Bureaucracy is a giant mechanism operated by pygmies.

The Transmigration Effect

Chapter 21

in·ter·sperse (verb)

To distribute among other things at intervals.

My head's still spinning. "Feeling better?" asks Chakwas.

"Urgh," I moan. "Not really."

"Well, your neurological activity has settled down, so I'd say you're on the mend. It was off the charts for a while."

Shepard ushers everyone but the doctor and herself out, for which I'm grateful. Guess she's not a lost case after all. "I need to know what happened, Parker. I'm supposed to know what my people are capable of, and frankly you're a lot more trouble than you look."

I'm confused. "I already told you what I did, didn't I?"

She waves her hand, brushing my answer aside. "I got what you did. I need to know how you did it, what the potential side effects are, and the risks of using it." Her eyes are unrepentant. "A weapon is useless if you don't know everything about it. You'll only end up hurting yourself." She looks around, gestures to the equipment surrounding us. "Case in point," she remarks.

"It's not like it has a name or anything," I grunt. What does she expect for me to do, suddenly know everything?

Shepard shrugs. "You know more about it than we do."

Well, that's true, I suppose. "If I had to call it anything, I'd call it 'Dominate', I guess." Sounds about as accurate as anything else. "As for what it does, it's, well, you saw what it did. It lets me get inside someone's head."

Shepard nods. "Does he get into yours?"

I hesitate. I hadn't thought of that, but that's certainly the way it worked with the Rachni Queen. "I think he does, but not in the same way. Not deep enough to affect physical control, at least. Do you know something?"

Shepard's words are quiet, but harsh. "When he woke up he was delusional, or so the marines who picked him up say. Hissed and clicked at them, as if he were a Rachni. Then he started bleeding from the nose. He died ten minutes later. Cerebral haemorrhage."

I didn't know. "I'm sorry," I say quietly.

Shepard sighs. "I know you had no idea. This is new ground for all of us. Could the same thing happen to you?"

I doubt it. It felt nauseating, but never dangerous. As strange as it sounds, I'm used to living with an extra life's worth of memories. I'm used to handling the rush of emotions that comes with it. Hell, for the first decade of my life I had to stay in bed a few minutes to sort out who I was every morning. Then again, I can't tell her that.

"It won't," I finally respond, "but I can't really explain why. It… well, it just won't. I'm unique, I suppose."

Shepard snorts. "You certainly are," she retorts. "What else about it?"

"This is still conjecture, my queen, but I believe its effectiveness depends on how strong-willed the victim is. The terrorist leader was already half mad, so he succumbed easily. Others wouldn't be affected so. If I attempted it on an indoctrinated target… It could be unpleasant."

Shepard stiffens. "I ordered you not to call me queen," she says coldly. I pale. Did I say that?

"Sorry, commander. I guess I'm still singin- thinking a little odd."

She softens. "I know. I'm sorry. I keep forgetting this is worse for you than it is for the rest of us."

Joker's voice comes over the intercom. "Commander, we just cleared the Widow relay. We'll be at the Citadel in thirty minutes."

"So, how's this going to work?" I ask.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're clear to leave the Normandy," Shepard says.

"Already? I can go?"

"Oh, don't think we're not keeping you under observation. But you can go ashore, at least. I'm not that heartless."

"No offense or anything, but how are you going to keep me under observation? That kind of defeats the purpose of shore leave."

Shepard smiles a devious smile. "Simple. I'll be following you around for the whole time. Aren't you lucky?"

My mouth drops. You're kidding. That's such a blatant, archaic form of spying that I didn't even think of it. And yet, she's my superior officer. I actually cannot argue with her. Having Shepard follow me around will stop me doing anything remotely spy-like whether it's her intention or not. Which is bad, because I need to find the Cerberus infiltrator, and according to the Broker there is no way Shepard should be aware of my status.

If I'm around with Shepard and the Broker thinks I've spilled the beans, my day will end prematurely. Probably via a sniper rifle.

Just by looking at her, I can tell she hasn't thought it through. And I can't talk to her about why it's a bad idea, because there might be bugs that Garrus didn't find. I don't plan on being blackmailed by The Illusive Man on top of everything else.

I'll have to deal with it. Somehow. But there's been something on my mind, and I might as well bite the bullet.

"Hey, commander. When you gave your report to the Council, what did you tell them? About me, and the Rachni?"

Shepard's smile wilts like a dead flower. "I didn't… I didn't know what to say. I told them I let the queen go, of course, but apart from that, I didn't tell them. About what happened to you."

I nod gratefully. "Thank you, Shepard." So long as I didn't use my biotics, there was nothing to mark me as different from any other human. Apart from my speech patterns, I guess.

I swivelled and put my feet down, enjoying the cold floor. "I'm free to go, then?"

Shepard nods. "I'll see you at the airlock once we dock, then."

I grimace. Guess I'm not getting rid of her so easily.

Well, it's not like I won't have anything to do on the Citadel. New armour, for one thing. I had a nice shiny new set of plating, but half of it got liquidated and the other half shattered. I could probably use a firepower upgrade as well. After all, my old gun feels more and more like an antique compared to the rest of the squad's weaponry.

Before that, though, conversations need to be had. Even if it might be unpleasant.

"Hey, Chief," I say quietly. Ashley Williams ignores me for the first few seconds, taking her time to aim and fire a slug through the head of the target at the other end of the garage. The cold ferocity with which she does it and the look she gives me a moment afterward make me flinch.

"Yes, Mr. Parker?" she asks with calculated indifference.

Flowery words and cunning arguments won't get me anywhere with her.

"Ash, do you want to have dinner with me?"

She returns my look levelly, but underneath it, far below, it a blazing fire. She's angry.

Furious, actually. Oh dear.

"Alliance Marine Code of Conduct, article thirty-five, section twelve. In the event that two marines on the same fireteam become romantically involved, those two must be separated and assigned to different postings. I figure you've been on the Normandy for a month and a half, maybe two. You count. So unless you want to leave the Normandy, I have to decline. Regulations."

My heart sinks. It didn't work. I don't know why I put so much emphasis on it, I mean, I haven't actually known her for long.

My mouth opens in a long, wailing, hissing screech, a song of mourning and sadness and false hope and pain and anger and resignation and-

"You alright?" Ash grunts sarcastically, turning her back on me. I clamp my mouth shut, grateful that human vocal cords have difficulty producing Rachni songs. To her, I probably just stood there, mouth open. Another rush, not Rachni instincts, flashes through me. Kill, maim, burn, scream, shoot. I clench my fits tight, forcing myself to stay in place. I am not a psychopathic murderer. I am Parker. A medic.

Clarity returns, and I walk away before my roiling emotions get the better of me again. It's getting easier with time to keep a lid on the new memories I have, and I think I'll be able to control them all. Eventually.

Wrex leans against his pillar, same as always. Didn't he get shot about five times or something? "Looks like you got shot down pretty hard," he grunts, barely trying to hide the amusement lacing his tone.

"Looks like it," I respond, waiting for the elevator. I'm not much interested in conversation right now.

"Tough break," he continues. "You know what you should do?"

"What," I grunt, trying to imitate his normal go-away tone.

"Get together with Shepard," he says, and I nearly choke.

"I should what?!"

"Get with Shepard," he says again, as though it made perfect sense. "One female rejects you, you should go after the other one. Besides, not good for a commander to go into battle wound up. Good to loosen her up a bit."

My face goes bright red, and there's nothing remotely Rachni-like about how my mouth drops open. Mercifully, the elevator opens, and I step in, walking on autopilot. Wrex chuckles at my expression, throwing in one last barb. "Not good to have a wound up medic, either."

The elevator door closes, so I can't even get the last word. Not that I have a comeback ready.

I spend the slow trip in silence, trying to work my mind around it. Ash rejected me, and that hurts. I can't decide if Wrex's heckling was just that, or legitimate advice. The damn Krogan has far too good of a poker face.

The elevator door slowly slides open to the mess, in time to see one crewer's head crack painfully against the table. The fight continues, the punch-drunk crewer lunging clumsily, throwing a hamhanded haymaker at the other man. I recognise the two, one works for Adams in Engineering while the other handles communications.

The Engineering specialist ducked the clumsy punch, moving forward and tacking the other man, already disoriented from his collision with the table, taking them both to the ground. For a moment I watch, as if was some sort of dream. The Normandy has always run like a well-oiled machine, and seeing two of its operators slugging it out openly in the communal area of the ship is surreal.

Then I snap out of it, and realise that if I let this go on, I'll just make more work for myself and Dr. Chakwas. So I flare green, the sudden bright light startling the two brawlers and the small gaggle of onlookers. Most of the spectators look around sheepishly, and try to amble away casually. The two fighters keep trying to throw punches, ignoring me.

I snap a Stasis field on the fighters, paralysing them. "Right, you lot," I bark, trying to model my tone after the drill sergeant at Macapa. Most of the spectators, caught red-handed, give up trying to sidle away inconspicuously. A few just keep walking away, fully aware that I have no direct authority over them. On the other hand, neither did I have a responsibility to be nice to them.

One of them I jerk back with a neon Pull, sending him reeling backwards, collapsing the other two escapees to the floor, just as Shepard sprints down the last stair. To her credit, she only pauses for a second at my intervention, before fixing her eyes on the frozen combatants. I release the Stasis, letting them collapse.

"There are cameras all over the place," she reminds them mildly, "Joker called me immediately." Her voice sheds the amicable pleasantness, her sudden roar sending pale-faced navy men scrambling to attention "What the fuck is going on here?"

"He's the spy," the engineer grumbles, pointing sullenly at the communications guy. "He's the reason so many of my friends died!"

I peer critically at the accused, who flushes angrily at the murmuring coming from the other men. He certainly doesn't look like the mastermind who led Cerberus to the Normandy, or attempted to assassinate Garrus. In fact, I'm pretty sure a communications officer wouldn't be able to get close enough to the Drive Core to unbalance it like the saboteur did.

"What evidence do you have?" Shepard asks brutally, cutting the engineer's rapidly inflating ego down to size.

He doesn't say anything, and Shepard backs off with a sigh of irritation. "You two," she glowers at the fighters, "Are forbidden to leave the Normandy. In addition, you'll help the rest of your friends clean the hull until it shines. I want it spotless by the time we leave port. Is that understood?"

At least they know enough not to complain. I follow the Commander back up to the upper level, foul mood hanging over her like a cloud. "I'd have thrown the brawlers in the brig for a day or two," I comment, more to draw the commander into conversation than anything else. I'm not actually surprised; she's too nice for her position.

"I have to leave myself somewhere to go," she mutters half to herself. "Since you were asleep, the crew's been at odds. This is the first fight, but other times have been close. I'm looking forward to getting away for a change."

We reach the bridge, and Joker hums happily to himself. "Maybe I should start a betting pool or something. You know, run a fight club. As soon as I get this cast off."

The pilot's left leg is encased in plaster, but it doesn't seem to affect him much. I suppose the plaster's more stable than his leg bones.

"How soon do we dock?" Shepard asks tiredly, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"About ten minutes, commander. Anything special you want me to tell them?"

"Prisoner transfer. I want to put your mother in front of the Council, Parker. If we can show them how severe the indoctrination is, then maybe we can convince them to give us some more help."

I hesitate. Do I want Eri to be paraded in front of the Council, like some exhibition? I know she won't be mistreated and there's no safe way to handle her, but still.

I have to find a way to save her.

The Normandy airlock cracks open, and the filtered air of the Presidium washes through the ship. It's infinitely fresher than the air in Port Hanshan, as if Noveria's corporate directors used even the air to make the place seem dull.

"Where first?" Shepard asks me as the rest of the crew disperse, save the poor unfortunate souls tasked with cleaning the battle-marked plating.

As promised she's planning on following me around. "I need new armour," I offer, and Shepard nods. We both spend a moment in mourning, or at least I do. I'd only had it for one mission.

"I'll pay for it," Shepard asks. "After all, it's my responsibility to keep you on our feet."

I'd like to refuse, but I don't have the bank to do it. As we leave the Normandy behind, I relax bit by bit. Out here it's a lot easier to talk freely, something I feel like Shepard needs badly. She just can't keep up without plain speaking.

We're ordering replacement armour at Garrus' friend's shop, though I haven't seen either the Salarian or Uraeus, the only two I met the first time. I stretch, bringing my mouth closer to Shepard's ear. "What's the situation with the crew like?"

She wilts a bit, but responds resolutely. "Everyone's at each other's throats, accusing each other by the hour. If this keeps up, the ship will tear itself apart. I don't know what to do."

"Then why did you follow me? I can't do anything with you hanging on."

She looks taken aback. "Well, to tell you this I guess?"

Great. Now I'm being micromanaged. "I noticed," I grunt out of the side of my mouth. "Give me a little credit."

"Armour will be ready by the end of the day," the shopkeeper says cheerfully, oblivious to our whispered conversation. Normally it'd take a lot longer, but I'm ordering an exact copy of something they've already done.

"Since you're paying, I'll replace my pistol as well," I jibe, but I don't say anything when Shepard agrees immediately. "How much money do you have, anyway?"

She smirks. "I keep the lion's share of the money dead Geth have. So, I believe the accurate term is a shit-ton. How'd it go with Ash?"

My smile fades. "She shot me down pretty hard," I admit. Shepard nods sagely.

"New gun to fix your broken heart," she chuckles.

I bump into her as a joke, speaking softly. "I need to get away."

Thankfully, she doesn't react. "I figured," she says equally softly. "Plan?"

"I either put a Stasis on you, or just run." Even out of the corner of my eye, I see Shepard's eyebrows rise fractionally. "You'll need to punish me when we get back to the ship, but we can deal with that later. Before or after the Council meeting?"

"Before, and use Stasis. I have deniability then." Shepard says decisively, and after I upgrade my firepower we duck into an alley. I immobilise her with an apology once we're out of sight, but I'm not worried exactly. The Stasis field will only last for a minute, and even if someone does find her in that time she's impervious to harm. Besides, she's a Spectre. She shouldn't have interfered unnecessarily.

Barla Von can wait an hour. Besides, it's lunchtime and for all I know, he's not even at his office. My other contact, on the other hand, is all but assured to be at work. I tap out a fast mail as I walk, sending another request beaming to a nearby comm buoy. Sending messages inter-system is expensive and conspicuous, so I've needed to wait until I can use a public buoy, not the Normandy's registered line. Hopefully, it'll be lost amongst the mass of regular mail.

Everything's connected in the Presidium, so I reach my destination fairly quickly. The receptionist is, as is common, a pretty young Asari. I'd say it were a sad tactic, using sex appeal to entice people not to be difficult. I would say that, if it weren't so effective.

Difficult might be the order of the day regardless, but the sentiment is nice.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asks politely, probably running my face through her schedule.

"I don't, but she'll want to see me." I promise.

The Asari smiles enticingly, like she was probably trained to do. "I'm sorry sir, but the Consort is extremely busy, and we don't accept anyone without an appointment. I can make one for you now, if you'd like?"

I make an expression halfway between smugness and needing to swallow something unpleasant. "You must not have heard me. She'll see me."

I push past her before she can overcome her shock at my daring, or however you choose to romanticize it. I have a job to do, and no receptionist is going to stop me. If it causes trouble for her boss, a woman I find I have a profuse dislike for, then that's just too bad.

The hall beyond is full of people, most talking animatedly to smiling, understanding Asari. I ignore them, my deliberate stride disarming as many questions as a drawn gun would have.

The Consort. I'd thought she was just another Asari dabbling in their mysticism and making money off that, but apparently not. She knew things about me that I'd never spoken of, and barely thought about. In other words, she'd known that I was somehow reincarnated into this life.

Despite that, she'd never acted directly, or at least I didn't know that she had. So either she didn't have the future knowledge that I used to have, or she was content to profit from the galaxy's ending. That was why I was here, to find out what I'd forgotten. Failing that, I could at least find out what her angle was.

I push through her door, immediately noting the biotic field preventing any access. The Consort looks over with idle amusement, and the barrier disappears with a swift snap. I suppose unless she personally lets people in, the barrier activates. Good to know.

Like I'd predicted, Sha'ira doesn't turn me away. "Mr Parker," she says silkily, though there's an undercurrent of surprise she can't hide. "What brings you to my humble dwelling?"

"I've lost something," I respond mysteriously, sending her game right back at her. The muscles around her eyes tighten in irritation, but I don't respond, content to help myself to some of her food. "I just can't remember where I lost it."

"What could you possibly have lost that you would feel it necessary to bring to my attention…?" she looks confused, and I revel in having bamboozled the arrogant Asari, even if I did rig the conversation. A win's a win.

Then all of a sudden her eyes fly open, wide as saucers, and her jaw drops. She's out of her seat in a heartbeat, holding my head with an iron grip, staring as if she's trying to look straight through me. "No," she mutters, "that's impossible. You couldn't have… How did you… Oh, Goddess."

She sits back hard in her chair, and reaches for a compartment I hadn't noticed before. From the hidden space she produces a flask, and drains it empty in one long drink. "How did this even happen?"

"You'll have to be more specific," I smirk, perversely pleased that someone is taking my misfortune worse than I did. Double smug because the last time Sha'ira and I talked, she basically didn't tell me squat.

"Whatever it is that happened to you," she groans, holding her head in one hand, the empty flask in the other.

"You want to trade information, that's fine with me." I fold my arms, raising an eyebrow. "Assuming you actually give me something I can use this time."

She shakes her head. "It's not like that. You were supposed to save this world, and now you're neutered. We have no reprieve. Do you have any idea how important you are? No, how important you were."

I sigh. Fatalism, I hadn't expected. "So, you're just going to let the Reapers win? For me, there's value enough in fighting. You really want to just lie down and die?"

It's a loaded question. I know the Consort was an Asari Commando before she started her job on the Citadel. It's not in her nature to give up. Sure enough, she bristles.

"I know you're trying to manipulate me," she cautions, "but In this case you have a point, ill-said though it was. You think me about to lie down and die? Foolish human. You have no idea what I have done- what I do- for this galaxy."

I can't stop myself from smiling. Insults I can deal with, and for answers I'll accept them gladly.

"You think you were the only special one?" she continues, tone sharp and condescending. "I existed centuries before your birth, and millennia before that, in cycles you know nothing of. Even then it was not the first time I have drawn breath. I see the patterns more clearly than any. Everything repeats. And, to my shame, I failed. And you, some ignorant puppy, think you can succeed without the only thing that made you special?"

"How did you fail?" I ask, managing to fit a word in her acidic rant. I was wrong about her. She's not just lived two lives like I have; she's lived many. In multiple Cycles. Bleeding hells.

"I affected something you would have no chance of, simpleton. I changed something so fine, so miniscule with such subtlety that a clumsy oaf like you probably wouldn't even see it. Do you see now? How superior I was to you?"

This doesn't make sense. I'm a fan of new information and all that, but this ranting from the eternally calm and collected Consort is… awkward. Out of character. She has to be doing it on purpose. But why?

"Why are you telling me this?"

She scowls. "Because I hate you, you fool."

Again, that doesn't make sense. If she hated me, she would want to tell me nothing and her self-control is certainly up to the task. Like she noted, she saw that I was trying to draw her into being talkative, and she let it happen. Why? What is she trying to tell me? Why phrase it as a crushing insult, rather than simple speech?

"You can't tell me normally." I don't phrase it like a question.

Her scowl becomes a smirk. I was right? "The significance of the object I moved will always escape you," she continues, her voice still scathing. But beyond the tone are the words behind it. She can't tell me straight up. What was it about the Consort's change?

"I know about the Reapers," I say, fishing for an answer.

"So you might know its origin. Knowledge is not understanding, peon."

So, it was indeed a Reaper artefact. She moved a Reaper artefact, presumably to stop the indoctrination of someone important? But then, why would that force her to phrase her hints like a cutting retort?

Oh, bleeding hell.

"You're indoctrinated," I accuse, and the smirk returns, but vanishes in a second. No, that can't be right. If she were indoctrinated, the Reapers would have done more to control the Citadel. But nobody can stand up to a Reaper artefact for long. "Semi-indoctrinated, or something?"

The smirk comes back, and stays there. "Even my meditation is beyond you, pretender," she gloats.

If I understand right, then something about her meditation lets her contain the Reaper whispering in her ear? Or maybe it's recalling her past lives, previous cycles, which were un-indoctrinated. Overwhelming the Reaper's seduction with the weight of many past voices.

I'm starting to understand. That's why the Consort always speaks in circles, in riddles. Undoubtedly, the Reapers have some influence over her. If she were ever to speak directly, some of their message would come through. It's also why she has to talk to me like she's trying to break my will, because that suits the Reaper's purpose and therefore, lets her speak more directly than she otherwise might.

Then, what was the change she made? What was worth risking her sanity for?

I pose the question, but she just stares at me and says nothing. It's hopeless, then. She can't give a name, nothing that direct. Not that I would remember who is different, with my lost memory. But even so, she's given me a lot to think on.

"Ah, madam, your next client has arrived," the receptionist squeaks, speaking through the door. There must be some sort of intercom system.

"I suppose I'll take my leave then," I remark, and the Consort nods curtly. No, she's not actually pretending to loathe me. The way her nostrils flare, the set of her jaw, it's all too natural. What I'm seeing is the hatred the Reapers have for her- and for me, too.

A chill runs down my spine.

Time for the fat Volus. I need to know who the infiltrator is, and I'm owed an answer. His office is nearby, and it's open. So long as I can shelf what the Consort told me for a little while, I should be fine. The Broker and his people aren't someone you deal with half-aware.

"Do you have an appointment?" his receptionist, a young Asari, asks politely. Two in one day. I wonder if they all go to one massive receptionist school? Either way, she doesn't even show condescension at my wrinkled, dirty clothes. She must be very well paid.

There isn't much opportunity for washing on the Normandy.

I'd feel better about ignoring her if she was rude, but I've got a job to do and politeness is sometimes a luxury. I suppose someone was expecting me, because the door to the receptionist's left slides open soundlessly, and I enter.

"Operative Shinga," Barla Von exclaims, turning his elaborate swivel chair to face me. Who does he think he is, some two-bit Bond villain? All he needs is a cat to stroke. "What an -hkkk- unexpected surprise."

Good grief. Are the games really necessary? Who am I kidding, it's spying. Everyone has an ego problem. If it were a surprise, the door wouldn't have opened. And now I can't call him on it, or he'll be offended. And offended contacts aren't nearly as helpful.

"I apologise for interrupting you," I lie blatantly, but he accepts it all the same. "But I believe you have something for me?"

The fat Volus tilts his head quizzically, but I get the feeling he's smiling. Wearing a mask is cheating, bastard. "I'm sure I don't -hkkk- know what you mean."

I force my teeth apart so I can speak. "The identity of the Cerberus agent on the Normandy. I'm sure you're aware of what happened on Noveria. Cerberus is detrimental to the Broker's work. Locating any agent of theirs should be a priority. Who is he?"

"We have -hkkk- not yet located him, Earth-clan," Barla Von replies candidly, a touch of amusement in his voice.

Ah, shit. That's not a good thing. He's lying about not knowing who the Cerberus agent is. Otherwise, he wouldn't have enjoyed saying it. But if he knows and I'm not being told, it means the Broker is suspicious of me.

Shit shit shit.

At the same time, the Volus had to work to put that inflection in the words. I'm expected to pick up on this, which means that the Broker isn't sure. He's letting me know I'm under scrutiny.

Still pretty shit.

"Is the Broker's organization really so inept?" I ask pointedly, and the Volus sits up a little straighter. I know he's lying, and he knows that I know. That's been the whole point of this conversation until now. Of course, this is polite spy company, so we act as if there isn't any unspoken conversation. That being so, I can insult him freely. If he disagrees, he admits he's competent enough to have the name, which opens up a whole new line of questions.

There's no chance he's that dumb, though. "I would normally -hkkk- punish you for that -hkkk- remark, but in this instance you are sadly -hkkk- correct. If that is all, -hkkk- be gone with you. I have business -hkkk- to attend to."

Security emerges from the shadows, politely opening the door behind me. With the accompanying promise, of course, that I will be going through the door, one way or another. I spare them the trouble, heading towards the Presidium tower. I need to find Eri.

Shepard's long been free of my Stasis, of course, and along with the Council's elite guard, she waits for her audience. Apparently the Council always have you wait, in case their earlier appointment finishes early. It being bureaucracy, it invariably finishes late instead.

As soon as she sees me, Shepard takes me aside, out of earshot of the C-Sec agents. More than a few of the other sentients awaiting audiences or lobbying for change notice and stare, but I turn so that none of them can read my lips. "The Broker's onto me," I whisper. "Nothing too serious or I'd be dead. I got a caution, in layman's terms."

"What about…?" She trails off, not wanting to say more with the Council's policemen nearby.

It'd be so nice to work with competent agents, who don't need everything spelled out. If I knew who the traitor was, I would have started with that. Even if I was trying to ratchet up the dramatic tension, secrets aren't given out to agents who irritate the boss.

It takes her a few seconds, but seeing my frustration eventually tips the scales. She curses quietly, and for a moment we contemplate in silence. I don't think the Broker will do nothing, since Shepard's team is too valuable in punishing Shepard. Hell, that's probably why I got off lightly, I'm too useful to kill. Even if I do nothing, the Broker will still be able to claim that he helped Shepard take down the fearsome Rogue Spectre Saren Arterius, and increase his client base even more.

It also means that I really have to watch my back. Useful I might be, but to the Broker nobody's irreplaceable. "Did you ask Garrus to handle the listening devices?"

"He said he'd get one of his C-Sec contacts to handle it," she responds distractedly, fiddling with the butt of her pistol. "Got a message from the Council. They're a little unhappy I'm still here."

"What do you mean? Nobody could fault you for needing to resupply. It's not like that stuff comes free."

Shepard grimaces, but leans closer, speaking the words so quietly that I struggle to hear them. "One of the Council's STG teams found something. Virmire. We've been asked to investigate. Do some background checks, if you can."

Virmire. The name sounds like a chime, but I don't understand the significance, only that it is significant.

Significant things in games like Mass Effect aren't usually sunshine and rainbows. "Consider it done."

Wait. Wasn't Shepard trying to show Eri to the Council and the effects of indoctrination?

"Shepard, where's Eri? Wasn't she supposed to be with you?"

The commander's face darkens like a thundercloud, and she shoots a venom-laden glance at the C-Sec agents guarding the door. "They wouldn't let her into the audience," she spits, incensed. "Said she was a security risk. I said they could bring a whole squad if they wanted, but they flat out-wouldn't let them. Even when I tried to overrule them with my Spectre authority, the Councillors vetoed it. Stuck up pricks."

My own face sets in stone. The Council. It always comes back to the bloody Council. "I'm going in with you," I say flatly, but Shepard just shakes her head. "I'm the one with a personal connection here," I reason, "I'm the one that knew her best. Even if she's not there, I can do something."

Shepard hesitates, but nods once. Who cares if it's a breach of protocol, I fume silently. I'll show them, the self-righteous clods.

The C-Sec agents motion us forward, and Shepard and I step up to the Council themselves, the three most powerful beings on the Citadel. Short of the Turian Primarch, these three might be the most powerful individuals in the galaxy.

"Commander Shepard," Tevos, the Asari Councillor, greets softly. "Words of your exploits have been most welcome. Did you receive out latest missive?"

"I did, Councillors," Shepard replies, hands clenched tightly behind her back. Only I see just how fiercely she grips her own skin. "I will be on my way shortly. May we have a silent audience?"

The three Councillors exchange a glance, but eventually Valern, the Salarian, raises and hand, allowing blue-tinted glass to slide up, cutting us off from the other supplicants. "Now, Commander," Sparatus, the Turian, continues tersely. "Why have you not already departed?"

"Our resupply has not finished yet, Councillors," Shepard informs them bluntly. "Also, new information concerning the Reaper's indoctrination has surfaced."

Another exchange of glances between the politicians.

"You are referring, of course, to Saren's Geth Dreadnought? The Reapers do not exist, Commander Shepard."

Shepard's mouth smooths into a hard line. "Of course. Among Lady Benezia's cohort was a commando known personally to one of my crew. He can testify to the alterations to her personality in less than three standard months, while retaining the physical ability of a fully-trained commando."

"We have heard of Mr. Parker," Valern murmurs, his voice soft and moist.

"Indoctrination is one of, if not the most effective weapon the Reapers possess," I begin. No sooner than that, Sparatus cuts me off.

"As we have said before, the Reapers are a children's fairy tale. This 'Reaper'," he raises his fingers, quoting the word, "as you call it, is nothing more than a Geth Dreadnought. Commander, I would appreciate if you kept your flights of fancy out of your crew's heads."

Cold seeps through my face, and rage lights a freezing fire inside me. "Honoured Councillors," I say before I can stop myself, voice dripping contempt. "I suggest you find an alternate shortsighted, egomaniacally ridiculous reason to blatantly, recklessly ignore an obvious threat to the galaxy simply because you don't wish it to exist. If you must continue to be wilfully blind, then I can only assume that you are both incompetent and stupid, and that your impending replacements will be more astute though that won't be difficult. Eri was more than a close friend of mine, she raised me. What came back after Saren and Sovereign got their hands on her was not in any way my mother. Good day."

I turn and walk away, dismissing the anti-sound barrier with a wave of my hand. I'm quite glad they raised it, or I wouldn't have had the chance to say that. I doubt anyone has talked to them like that in a long time, but if they're going to be babies about it then that's how I'll treat them.

Shepard follows close on my heels, the Council's jaws still sitting on the floor.

"So," I comment, still seething. "Virmire?"

Shepard collects my armour on the way back to the Normandy, I have one last thing to do before I leave.

Eri's incarcerated in a special anti-biotic cell, in the SuperMax wing of the Zakera Ward prison. C-Sec cells on the Citadel are mostly used for temporary holding purposes, but they have a small number of maximum security cells for violent offenders awaiting processing and transferral to a terrestrial jail. Being an Asari, Eri will most likely be interred on Thessia, or an Asari colony like Illium.

But first, I have to try one last thing.

"Hi, mother," I say, speaking through the bars. C-Sec guards hear every word, of course. The last weeks have treated her poorly. Her skin looks paler, and it was never a deep blue to begin with. Her face paint, redone when she signed on with Benezia, is chipped and flaking, creased and cracked. Rations on the Normandy were tight, but even then she should be fuller of figure than she is now.

My foster mother languishes on the cell's lone slab called a bed, covered with a threadbare sheet. Her head rolls to the side, and she smiles wanly at me. "Hey there, Parker."

"Are you alright?"

She smiles the same smile. "Been better, been worse. Are you alright?"

I smile. At least she's alright. "I'm good. Well, that's a lie. I'm not alright. But I'll survive." For a time. "A… lot of things happened. I wish I could tell you." The rage, the memories of the terrorist, they feel like they're only a hair's breadth away. "What's going to happen to you?"

She shrugs limply. "As far as I know, charged with terrorism, conspiracy, murder, attempted murder." The C-Sec Turians beside me stiffen, and one of them looks into the cell nervously.

Eri smiles mischievously, somehow managing a sensual wink despite her emaciated form. "I have ears, big boy. You'd be surprised at what a meek little prisoner like me hears."

The Turian's scaled face pales, and he snaps back to attention, obviously rattled. Eri chuckles. "Where were we?"

I can't help but smile. Eri is still Eri. "Your sentence," I provide softly.

She shrugs. "Been on trial before. Family court, but same principle." She shudders. "I might actually prefer family court."

"Family court?" I ask, confused. "You and your bondmate had a child?"

"Nope," she says, shaking her head. "Sometimes I forget humans. On Thessia, family court is family court. Run by your family. It can be awkward."

Understatement of the year. Eri and her family didn't get along. To put it mildly. "That's when you were disowned?"

"Cast out," she corrects. "I was never technically disowned. I know, I said I was. Technicality, so far as I care. Best thing they ever did for me, in any case. Well, probably proved them right." Her face hardens, and she hugs her knees to her chest. "I acted on my beliefs. Not many can say that. So fuck 'em."

I swallow. Those aren't her beliefs. She's just conditioned to think they are. I open my mouth, but Eri cuts me off. "Don't start," she orders. "I don't want to spend my last visit with you arguing."

"You don't want to do anything?" I have to ask. If she's planning on escaping, or attacking the Council, or…

"No point," she says, rolling onto her back. "I tried my part. Did my best. Got beaten, fair and square. The lot of you are wrong, but there's nothing I can do. I'm tired of fighting, Parker. I get it. Besides, the Reapers will win regardless. What do I have to do? Might as well enjoy free food."

"You have another visitor," the C-Sec guard grunts, allowing another Asari into the cell. I leap to my feet, catapulting the chair I'd been sitting on away. "Thank you for coming," I say, for the first time today genuinely happy. Or hopeful, at least.

The green-skinned Asari shakes my hand in the human custom. "It is my pleasure. How may I repay my debt to you?"

A/N: Hey, it's done! First, my profuse apologies for this not being up last week. It was honestly an incredibly busy week for me, consisting of two back-to-back 21sts (both of which I helped to set up for) and an engagement party, as well as spending a whole day at a water park. So, not much time to write. Plus I'm not a social person in the slightest, so those four days in succession pretty much put me into hibernation. But, that's mostly done now. Probably. I hope.

I don't really have much to say about this chapter. But in other news I've put up a poll on my author profile, which you might want to look at because it concerns my release schedule. Speaking of releases, I will be taking a break over Christmas and New Years, because my whole family is spending that time in Japan. Awesomeness. Also, 'Awesomeness' is recognized as a word on my computer. I like this.

Thanks to my amazing editor the extroverted recluse for her work in editing this chapter even at short notice, she is absolutely amazing and I could not do this without her. For one, I'd keep muddling up past and present tenses.

If you can spare a few seconds I'd greatly appreciate you dropping in a review; criticism is incredibly helpful and constructive criticism is even better! It's even free, just for you :)