian approached the counter and the chef blinked, suddenly nervous. The ridges of Brasca's paintless skin was etched with the light around him, from the gentle purple of the nebula beyond the kiosk to the thick lines of yellow and orange of the kiosk sign. The market noise clattered around them hollowly, the voices of hundreds mixing into one.

Brasca leaned forward to place his hands on the counter.

'Officer Brasca eats for free,' he said, slowly. 'Understand?'

Yaro was unsure if the little man really did understand, but his tone was unmistakable. To his surprise, the chef did not back down and spoke again, a fat drop of sweat quivering on the end of his nose.

'You pay. Now.'

Brasca brought his head forward, stopping a mere inch from the chef's face. His lips parted to reveal a small, wicked smile.

'Looks like I'm gonna have to make this a little clearer.'

A wail of shock went up from the market crowd as Brasca snatched the bowl from the counter and, taking a firm grip of the chef's shirt, brought it down on his head with a loud crack. The human yelped in pain and shrieked as Brasca hauled him over the counter, turning him over until his back arched painfully over the edge. Nearby, Yaro did his best to wave away the onlookers as his friend went to work, hammering his fist into the helpless chef's face.

'I. Told. You,' Brasca snarled. Each word was timed as his blows connected and every strike from the powerful turian's armoured knuckles scored ragged, bloody lines in the chef's soft skin. 'Officer. Brasca. Eats. For. Free!'

'Yes!' the human gurgled from behind broken teeth. 'Please, no more. You eat for free, I remember!'

'Officer Yaro too?'

'Yes, partner too!' he moaned. 'Please! Please stop!'

With a grin of satisfaction, Brasca released his grip, taking a moment to wipe the blood from his fist onto the chef's apron.

'Glad we could do business,' he said before leaning down to speak quietly into his ear, 'and if you even think about telling anyone about this, I'll know. You just remember what I said and we'll get along just fine.'

Rising once again, he mockingly straightened the man's crumpled, stained apron. 'Nice place you got here, by the way.'

The onlookers who had gathered were startled out of their paralysis as Brasca turned, and every one of them hurried about their way as he cast his unflinching gaze in their direction. Only Yaro remained, and he turned to join Brasca as they strode out towards the nearest shuttle station.

'Why the hell did you get me involved? You know I'm not interested in that crap,' he muttered, drawing a smirk from the turian as they were swallowed by the glut of shoppers once more.

~~~ME-I~~~

From the very beginning, Udina's dark eyes were constantly on the move.

They searched the walls of every corridor they strolled through, the faces of every JSTF staff they passed, even the coffee that had just been offered to him in a steaming mug. He eyed the rich, brown liquid with something like suspicion at first until the aroma enticed him into taking a first, tentative sip.

'We get it in for the human staff,' Chellick explained, gesturing for his guest to take a seat.

Udina obliged slowly, lowering himself into a waiting chair as he held the coffee cup to his lips, hiding much of his face.

Chellick took a seat opposite. After the initial surprise of Udina's sudden appearance, he had taken the opportunity to herd the ambassador through every narrow hall and passage in the complex, stopping at every inconsequential room and office without so much as a glimpse of the beating heart of the task force.

Udina was searching for something specific, of that Chellick had no doubt. He kept his gaze fixed on the ambassador from across the table, his neutral demeanour holding in check a powerful, compulsive desire to take more drastic measures.

The tiny break room in which they'd finally broken from the slothful pace Chellick was setting had only the barest of refreshment dispensers but that was not why he had brought Udina there. The glare of the room's piercing white light was intentionally harsh, meant to subtly dissuade any loiterers but now the JSTF commander was using it to his advantage. Now it was a gentle weapon, meant to erode Udina's patience and sap his resolve without him even realising it. It was a stress device, as innocuous as the cup that lay on the table before him.

Either Udina would let slip his intentions, or Chellick would be able to hide his own more successfully.

This is my home turf, the turian thought to himself as he pushed his doubts aside, and I will not be outmatched on it.

'We're wasting time, Commander,' Udina began, frowning at the bitterness of the coffee. 'I have the authority of the asari councillor herself to conduct an inspection of JSTF and we have not even seen the main command centre. How am I supposed to judge the effectiveness of this operation if I can't see it conducted?'

Chellick did not reply immediately, choosing instead to observe Udina carefully, his hands clasped together in thought. When the response came it was calm.

'I'm saving the best for last, Ambassador,' he said. His eyes were jade orbs that glinted with anxious excitement. 'There's far more to JSTF than one room, after all. We will get to the command centre in good time. I'm sure the councillor will want you to report on all aspects of this team and our facilities.'

It was a flimsy excuse at best but Udina would not be so blunt as to call him out on it. This man too has his own secrets to hide, Chellick reminded himself, secrets that he too will be fighting to keep.

Udina forced a smile. 'As you say, though I'm simply worried that your team may be missing you. Without careful supervision, I have found that subordinates can get themselves into all kinds of trouble.'

Chellick showed nothing of his inner tension and merely smiled back in agreement, though his mind reeled at the words Udina had used. Chellick knew he had covered Garrus' tracks well enough, that there was no way the ambassador could find out the truth.

Countless questions raced through his mind at once but he took solace in one thing; that if his actions had truly been uncovered he would be facing Executor Pallin at that very moment. That left only one thing, one possibility, and he cleared his throat softly as he prepared to guide the exchange in that direction.

'Speaking of supervision,' Chellick said as casually as he could, 'I'm curious to know how the asari councillor has gotten herself involved in the first place.' He kept his tone light, as if speaking to an old friend, while partially obscuring his mouth with his intertwined fingers. 'When JSTF was established, it was to operate with a minimum of political interference, with no second-guessing from anyone but the executor. How did you manage to convince her to give you that authorisation?'

The question was posed humbly, as a chess player would congratulate an opponent on a master stroke, and Udina's smiled widened at the perceived compliment.

'I didn't need to. She approached me, Commander and before you ask, no, she did not say why. I believe she simply realised how poorly humanity has been treated in this matter, how we have been brushed aside, and that in the interests of galactic cohesion we must all start being a little more transparent with one another.'

'I see,' Chellick mumbled as the gears of his thoughts frantically turned once more. 'So she was acting alone? Have either of the other two councillors approached you?'

Udina slowly raised a hand to his head and massaged his temples. 'No,' he answered distractedly, 'now if you would be so kind, please show me the way to the command centre. We've wasted enough of our time already and the lighting here is giving me a headache.'

Chellick suppressed a smile as he rose to his feet. He had enough information to go on for now. It was finally time to move on before Udina grew too suspicious, though the constant worry that plagued him over the Coleran Vastra intel surfaced in his stomach once again.

His lips twitched slightly as he resigned himself to the only course of action he could take. He would throw the dice, as he had so often been forced to do, and see where they fell.

The command centre was a storm of activity as Lorica's team prepared to oversee Vastra's apprehension. Those who were seated at their desks pored over their terminals, their hands a blur as they typed communiqués and reports. Those who stood were deep in conversation with fellow analysts and agents and the shifting hues of omni-tools spattered the room with dabs of amber light.

Udina stepped ahead of Chellick as they walked down the central path and the turian stared at his back intently, glad the ambassador could not see his own nerves at work. His stomach churned in anticipation of the next few moments.

Emblazoned on the main screen at the far end, Coleran Vastra's file spilled across the vision of all in the room. Next to his picture and profile, details of the upcoming operation were listed; times, personnel, equipment, assets, everything those involved needed to know at a glance.

'Looks like you got here just in time,' said Chellick. 'We're preparing to arrest a major suspect, a high-ranking member of the Forgotten Legion, to be precise. With any luck, he will lead us straight to their base of operations and we can finally bring Krassus in.'

Chellick watched, aching to see Udina's reaction, if only to read what must be going through his mind. The ambassador's body remained rooted to the spot but his head turned, his expression guarded. His lips moved very slightly, as if he wanted to ask a question, while his brow was creased in the faintest trace of a frown.

Such minute signs would be almost impossible for the untrained eye to discern but reading them had been part of Chellick's life as an undercover officer for years now.

He tilted his head curiously. 'Is something wrong, Ambassador?'

Udina shuddered faintly and Chellick was suddenly convinced the ambassador was not aware of Garrus' data theft. He could tell how Udina yearned to ask how they knew of Vastra, and the moment held until Udina visibly composed himself, clearing his throat to speak.

'That is excellent news, Commander, though I am curious to know how you managed to track him down?'

Chellick struggled to hide his elation. Not only had Udina's bluff been called, but Chellick's instincts had been right. Udina was no more keen to throw accusations around than Chellick was; at least not without proof.

The commander grinned, his mandibles flexing gently as he decided to twist the knife.

'Intelligence comes in many forms, Ambassador. We have a large team of field agents, each reporting back to us every few minutes with new information. I would have thought that would be obvious enough, with respect.'

'Yes, but-' Udina stopped and his expression twisted as he fought to restrain himself. After a moment of indecision, he returned Chellick's smile amiably. 'After our meeting the other day, I was simply under the impression that your leads were few. I am…glad to see that is not the case.'

The forced pleasantness was like sweet wine to Chellick and he gestured to the screen in private triumph. 'You're free to stay and observe, if you want?'

'That…won't be necessary,' Udina mumbled.

'Then I trust our business here is complete.' Chellick motioned for a nearby agent, and a young human woman stepped eagerly up to them. 'Everson, please escort the ambassador from the building. I hope you found everything to your satisfaction?'

The question was accompanied by a thin smile and Udina narrowed his eyes warily. Beside them, the female agent shifted on her feet, uncomfortable with the odd silence that had come between the two men.

After several seconds of tense waiting, Udina finally returned the smile, though his lips were stretched thin by his reluctance.

'I will make my report to the councillor, Commander. Thank you for your time.'

The reply was deliberately ambiguous, though Chellick did not dwell on it. Instead, he turned to the centre of the room and strode towards the central dais, intent on reclaiming the time Udina's visit had stolen.

He looked out on his bustling subordinates, filled with the warmth of satisfaction at having evicted Ambassador Udina in his stunned state. It had been a victory but he could not allow himself to get complacent. If Udina was not suspicious before then he most certainly was now, and with the asari councillor involved Chellick would have to tread carefully.

That was another matter entirely, and one that did not inspire Chellick with as much confidence. He believed Udina's claim that Councillor Tevos had approached him privately, perhaps even without the knowledge of the other councillors. It was a troubling development and for now he had no clue as to why she was on Udina's side.

A raised voice caught his attention and he followed the source to Lina's desk, far to his left. The quarian had cried out in horror as Garrus tried to take a seat on her desk; almost crushing a stack of precious OSDs in the process.

Garrus. Chellick's eyes focused on him, widening in realisation. The noise of the command centre receded as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, revealing the cold, lifeless face of the asari I'Layna Naris; Councillor Tevos' aide. It was the only connection Chellick could make and that alone made his blood run cold.

~~~ME-I~~~

Arlen looked up at Vastra's apartment building, a squat cylinder of cold blue stone lined with deep channels of dark windows. It was ugly by asari standards and was tucked discreetly between several taller structures, as if they were deliberately trying to hide it, towering overhead and casting long, murky shadows over the streets.

He tried to ignore the biting winds that tugged at his neck, threatening to work into the smallest gaps of his armour. Though the sun was strong that afternoon, it did not touch that place and Arlen clamped his jaw tightly together to stop his teeth from chattering.

In need of a distraction, he glanced at the refuse lining the wide road surrounding the building. A trickle of civilians wandered down it, keeping a respectable distance from the group of police officers that milled loosely in the area. There were no lights and sirens for fear of alerting their target but Anaya could not allow the public to place themselves in harm's way and had her people warn off those that strayed too near.

It was a dark, hidden part of Nos Astra, far from the glamour of the upper reaches. This was a different city entirely, and Arlen began to see what Anaya was referring to when speaking of it with such bitterness.

The captain stood with him, gazing up across the curved face of the apartment block. The afternoon sky was a deep azure crack between the buildings, making the gloom of the streets seem all the darker by comparison. It made Arlen itch to find a rooftop, if only to enjoy the sight of that beautiful, clear blue expanse.

Anaya murmured an instruction to one of her officers before talking to Arlen directly.

'Sniper teams are in position. Fareye One,' she began, pointing to one of the massive towers immediately to their left, 'has direct line of sight into the apartment itself. They'll be providing over watch should you run into any trouble.'

'And the others?'

'Fareye Two is watching the building's main entrance from the third floor of that building,' she replied, gesturing to their right. 'Finally, Fareye Three has the roof. Those are the only exits, so between all three teams we shouldn't have any difficulty.'

Arlen cocked a brow. 'The roof has an exit?'

'The roof is an exit,' Anaya retorted with a wry grin, 'for anyone desperate enough that is. You never can tell with these types.'

Arlen nodded his satisfaction. He would be well-protected from afar. 'And the ground team? Is Detective Keller in position?'

'See for yourself.'

Anaya jerked her head over to where Keller stood with a small team of asari, each one encased in gleaming, polished combat armour. The signature C-Sec black and blue marked Keller out instantly, and Arlen felt himself flush as he saw how well the hard suit accentuated the curves of her body.

He coughed suddenly and faced forward, his abruptness drawing a curious glance from Anaya.

'Are you okay?' she asked.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' he replied quickly, 'I was just wondering how she's taking to the role.'

Shrugging, Anaya crossed her arms and resumed her observation of the apartments. 'After talking to her, I can see she's sharp and knows her stuff. Can't ask for any more than that.'

Arlen hesitated. He wanted to offer another apology for Chellick's interference but knew there would be no point. Instead, he focused on what needed to be done. 'And she'll enter the building if anything happens?'

'We're all listening in,' Anaya confirmed. 'You have a direct link to both us down here and your friends over in JSTF. We're feeding them information by the second, so between our reports and your transmitters, they won't miss a beat.'

'Speaking of,' Arlen wondered aloud as he pawed at the odd device that Anaya had attached to the breastplate of his suit, 'just how sophisticated is this thing?'

'Audio only. Normally we'd push for video too but considering the data has to be transmitted through several comm-buoys, JSTF decided to just stick to the basics for speed's sake. Just don't forget to take it off before you go to the bathroom.'

Arlen looked at Anaya with raised brows and smiled as he saw her dry expression. 'I'll keep that in mind, Captain. Is there anything else I need to know?'

Anaya shook her head. 'My people have been watching that apartment for twenty-four hours now. If there was anything funny going on, they'd have noticed. I don't like to say it out loud but I think we may well have just caught a break, simple as that.'

Arlen let his eyes wander over the apartment building one more time, his mandibles moving gently as he swallowed his trepidation.

He wanted to believe it too, but nothing so far had been this simple. When he went after I'Layna Naris he had run into Crixus. When he investigated Bithcon Dynamics he discovered Petra. When he delved into the darkest recesses of Omega he came across the name of the salarian renegade, Yanus.

Nothing was going the way it was supposed to and he half-expected Vastra to turn into a thresher maw, just to provide another odd turn.

Sighing softly to himself, he straightened and looked at Anaya. 'Okay, let's get this done.'

With a sharp nod of confirmation from the captain, Arlen crossed the street alone. As he left the busy voices of the police officers behind, his senses seemed to sharpen. The bitter wind that coursed through the street held an icy snap, bringing with it the sharp tang of the garbage that lay strewn along the thoroughfare.

It was with relief that he stepped into the darkened lobby of the apartment block. The breeze was reduced to a low moan at his back and his nostrils were filled with the sterile odour of cleaning chemicals as he wandered through the empty hall.

It was eerily quiet, with only the tapping of his feet on the hard stone to fill the air. A bank of elevators lay to his right, behind a row of square pillars, and Arlen grimaced at the Out of Order signs that had been crudely daubed across them in three languages. His muscles were still sore and they ached anew in protest as he turned his gaze grudgingly to the stairs that lay directly in front of him.

'Petra?' he asked tentatively, his eyes moving from side to side with unerring caution. It was the first time he had dared bring out the AI in public since leaving the Citadel. 'Petra, are you there?'

His omni-tool sprung to life, and Petra's voice chirped happily from within.

'Of course, Arlen, how can I help?'

'I was just thinking. Can you do something about these elevators? I really, really don't want to take the stairs.'

He blinked in surprise as she sighed loudly, mocking him. 'So lazy! All right, find service access point and I'll see what I can do.'

Arlen spotted one such access point sitting just next to the elevators, a small, square panel clearly marked against the otherwise featureless wall.

A small indentation lay at the top of the panel, into which Arlen tucked his fingers and smoothly pulled down. A terminal folded out and immediately turned on, giving a faint yellow glow to everything around it.

'Opening a connection, and…' Petra mumbled. She spoke again, though this time her voice came from within the terminal. 'I'm in! Hmm…nope, elevators broken for many years now. No maintenance staff employed, not after last one was…oh, interesting…'

'Come on, Petra,' Arlen said, eager to cut through her curious rambling. 'Focus - is there anything you can tell me about Vastra or his apartment from the building's records?'

Petra hummed again. 'Power and water consumption steady for past several days. Door unopened, though. Vastra has been living there, without coming out. Why not? Big city, so interesting and full of people!'

Arlen held back a smile at her simple logic. 'I don't know, but I intend to find out. Tell you what, why don't you stay in there a while, see what else you can dig up? I can pick you up from anywhere in the building, right?'

'From anywhere in sector!' she beamed. 'All same network!'

'That's good,' Arlen answered and instinctively loosened his Striker from his holster as he eyed the stairwell once again with an expression of hatred. 'Wish me luck.'

~~~ME-I~~~

The turian shifted in his seat, ignoring the whiskey bottle as it fell from the couch with a dull thud. It rolled in front of him, glinting at his feet as it caught the thin strip of light peering from the shuttered window. He could see a faint reflection in the glass, twisting and morphing as the bottle settled into place and he almost grimaced at the image that stared back at him.

His rough, pitted red skin looked tired, making him seem even older than he was. His face paint had not been reapplied for many days now, and the black ink was dry and cracked, flaking from the skin like wisps of dark snow whenever he moved.

He frowned angrily and clumsily kicked out at the bottle, sending it spinning across the ground before it came to rest against a pile of soiled, unwashed clothing. The turian grunted at the sight. He knew he lived in filth, and that even if he wanted to, his own inebriation would stop him from cleaning it up. All he wanted to do was simply exist in that one spot, lounging in front of the vid-screen with its endless cycle of cheap Fornax shows and straight-to-extranet movies.

A sudden chime cut through the stale air and the turian looked up sharply.

His front door lay to the left, past the tiny kitchen. His frown grew even more bitter as he levered himself unsteadily from the couch.

Another long, high note droned from the door and the turian paced across the room, eager to send away whoever it was that insisted on disturbing him.

He placed a hand on the door with a heavy thump and leaned into it, doing his best to regain some of his senses.

'Yeah, what do you want?' the turian barked, his voice cracking as it was forced from a sore, parched throat.

'Coleran Vastra?'

Vastra's eyes rose at the sound of his own name, then darted about the apartment in alarm. He moistened his lips anxiously.

'Wh-who wants to know?'

Pressing his eyes shut hard, Vastra willed himself to think, to focus as the visitor replied.

'My name is Agent Arlen Kryik. I've come by the authority of Citadel Security and Illium Security Forces to place Coleran Vastra under arrest for his involvement in the terrorist attack on the Citadel three days ago.'

The voice outside was young, Vastra assessed through the haze of his drunkenness, young and unmistakably turian.

For a moment, he twitched, his head jerking towards his vid-screen. He always kept a pistol behind it, in case of emergencies. He banished the idea quickly, however and swallowed deeply, eager to work the dryness from his mouth.

'You got the wrong guy,' he argued, 'I don't know anyone named Vastra.'

'Then you wouldn't mind opening the door and answering a few questions, would you?' the younger turian asked pointedly.

Vastra let out a tired breath and slumped against the door in weary resignation.

This was it, he realised, and again he fought his body as it urged him to flee. He had long ago learned to master the dumb beast and he would not let his instincts get the better of him. Some men called such a thing courage but he did not view it so romantically. He simply knew that this was his only chance and he would not let his own body betray him.

The door hissed open to reveal the youthful owner of the voice. He was even more boyish than he sounded, Vastra thought as he narrowed his eyes.

The C-Sec agent's skin was dark, and his fringe had not yet reached its full length. The striking, white Edessa colony markings he bore were those of a mere teenager, lacking the thick eye-framing lines that marked their passage into true manhood.

His disbelief must have been evident in his expression. Agent Kryik too regarded Vastra with an air of suspicion, his nostril slits closing as the stench of the apartment seeped out into the hallway. The expression hardened into recognition as he took in Vastra's features.

Vastra doubted his exhausted, glassy eyes did his file photos any justice as they peered out of sunken sockets. It was clear he had not slept in days and he wondered if the agent was disappointed to find him in such a state.

'May I come in?' Arlen asked, with little in his tone to suggest his politeness was merely artificial.

What scraps of resistance Vastra had shown behind the door deserted him. He saw the determination in Arlen's eyes and knew there would be no point in arguing or denying his identity. His head bowed slightly and he nodded to himself.

'I knew someone would come for me. Perhaps I was hoping it would be you.'

Arlen visibly struggled to keep his mouth from falling open. 'What did you say? But aren't you a senior officer of the Forgotten Legion?'

'I am indeed,' Vastra replied with a weak smile. 'One of the first, as it happens. But come inside. It won't do to discuss these things out in the hallway.'

~~~ME-I~~~

'And we have a positive ID on Coleran Vastra,' Milo stated triumphantly.

Around him, the other task force members were too busy to reply but the mood of success was strong in the air nonetheless.

'Voice analogues match samples taken through both his former military lectures and surveillance recordings after forming the Legion. We're almost there, guys!'

Behind him, Lorica stood at her desk, looking at her human lover affectionately. His work excited him immensely and she always enjoyed the look on his face when the team achieved something; that infectious smile he gave when things were going their way. His energy was like a stimulant to her; she absorbed it, keen to let it soak into her senses and spur her on.

Milo leaned back to glance over his shoulder at her and for a moment, Lorica wanted to laugh.

She did not know what it was about humans that captivated her so. Perhaps it was that energy, that inescapable sense of excitement they exuded. Their lives were short and so they lived every day as if it were their last. Compared to Milo, her asari sisters were stolid and dull, content to let time claim their years in the complacent knowledge that there were many more to come.

He gave Lorica a suggestive wink and the analyst's lips quivered. She wanted to smile but the gesture faltered. He looked at her with mild concern, a silent question to her.

Frowning gently, Lorica bit down on her lower lip and, with a slight shake of her head, she turned and walked away from her desk.

Milo stared dumbfounded as he watched Lorica exit the command centre and he quickly threw a worried glance in Chellick's direction. Their commander was deep in conversation with a subordinate and did not seem to have noticed her departure.

Milo shifted as indecision gripped him. He wanted to go after her but to do so would risk drawing too much attention, not to mention the fact that an operation was well underway; one that required all their attentions.

Wincing at the difficulty of his position, Milo leaned over his desk and activated his intercom.

'Lina? It's Milo.'

The quarian's voice came through clearly, as did the spike of irritation in her tone, 'What is it, Milo? I'm incredibly busy here and I can't afford to be disturbed.'

'Hey, tell me something I don't know,' he replied, 'but you know I wouldn't be calling unless it was serious.'

Lina sighed in frustration, the sound harsh over the tinny speakers. 'All right, I'm on my way over.'

It would not take long for her to arrive but nevertheless, Milo could not stop his eyes from passing nervously over the command centre. They rested on Chellick more than once but thankfully the turian showed no sign that he was aware of what was happening.

The ticks and chimes of terminals blended with a hundred murmuring voices to create a tense wall of sound, one that Milo listened to intently for even the slightest indication of alarm.

Lina arrived at his shoulder, her arms crossed angrily and eyes narrowed beneath her visor. 'This had better be good, Milo, the analysis of Petra's code is almost complete and I-'

'Lorica's gone,' he said, stopping her mid-sentence.

Lina took a deep breath before raising a hand to her helmet in exasperation.

'Keelah, not again,' she sighed. 'Did she say where she was going? Or why?'

'No, not a word,' Milo replied with a shake of his head.

His voice held a distinct edge of pain and Lina took a deep breath, keeping any useless questions at bay. It was obvious Milo was worried about Lorica, that he was hurt that she would rather disappear entirely than confide in him and he was glad to see Lina got the message.

'Okay,' she said, 'I'll have to take control until she returns. I want a status report, as well as a list of all available assets. I'll also need Williams and Kavash to run interception protocols on all signals in and out of the area, in case the Legion should try to interfere. Keelah, of all the times to disappear…'

Milo reached out and placed a hand on her arm. 'Thank you, Lina. I know you don't need this right now and I promise I'll do what I can to find out what's wrong with her.'

Lina froze for a moment. The hand on her suit was warm and his gratitude was expressed through a soft squeeze against her skin. Frowning, she firmly but respectfully guided his hand from her arm and spoke as casually as she could.

'I'll be asking those questions myself when all this is over. You just stay focused on the task at hand and make sure those protocols are implemented. I know Kavash; that salarian's brain is always working overtime so make sure you tell him twice or he'll forget the first time around.'

Milo smiled as his section leader took a position in the midst of the team, issuing orders with a thoroughness that Lorica had lacked. It was to be expected. The quarian was an exceptionally gifted individual in many ways and to simply watch her work was motivation in itself.

Clearing his throat, he looked back to his own terminal. The sniper teams were in position, watching over Arlen as he entered Vastra's home. His screen was dominated by the thin, tangled blue lines of building schematics, with pulsing white dots in three locations to denote the sniper's locations.

'Time for a radio check,' he murmured to himself before navigating to a small icon at the edge of the monitor. 'Fareye Two, radio check, over?'

'Fareye Two here, reading you loud and clear, over.'

'Roger that, Fareye Two. Fareye One, how're things at your end, over?'

Milo's brow creased as several seconds passed with silence as his only response.

'Fareye One, I repeat; radio check, over?'

Again, there was nothing. Milo licked his lips.

'Fareye One, do you copy?'

Something clicked at the other end of the line and Milo paled at the hiss of static that met his ears.

He knew that sound. It was the sound of a comm channel being physically cut, severed at its source.

He opened his mouth to shout the alarm.