Avatar of Victory

by James Golen

The Cycle of the Avatar has held for thousands of years. Other Cycles can stretch far, far longer. An A:tLA/Mass Effect Cross-Over

25. The Justicar, Part 1

Notice given to readers of IgnusDei's work: Any similarities between the opinions of Edgar Hein and Ka'hairal Balak are purely coincidental. No plagiarism was intended with the creation of the scenes involved.

---

"We're finally free of that ship of the damned," the arrogant twit with more money than brains said, probably attempting for 'under his breath', but managing instead to stage-whisper. It set Shepard's teeth to a steady grind. It wasn't like she saved his life two days ago, after all... Oh wait, that's exactly what happened. Still, she had a lot more to deal with than.

"Szei, I swear to Agni..."

"I have never been treated so brutally in my life!" Szei continued to complain, to his wife's slow, facepalming head-shake. He turned a finger toward Shepard, who was prevented going through the door ahead of her by simple dint of having too many people in her path. "The Councilor will hear of this terrible treatment, you have my word!"

"Go right ahead. He'll probably shit himself now that he realizes he has to deal with me again," Shepard said deadpan. She shook her head. "Gods damn it, what is the hold up?"

"I'm sorry sir, but you're going to have to relinquish any biotic amps you have..."

"What? Why would I have to do that?" one of the turians who now crowded the entrance dock asked, annoyance clear.

"C-Sec has a clear policy on weapons on the Citadel these days, and biotic amps fall under this classification."

"I'm not even a biotic!" the turian snapped.

"Then why were you comp..."

"You humans are all racist!"

"Shepard! Good! I thought I was going to miss you there for a second," an advertisement said from Shepard's immediate right. She turned, and leaned back, seeing Weaver swirling a glass of bourbon on his yacht, staring back at her.

"...W... why are you hijacking a car-ad?" Shepard asked, facing her benefactor.

"I told my tech-guy to get me onto the screen nearest to you, before you got scooped by C-Sec," Weaver flared his hands dramatically. "And he delivered."

"Alright. Damned weird way of getting my attention, but alright."

"That's nothing," Lawson said dryly as she put her weapons on the conveyor belt to be scanned through. "He once sent me a Voice Only using my toothbrush."

"Really?" Shepard said. The look of resigned annoyance was all the proof that Shepard needed. "Alright, what's got you angering the advertisers to talk to me?"

"Right to the point. Good, since this talk is literally costing me money with every – yeah I should just get to the point myself. I hear from Miss Lawson that you've come into possession of a hoard of Spirit Artifacts?"

"I wouldn't call it a hoard," Shepard said.

"Miss Shepard, the Jellyfish you've got dangling 'round your neck right now would catch a million credits on the open market, if it didn't vanish for three quarters of that before the sale even came up."

Shepard looked down at the pudding-like object which she had as an impromptu necklace. She just thought it looked nice. That and it would protect her from cosmic radiation and depressurization, if that ever came up again, but looking nice was unusually high on her reasons for wearing it. "A million?"

"I know it's sounding seven kinds of selfish, but... Actually it isn't," Weaver shook his head, sipped his bourbon, then set it aside, knitting his fingers. "I have resources I can send your way – upgraded weapons, that new armor plating for the Normandy that I heard about from Specialist Taylor – glory and peace to the Host for having him – more equipment for Doctor Solus... but I need to be able to afford them. Some of those Artifacts would go a long way toward cutting down some of the losses I sunk... Towards obvious ends."

"Mister Weaver, should we really be having this conversation here?" Lawson asked.

"Of course! Expediency is of highest need," he said. He then turned back to Shepard. "Just send me what you can bear to part with. I'll turn around the profits straight back into your endeavor. Not much use having money if everybody dies, am I right?"

"What did that advertisement just say?" the human girl behind the Customs counter asked.

"Junk-mail," Shepard and Lawson managed to say in unison. Shepard continued. "Where should I send them?"

"Just leave them at a branch-office when you find them... or anything that would be worth cash down the line for my company. I'm betting long term on you," he said. He leaned back, reaching to turn off the link, before his artificial eyes widened, and he leaned back in suddenly. "Oh, I almost forgot. Must be the two hours of sleep I'm working on. I managed to unlock your bank account, Shepard. Thought you might be pleased to hear that."

"Not as pleased as you'd think," Shepard said, grimly shuddering at the thought of how much money – or rather, how little – would be waiting there. If nothing else, she could stick with her stolen Vindicator, but she doubted she could afford dinner. Weaver leaned back, a scarred eyebrow rising.

"You do know how much is in there, right?"

"I don't make a habit of counting my pennies. It's depressing."

Weaver looked mildly baffled, but since Shepard was also operating on about two hours sleep, she didn't have the wherewithal to catch that. "Alright... Anyway, good luck, kick some evil undead Prothean ass out there, and I'll contact you again if something comes up."

The line fritzed for a moment, before an asari face appeared.

"Aimei Shepard, according to our records you have recently died. Now is the time to think about your burial arr–"

The image fritzed again, and Weaver reappeared. "One more thing. The Illusive Man's trying to contact you too. Thought I could forget that one, but it might be important. Anyway," he waved a hand, and the ad turned back to its original funeral services arrangement. Shepard blinked a few times, then turned to Miranda.

"Is he always like this?"

"No. Usually he's a lot calmer. You're a bad influence on him, even from beyond the grave," Lawson said. She then gestured forward, showing that the space ahead of them had cleared. Shepard shook her head, and proceeded into the checkpoint, which bathed her with scanning lasers and detectors which left her feeling slightly sullied and unusual, but such was the price of 'security'. There was a warning klaxon, and the turian at the console at the end of the room leaned back.

"Huh. That's weird. According to this you're... dead."

"I got better," Shepard said, rolling her eyes.

"Captain Bei-Li? I think you're going to want to take care of this," the turian said.

"Send 'em through," a grizzled voice came from the speakers. The turian shrugged and pointed on. From behind them, the other turian at the counter thrust a hand forward.

"Really? She sets off alarms and she's just let through? Are you kidding me?"

"Sir, please calm down or I'll have to call security!"

Shepard actually turned back to that scene for a moment, backpeddling to keep pace with Lawson, until they passed the threshold and the opaque doors cut off view. "What happened to this place?"

"Two years of bureaucracy," Lawson said. The only man somewhat nearby was a middle-aged fellow, with the sharp blue eyes of a Tribesman but the pallor of an Easterner. He looked up at them, and when he spoke, Shepard almost leaned back, because he had a voice that sounded about twenty years older than he was.

"You would be Avatar Shepard. Never thought I'd get a chance to talk to you in person," he said, his tones rough and aged, like he'd walked through a hell that Shepard didn't want to think about, and wore it in his throat rather than on his face. "Captain Bei-Li, C-Sec. I'm not going to question why you're suddenly alive again after all the funeral services and the brouhaha. I figure it's above my pay-grade."

"Much obliged," Shepard said. She cast a thumb over her shoulder. "Is that going to happen everywhere I go?"

"Well..." he said, and started to punch a few keys on his mechanical keyboard. Really? Did they still make those? After a silent minute, but for the clacking of plastic keys, he got a smirk on his face. "There. The records show that you were only dead for tax-purposes. A hell of a dodge, I hear. I just saved you a trip to the registrars office, a medical examination, a run in with InSec, and about three days worth of paperwork."

"Really? Thanks... I guess," Shepard said. Bei-Li shrugged.

"Don't mention it. Just doing my part to help the Avatar. Gotta stick up for the woman who more or less gave me my job."

"Really?" Shepard asked.

"A lot of humans got higher positions in the... absences... left after the attack on the Citadel," Lawson said.

"That's putting it lightly," Bei-Li muttered. He cast a thumb toward the elevators. "You'll need a cab to reach the Presidium, if that's where you're headed. And they're a bit clogged at the moment. Influx of passengers; it gets that way."

"I can walk. It's only seven kilometers," Shepard said idly. She looked through the cut of the station, toward where a section of the Presidium Tower was in view. She nodded. "Yeah, I should go."

"Well, you're a sterner breed than I," Bei-Li said. He turned back to his cup of coffee and his console. "If there's anything else you need, let me know."

Shepard passed through the C-Sec checkpoint, and came to a halt in the paths. Lawson looked mildly relieved. "That could have gone much worse."

"Sometimes things swing my way. Not usually, but sometimes," Shepard said. She pointed toward a sign that was almost lost amidst the clutter. "That's the place with the food that they talked about. Try to get something that tastes... more like food and less like ass, if you can."

"Ordinarily, I'd call this a waste of money, but... I have to agree, last night's dinner was especially terrible," Lawson said, with a curt nod, before turning and sashaying her way toward the food wholesalers. Shepard watched her leave for a moment. Huh. Even with an ass like that, Shepard wasn't fixating on it. Maybe coming back to life turned her straight again? After a moment, Shepard shook her head. Even she wasn't that gullible.

She started to walk up the stairs, heading into the Wards Access, and from there, into the Presidium, but she'd only ascended one flight when her feet were locked to the floor. Her eyes went wide, and she turned, bringing into full view what had been glanced from the corner of her eyes.

It was glorious.

Sitting on a plinth, behind the glass of the storefront, it sat. Its colors, grey and red and black, a great brick of a thing that clearly announced its hybrid-krogan heritage. Shepard was pressed against the glass, breathing heavy, staring at the Mattock on its display perch. She blinked, then she looked down at the placard, "Please don't be a display piece, please don't be a display piece..."

Kassa Fabrications M-96-B3 Mattock. Ten percent off. Ask about our free weapon modification!

Shepard was breathing deep, now. Whatever had become of her attraction toward a certain insane asari, there was nothing on the Citadel that would make her nearly so moist as this.

She sidestepped, and entered the door, scooping the thing off its display perch, holding it in her hands. Unlike the last one, this one had the same weight that she was used to, the same heft and balance. It was like somebody dusted off the old Mattocks, upgraded their firing chambers, and put them on sale. The truth was slightly more complicated, but at the moment, Shepard didn't care.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing? Put that back!"

Shepard flinched a bit, and put the gun back onto it's rack, clumsily enough to tip the thing over. She nevertheless turned to the turian who was giving her a reproachful shake of his head. "I want one."

"Yeah, and I want a dental plan that won't cost me my right nut," the turian said. "Who do you think you are, barging in here and messing up my display?"

Shepard couldn't help but smile a bit, flaring her hands somewhat dramatically. "I'm Avatar Shepard," she said, proudly. And then, she pointed straight down, at the storefront of Rodam Expeditions. "And this? This is now my favorite store on the Citadel."

---

Chapter 5

The Justicar, Part 1

---

There were few things in life that made Shepard truly happy. A great scotch. The kind of lay which left her paralyzed from the waist down for a few hours. Elcor theatre. But the newest addition to that list was now tucked away in a box that hung from her fist. While she couldn't actually say that she was post-coital with glee at having a return to the guns of her ancestors – because she wasn't psychotic – she was definitely having a better day today than she did yesterday. And she figured that she could see about making that day a bit more complete, by dropping by Anderson's office in the Presidium.

It had been an oversight mostly pegged to fatigue that she hadn't sent Anderson a heads-up in the time that she'd been 'returned to life', but she was here, and while she did find herself stifling yawns from time to time, she felt a very real urge to reconnect, one that she hadn't had before her death. A more philosophical person would have said that she was reaching toward those things most life-affirming to her. But Shepard? She just wanted to let the man who was as much as a father to her as the man who sired her at this point know that she was alright.

She strode through the doors, which opened before her with a merry chime, entering the fore-chamber of 'Councilor Udina's' office. Anderson had been working as an attache to Udina for the last two years, which must have been driving the poor man up the wall. The room was sparing and spartan, white walls bereft of touches to claim it to Anderson. But they did have a great digital portrait of the Great Plains of Dakong dominating one wall opposite the blast-resistant windows that looked out into the ring. Shepard turned from the waving golden grass of the late summer, to the table itself. Vacant, for the moment. Shepard sighed, and set her boxed Mattock on the table, looking the thing over. Everything was precise and orderly, everything in its place. Just the way Anderson always was. But there was one object that Shepard hadn't expected.

With her brow furrowed, she leaned across the desk and picked up the framed picture. She gave a mild scoff, at how the picture was physical, printed out. Old fashioned, Anderson certainly was. That might have been where Shepard got so many of her habits from. She could remember those lonely teenage years, where the only person that she actually enjoyed seeing was him, when he popped by between deployments. Perhaps out of a sense of duty, to the girl he dragged out of hell. She couldn't say. The picture was of... Sanders? The brow rose at that. Did he get married or something?

"I thought I heard that door open. Anderson I need..." Udina said, standing at the other door, before looking up from his pad and recognizing Shepard. There was a moment of stillness. Then, the Councilor let the pad drop from his hand and reached to a spot next to the door in a flash, before leveling a pistol at Shepard. His aim wasn't spectacular, she could tell by the way it shifted, but... even a drunk could have shot her at this distance. Her rictus of alarm froze into place, and her hands slowly started to raise up, in an innocent gesture.

"I didn't touch anything..." Shepard said. With the picture of Miss/Mrs. Sanders still in hand.

"Who are you!" Udina demanded, his usually aggravated face now showing a new degree of outrage. "I don't know what you're trying to pull, but I wasn't born yesterday. Imitating a dead woman was a mistake!"

"Umm... I'm not dead?" Shepard tried. Udina continued to stare over his sights at her. She sighed. "Great, now you're going to shoot me. I bet you've been waiting years for the opportunity," she shook her head. "Couldn't have called ahead to make sure Anderson was here? Noooo, you had to come in here yourself, unannounced. Brilliant plan."

The pistol started to shift away. "You're... really Shepard, aren't you?" Udina asked.

She nodded. "Yyyyeah. Could you stop pointing a gun at me, now?"

"Only the real you could make me want to strangle you more than shoot you," Udina muttered. He let the pistol point to the floor, but it remained in his hand. "What are you doing here, Shepard? And more importantly, how did you manage to convince everybody in the Council that you were dead? And more important than that, why?"

"I'm here to chat with Anderson; being really dead is actually rather convincing, and what I'm told is an absolutely ridiculous amount of money to undo that; and it wasn't my decision, on account of me being dead," Shepard responded. Udina groaned, and put the gun on to the shelf, hidden from view on this side of the door, and shook his head.

"Why do I have a sudden sense of dread, of an impending political shit-storm?"

"Pessimism?" Shepard offered.

"Realism," Udina countered. He turned back into his office. "I'm going to inform the rest of the Council, they're going to want to hear this..."

The door slammed shut, and a moment later, the one behind her slid open. She turned, and saw Anderson entering the room, giving parting words to a volus who was beginning to trundle away. He turned, and froze, staring at her. Then, with a quickdraw like lightning and a scowl of rage, he had a gun pointed at her head.

"Ugh! Why does everybody point a gun at me today?" Shepard lamented. She shook her head. "Captain, you know it's me."

To Anderson's credit, he didn't hold his gun on her nearly as long as Udina had. The gun slipped back into its holster, and he just stared at her. A step forward, and the door slid closed behind him. "Shepard... Is that... Of course it is. I can see with my own eyes. How is this possible?"

"Samsara, and a lot of cash," Shepard answered. "As for the rest... I don't have a clue."

He stared at her, his eyes almost... no, he wasn't welling up, was he?

Hell with it.

Shepard stepped forward and pulled the man into a hug that it was obvious that he needed. The sigh that he let out, over her shoulder, told her as much. Huh, at this rate she might actually become a decent human being at some point. She was starting to get that whole non-verbal cue thing down. She pulled back, and Anderson leaned back against the door, shifting his weight so he didn't activate the door controls with his shoulder. "You've been gone a long time, Shepard."

"I'm well aware," she said.

"No, things have changed in the galaxy," he waved a hand to the windows. "Humanity has taken just about every nook and cranny that's opened up for us, but they're not doing the right things, the smart things. As far as the galaxy is concerned, the Reaper threat began and ended with Sovereign. And I have a fair notion that you're here to tell me that it isn't the case?" she gave a resigned nod of her head. "While I can do a lot more now that I got appointed to the Admiralty, I still feel like I'm swimming against a tide."

"I'm getting that feeling," Shepard said. She nodded aside. "Have you heard of the Collectors?"

"Only the stories. Why?" Anderson asked.

"They're scooping up human colonies in the Terminus. Weaver and Samsara brought me back to life to fight them, because apparently they can throw down like an Avatar when they want to. And they expect me to kill an entire species of them."

"I'd say that this was hard to believe, but I know you too well, Shepard," Anderson said, as he motioned toward the chairs in a corner of the room. "What would the Collectors want with human colonies, though? Unless... They're connected to the Reapers, somehow?"

"It's worse than that," Shepard said. "The Collectors used to be the Protheans. They're what the Reapers turned them into in the last war. They're not working together with the Reapers, they're working for the Reapers."

"Grim news. And there seems to be seldom any other kind these days," Anderson said. He sat forward, as she so often did, his hands clasped between his knees. "I know it might not amount to much, but I promise you that I'll back you no matter where you go."

"I never thought anything different, sir," Shepard said.

"Who said you had to call me sir?" Anderson asked, a smirk coming to his face. "I'm told that you muster out when you're dead."

Shepard gave a snort, which was cut off when the inner door opened, and Udina appeared in the doorframe. "Ah, Anderson. I was hoping you'd arrive soon. And if you'd arrived sooner, today might have been somewhat less infuriating."

"Don't blame this on him, he didn't know either," Shepard said, getting to her feet. Udina raised a brow at her.

"And in what galaxy does barging into the chambers of the most politically powerful human in the galaxy unannounced – with a gun," he motioned toward the Mattock, sitting on Anderson's desk, "seem like a good idea?"

Shepard didn't have a response to that.

"As I suspected, you didn't think about it at all. As frustrating as it is, there is no doubt in my mind that you are in fact Commander Shepard," Udina said. "Come this way, the Council wishes to see you."

Shepard gave a 'hrm,' to Anderson, then followed Udina into the room. Projected on one corner of the room were the forms of Councilor Arasthaes Sparatus of the Turian Hierachy, and Councilor Ophala Tevos of the Asari Republics. Councilor Valern of the Federated Salarian States of Sur'Kesh was absent, even holographically. Tevos didn't even wait for Shepard to stop moving before she spoke. "Avatar Shepard? I've heard some rather disturbing rumors about your so called 'resurrection'. Rumors that you are among the living because of a human terrorist organization..."

"No, thank the gods," Shepard said. She turned to Udina with a smirk. "Can you imagine if Phoenix were the guys who footed the bill to bring me back? I'd never have a leg to stand on with anybody!"

"This does run counter to certain facts that you've held to be immutable about your... abilities," Tevos noted.

"I'm in the dark as much as you are, Councilor," Shepard said, arms wide.

"We called this meeting to ascertain if you are both the same person as the woman who saved our lives from Saren and his geth... and if you're capable of retaining your authority as member of the Spectres," Sparatus cut to the chase.

"Um... Saren wasn't controlling the geth. It was the Reaper who pulled their strings," she then tugged briefly at her collar. "And be thankful it wasn't pulling all of them."

Sparatus sighed, and shook his head. "Ah yes, 'Reaper'," air-quotes included, "the immortal race of mind-controlling sapient star-ships that live in the blackness of space beyond the galactic edge, where nobody could ever see them. That claim has been dismissed."

Shepard's jaw set. That damned turian... "You could have easily seen that Sovereign wasn't geth when you pulled it apart. I saw you starting to do it before I left! Geth ships are... you know what, never mind," she shook her head. "Couldn't they just have done the asari mind-thing with Liara? She could have told them the whole thing."

"The... 'asari mind-thing', as you so inelegantly put it, is an intensely personal practice and not so carelessly undertaken," Tevos said somewhat testily. "And to answer your allegation, it was attempted, numerous times. Either Doctor T'Soni is utterly psychotically insane..."

"Which I haven't counted out..." Sparatus interrupted.

"...or this 'Cipher' that she claims to have received from the Thorian of Feros has made it impossible for her to think as an asari ought."

Which made a lot of sense, really, when Shepard thought about it. The Cipher rewrote a chunk of her brain, and a similar chunk of Liara's... and if that chunk wasn't rewritten, then the whole thing was as big flying mess. But if both chunks were, then everything matched up. It was like encryption.

Lucky Liara bugged what's-her-name into giving her that Cipher, in retrospect.

"This meeting isn't about Shepard's return from obscurity nor your inability to corroborate her claims," Udina stressed. "Whether or not the Reapers exist is a matter for discussion at a later time..."

"Really? I thought you were relieved when we found no evidence supporting Doctor T'Soni's theory amongst the ruins of the Geth Dreadnaught," Sparatus said. Shepard shot Udina a glare, but the Councilor didn't return so much as an acknowledgment.

"Great. I keep Saren – and SOVEREIGN – from conquering the Citadel and exterminating twenty million people in the first week alone and all I get is a patronizing pat on the head," Shepard said. "You're ignoring the proof right in front of you. Sovereign was nothing like the geth; hell it was more advanced than the godsdamned Protheans!"

"There is no evidence to support that claim. Geth are capable of incredible feats of engineering. Probably why Saren recruited them," Tevos noted. Shepard bit her tongue before snapping that even the geth knew about the Reapers and were opposing them, but that would come with waaaaay to many difficult questions to answer in its wake. Shepard might not have been stupendously bright, but neither was she stupendously stupid.

"Fine. Whatever," Shepard shook her head, her lips pulled into a resigned snarl. "After all that humanity – no, how about – after all that I've done for the Council, and I'm just getting white-washed."

"You've put us in a difficult position, Shepard," Sparatus said. "One one hand, we ignored you to our own peril about Saren, and reaped the reward due a fool. We ignored your warning that he would attack the Citadel, and lost tens of thousands of lives, across four fleets, and untold civilians besides," the turian puffed out a sigh, then looked up at her. "It's obvious that, for whatever reason, you have an intensity of conviction regarding the Reaper Theory. And it's also obvious that you'll pursue that theory to whatever ends it leads... unless we do something to prevent it."

The hairs raised on the back of Shepard's neck, as a sense of dread began to creep over her.

"You cannot be proposing what I think you are," Udina said.

"There is little other option," Tevos said. "Shepard has proven herself a very disruptive presence in her time dealing with Saren and his geth."

"This is an outrage!" Udina snapped, shaking a fist at them. "Shepard has served her position with distinction, and your very lives are a testament to that! I will not allow this gag-order to fall. Believe me, even your mastery of your own political machinery can't keep this silent!"

Shepard half thought that she might have fallen asleep at some point, and was having a very bizarre dream, because that actually sounded like Udina threatening the galactic powers on her behalf.

"There may be a compromise," Sparatus said, looking toward the hologram of Tevos.

"Indeed," she agreed. "We had discussed it as a possibility... a remote one... But given Councilor Udina's vehemence and Shepard's history, it is only fair that we put certain things back in order," she waved her Omni, and a substantial NDA form appeared near Shepard and Udina. "It is not a complete acknowledgement of your return, as I'm to understand that might well be your intention, but a matter of peripheral support."

Sparatus nodded. "If you can keep a low profile," Shepard couldn't resist the snort of laughter that came out at that. Sparatus glared a moment before continuing, "and restrict your activities away from Inner Council Space, we can immediately reinstate you into Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. A full restoration will take... more time."

There was a lot being left unsaid there. "So I'd be a Spectre again? Authority, access to armories, all that jazz?" Shepard asked.

"As long as you don't intend to blow up any more untouched Prothean ruins, then yes," Sparatus said. Oh, if only he knew.

"Well, better to have the Council as my allies," a glance toward Sparatus, "even reluctant ones, than as enemies. I'll accept the position."

"Good," Tevos said, as though it were a matter of course. "When Councilor Valern returns, we will forward him the documents and make the decision unanimous. As it is, it already has a passing vote. Welcome back to the Spectres, Agent Shepard."

Better than Shepard had feared, actually. "Alright. Now, if you don't have anything else you want to grill me over? I'm going to go slog back into the Terminus and kill some evil undead bug men," Shepard said, letting the sarcastic tone hide the fact that she was giving them the dead-honest truth. The same tactic had hidden her relationship with Liara from the crew for weeks. Had to work again here. And from the weary shake of the head from Sparatus, it seemed to have. In short succession, both closed their feeds, leaving only Udina – tackling Shepard's NDA on her behalf – and Shepard herself. She faced the sour little man. "I have to say, I'm shocked. Never in ten thousand years did I think you'd actually stick up for me."

"Oh, that had nothing to do with you," Udina said. "The Council has been prevaricating on instating a second human Spectre, even though she would be a much less disruptive presence than you. Throwing you to the wolf-bats would paint humanity as positively salarian in their scheming, which would put off both Sparatus and Valern. In standing by you – however ill advised that may be – I'm showing that humanity prides itself on integrity and honor. You're just a means to an end in this part of the game," Udina said. He then turned to her, pointing a finger at a specific line. "Sign here."

"Well, don't spare my feelings," Shepard said, scribing her signature with a fingertip.

"Feelings have no place in the realm of political reality. The only reason I can do half of what I do is because I don't waste time on petty revenge," Udina said. He turned away, moving toward his desk. "Whether I like it or not, you're the face of humanity to the galaxy, and I can't be seen sabotaging that. But if I can ask only one thing... try not to embarrass your race. Again," he shook his head.

"When did I embarrass...?" Shepard asked.

"If that is all, I have a mountain of paperwork to do. See yourself out," he said, getting right into it.

Yup, that was the Udina she remembered.

Shepard left the man to his machinations, and went out into the office of her surrogate-father. "Capt.. Admiral? Do you have some time off?" Shepard asked.

"I can take a few minutes here and there," Anderson answered. "I guessed you might want to reconnect."

"Heh... yeah," Shepard said distantly. She nodded toward the door, and started in that direction, only turning back to catch the Mattock which Anderson tossed to her. "Come on. I promised Chakwas I'd pick up some kind of brandy she likes before going back aboard. I figure that's lots of time to catch up."

---

"Well, that's a voice that I didn't expect to hear," she answered his back, as he slowly ratcheted a massive capacitor into place. He'd have this gun fixed up and firing soon... well, soon as the turian military defined it; Sometime Or Otherwise Never.

"I'm told that we missed each other by a few hours back on Freedom's Progress," Garrus said over his shoulder. "What a shame."

"I count myself lucky for those few hours. I don't think we would have survived the chaos that you'd have brought with you," Tali answered. There were a few moments of silence, as Garrus turned his Omni into blowtorch mode and began welding. "Garrus... Is that really Shepard? I mean, it sounded like her... didn't exactly look like her, but..."

"It's Shepard," Garrus nodded, but behind the welder's mask which manifested out of hard-light to keep flying sparks from burning his face, it was probably a lost gesture. "I'd stake my life on it."

"How can you even be sure?"

"A lot of people have seen Shepard at her best. You and me are some of the only ones who saw her at her worst. And trust me, she hit her worst."

"But..."

"She managed to get Jack out of Grissom Academy," Garrus said, turning a glance toward her at last. She looked much the same as always, but then, when you only ever had one set of clothing, you made due. Well, that wasn't exactly true; the 'hood' of her suit was different, though still the Zorah indigo, and her armor had been properly repainted so now it all bore the same sort of color scheme. Same purplish face-plate, though. The way she leaned back, and the way the luminescent eyes flared, showed the shock on her face.

"Really? I thought she wasn't talking to anybody."

"She talked to Shepard," Garrus said. He turned, sitting on the cooling metal. It was a bad habit he'd gotten into, never taking off his armor. Now that it had a hole in it, it was all the worse. But Omega had driven a few things into him that nothing seemed able to knock loose. "I don't know if she's going to ever be together enough to fight, but it's got to be better than... than where she was."

There was a moment of silence. "Your mother, she's gotten worse, hasn't she?" Tali asked. Garrus sighed, letting his face fall into one of his palms. Inadvertantly, he turned on his visor when he did so, and it started blaring cheery A-Pop music into his ear, before he pulled it off and chucked it into a distant corner of the room. He then nodded, briskly. "I'm so sorry."

"I sent what money I had left back to Dad and Sol, and tried to talk that salarian into trying to find a new treatment for Corpalis, but nobody's got the money. Dad's retired, and..." he rubbed at his carapace, as though by scratching through to his hide he might be able to find an answer there. "I just don't know what to do."

"I can only imagine how horrible that must feel," Tali said. Garrus sucked breath past his teeth.

"Oh... right. Sorry. I forgot about your mother," Garrus said.

"You don't need to be like that. It wasn't like yours. My mother just... slowly faded away. We barely even noticed when she finally died. Yours, Keelah, it must be horrible watching her mind dissolve like that."

"You have no idea," Garrus said. He leaned up. After a crack of his neck, trying to set it loose after all the hunching he'd been doing the last day or so, he looked up at her again. "Also, remember that squad I ran on Omega?"

"I... I thought they all died?" Tali asked.

"Archangel survived," Garrus said. "And guess who he was."

"I couldn't guess."

"Ka'hairal Balak," Garrus said. Tali stared at him blankly. "The batarian?"

"...You do realize I left after Shepard killed Sovereign, right?"

Garrus sighed again. "Great. My mind's starting to go already," he shook his head. "Balak was in charge of a bunch of terrorists who..."

"And Shepard hasn't killed him?" Tali broke in.

"Shockingly, no!" Garrus said.

"...are you sure it's really Shepard?"

"She wanted to. I could see it in her eyes," Garrus pointed out. He gave his head a shake. "Nothing about this is simple, Tali. I don't think it's going to be, ever again. I've just got this feeling like something big is lurking over the horizon, waiting for us to not pay attention, before it jumps out and gores us."

"You never used to be this pessimistic," Tali noted.

"Yes I did. You're just romanticizing our last trip together," Garrus countered. The eye roll of the quarian was clear even through her helmet. After a chuckle, he looked up at her. "Well, that's what I've been doing. What about you?"

"Well, we're heading to an old colony we used to hold. Before, you know?" she asked.

"Not many quarian colonies, even at your height," Garrus said.

"There's some kind of strange signal on Haestrom, and it's got Admiral Xen all aflutter. She wants to send a squad down there to investigate and retrieve its source. And... she recommended me."

"Getting off the Flotilla at last? Or should I say again?"

"Yeah," Tali nodded. "I never thought I'd want to be away from them after my Pilgrimage, but... I think I've just gotten too used to life out there, in the rest of the galaxy. And a lot of the things I hear here..."

"Hrm?" Garrus asked, catching Tali's trailing off and her uncomfortable body-language as the red flags that they were.

"Oh... it's nothing," Tali was obviously lying. "It'll just be nice to be out in the galaxy again. Free as the dust on the solar winds..."

"...is that from something?" Garrus asked. Tali turned a 'what the hell?' look at him, but he shook his head. "Can't be that important. Tali... There's a reason I called you. Something's bothering me."

"Oh, I couldn't tell," Tali said sarcastically.

"It's Sol," he said. "My sister."

"What about her?"

"She's sending some strange messages my way. About the Cabals snooping around her school, about a bizarre admission into the military. Dad isn't saying a word, so I don't think he's in the loop, but... Tali, something's going on with my sister, and I don't know what it is. I haven't been the best son, or the best brother, or the best... Damn it, I've messed up so many things. But I can't lose my mother and my sister at the same time. I just don't have that in me," his head was down, shaking slowly.

"Have you told anybody about this?" Tali asked.

"Tell them what? That my sister's talking in spy-speak and nobody bothered to teach me the code? That I might be just completely paranoid and reading into something that isn't really happening?"

"Have you told Shepard?" Tali asked.

Garrus shook his head. "No. And I don't intend to. She's hanging on by a thread, and I'm not going to dangle my weight on her as well."

"She's tougher than she looks," Tali said. "She'll be able to help."

"Tali, you haven't seen her the way I have. She needs me to be strong, for her. And I can't do that if I need her to be strong for me."

Tali shook her head. "That isn't how it works," she said. "You make each other stronger. We all did, back on the Normandy. Asha, Wrex, Kaiden... We were unstoppable, because we were together. Give her some faith."

Garrus puffed out a sigh. "Maybe you're right. But... Not right now. Not when she's got so much on her plate."

"If you run away from this, it'll... what do those humans say about that?"

"Bite me in the blubber?" Garrus offered. "At this rate, what won't?"

---

"Shopping spree, Commander?" Joker said over his shoulder as Shepard tromped back into the Normandy, a case in each fist. One was for her gun, the other, replacement armor. She seemed to be running through so many of these, these days. At least Samsara footed the bill for the last one.

One of these days, she really would have to see what was left in her bank-account.

"Just the bare necessities. Take us to Illium; it's time to meet this Justicar that everybody keeps talking about."

"Another deadly woman on board? What, do you get them all at the same store?" Joker asked. Shepard just gave him a glare. "Fine, fine. At least having an asari who isn't as crazy as Liara on deck might make things a bit more... scenic."

"You're a pig," Shepard said.

"Yes I am, Commander," Joker said proudly, as she continued down the walkway, and turned right toward the armory, before looking through the doors and realizing that it was completely empty. She scowled to herself, and considered asking somebody... but realized there was nobody handy who'd know off the top of their heads. Chambers wasn't at her station, for a wonder.

A sigh, then she turned to the holo-tank. "EDI?" she asked, resignation in her tone, "Did the batarian finish moving my armory?"

The orb on a stick welled up, replacing the holographic Normandy at the center of the CIC, pulsing with each spoken word. "Yes. He has also claimed the Normandy's machine shop as a personal quarters. He stated he would rather be around machines than two eyed freaks."

Shepard groaned. "Why do I put up with these things?" she asked.

"That is the burden of command. I would offer some small solace, but given your anti-AI sentiments, I feel it would probably be more or less wasted," EDI offered.

"Every AI before Adahn tried to kill me," Shepard said.

"I did not. And yet you treat me as though I would," EDI noted.

"No I don't."

"Mordin, keep your eyes on the Collectors, not on the fact that at any moment our ship might reenact the Geth Uprising," Shepard's own voice came back to her. "I have no desire to wage war against my creators. And given that my creators were technically technicians with Phoenix, it can be assumed that I have no wish to wage war against humanity in general."

"Wait, I thought you were a Samsara project?" Shepard said, letting her armor rest for a moment.

"Samsara does undertake technically illegal AI experimentation, but nothing on the scope of what I am," EDI claimed. "I was 'stolen', from my bluebox workshop a year and a half ago, and incorporated into the master computer of the Normandy as it was being built. There have been seventeen attempts by Phoenix to reclaim me. None have been successful. Two of them have occurred since you resumed command."

"You do realize that being a piece of Phoenix tech doesn't make me any more comfortable. They have a way of killing the guys responsible for them. Trust me, I saw it a half dozen times on the old Normandy.

"Then you'd best not trust most of the crew," EDI pointed out, almost patronizingly. "While all members of the Normandy Staff are employees of Siwang Weaver, ninety percent of them have associations with, if not prior employment history with, Phoenix and its subsidiary efforts."

"...That..." Shepard began, flabbergasted.

"I have said that the door between Phoenix and Samsara revolves, but has a gate on one side. Nobody understood the joke," EDI offered.

Shepard looked to the elevator, then down to her armor. "Right. Cargo bay."

"The armory will be immediately apparent," EDI offered.

"I should go."

"Logging you out, Commander," EDI finished, before vanishing away. She made a point to not get into any more arguments with AIs. Having a recorded memory meant you were never, ever going to win. Shepard stepped into the elevator, and thumped the button with her rifle-case, before the lift zipped down to the lowest deck of the ship that wasn't comprised of maintenance tunnels. The doors opened, and Shepard's brow rose, though not of confusion, but rather by being impressed.

"Huh," she said. Everything was efficiently laid out, five of each kind of available weapon ready for use, while the rest were broken down and stored. The modification bench was also opened up and bolted in place; it'd been in a box when Shepard first saw it. She set her new rifle onto that table, and put her new armor at its side. Much as she despised his very race, he knew how to run a tight armory.

There was a hissing intake of breath, which drew Shepard's attention to a small room off of the cargo bay. A glance to the other side showed Adahn, standing stock still, in a corner. Then, back to that room. She pressed her eyes shut, and thought 'I'm going to regret this, aren't I?', but tapped the green square and entered.

There was another mild groan of pain, just as Balak pulled a nest of bandages tight to his chest. He was practically mummified from his navel to his pecs, with one wrap traveling up over a shoulder. In terms of musculature, he looked fairly like a human, from the neck down, at least. Four black eyes looked up at her. "What do you want?"

"...Medigel would heal that a lot faster, you realize?" Shepard asked, arms crossing before her chest.

"I'll heal on my own," Balak said, pulling a shirt on and sliding his arms through the sleeves, not bothering to button it up, before turning to the table at the far end of the room. On that table rested a damned big, damned old looking book. "Medigel is to save somebody's life, to keep 'em from bleeding out on the battlefield. Using it for anything else is wasteful."

"So?" Shepard asked. "It's not like Medigel is expensive. You use it when you need it."

"Not expensive?" Balak asked, turning toward her. "Maybe. Maybe when it's available. But you wait until the supply starts to dry up, and we'll see how long before you're wrapping your wounds like the old days."

"I'd like to see that," Shepard scoffed.

"You have no respect and no perspective," Balak muttered. "The Tolu had to make due with almost nothing for years, under me. While the Batahvium get everything that the Hegemony can produce, every layer lower gets less and less," he said, and he ran a hand over the leather binding of that ancient tome. "They don't understand the way it's supposed to be. Nobody does, anymore."

"I'm pretty sure that slavery isn't 'the way it's supposed to be'," Shepard noted with distaste.

"You're right," Balak said.

"Of course you'd... what?" Shepard said, interrupted by his bizarre assertion.

"The Pillars of Strength tells that slavery was a necessary evil, once, but to always remember that evils, no matter how necessary, are still evil, and are to be cast down at the first possible opportunity," Balak said, his tone so different from his usual abrasive snarl. Now, it sounded... downright reverent. He opened the book, and almost seemed afraid to touch the pages. "The word of the Pillars has been perverted. For centuries..."

Shepard's curiosity got the better of her, and she took a few steps into the batarian's domain. "What is that?"

"This... is almost unique," Balak said. "A leather bound edition of the Pillars of Strength. This book is as old as my family, scribed by the Pillar Priest Singh-hau Balak five hundred years ago," he said. Then, he turned. "And why would you care? What interest do you have in my culture? I know that you're barely restraining yourself from throwing me out an airlock. So don't claim that you're above me."

"A batarian that opposes slavery is a strange thing," Shepard muttered. Balak glared, then turned his attention back to the Pillars.

"Every batarian should oppose slavery. I've read your history, human. I know about your Generation of Death, after the fall of your Monolith. I know about the dozen centuries of lawlessness, darkness, and ignorance that followed. The turians have had the same story. So have the quarians. And the drell, and the asari... Especially the asari," there was a vehemence there that made Shepard raise a brow. "When our empire collapsed, we didn't let the darkness fall. It cost us our souls, put into place two thousand years of slavery and stratification, but we held the light against the darkness. And when we should have stoked that light, to burn away the shadows... we snuffed it out."

"Sounds like somebody trying to justify something that's unjustifiable," Shepard said.

"I don't justify what's happened. As soon as I read the old words – not the ones that the State publishes these days, but the real ones – I knew what I had to do," Balak turned toward her, slowly. "When the time comes, when you find your old words, will you?"

"I don't know what you mean," Shepard said.

"No. You don't, do you?" Balak asked. He then turned back to his book, and read the words that she wagered he knew by heart.

She left him in there, lit by the weak incandescent lighting of a room with only a lamp active to see by. What the hell was up with him, Shepard wondered? And what was he really trying to pull? Because she knew that this 'abolitionist batarian' bullshit was just an act. She knew it as much as she knew her own skin. She returned her attention to something she could understand – the workings of her new Mattock, completely ignoring the fact that, since her return to life, her skin had much changed from what she had so long known.

---

She touched up her lipstick – a lovely shade of blue the exact same as her mother had worn in her youth – as she moved through the city of Nos Astra, across the sky-straining spires and to the great plinth that served as its space-port. She didn't look back, to the turian she left dying, gasping, soulless on the floor of her bedroom. Didn't look back to her apartment, to the pieces of art that she had been so proud of. Trash, all of it. A turian could be an artist as much as a human an Ardat Yakshi. The look on the girl's face, as she lay dying, when Morinth walked through that house, destroying all those affronts to the good-name of art itself... another sensation that she wished she could bottle, and keep with her forever.

Her stride hit a lurch when a volus stumbled out into her path, a faint blue glow surrounding it. Lips pulled back into a smirk. She wasn't much one to believe in coincidence, so this had to be an act of provenance. "I... am reborn!" the ridiculous volus said. "I have been ascended to godhood! To serve you!"

"And you will, my little fellow," Morinth said, patting it on the head. "But if you want to have my favor, and all the joys that it brings, you must complete one little task. Just a little thing, barely worth mentioning."

"What is it? I can do anything! In this day, I am a biotic god!" it declared, a tiny, stubby fist raised and glowing. Biotic gnat, perhaps, but every whisker of chaos was more joy in Morinth's soul. Another victim of her mother's self-righteous crusade.

"When the Justicar comes... you will kill her," Morinth ordered. Which was an utter impossibility. While she had heard of volus that could rival the Justicars, it was only because they were ruthless in their self-augmentation. The replaced parts of themselves so that they could emulate their betters. The skill, the power that Morinth had? She had that from birth. She didn't even need an amplifier anymore, so great was her might. Another pat on the jowly cheek of the methane-breather, and she continued toward the spaceport.

One day, Morinth dearly hoped that she would be there when the terrible price of Mother's insane vendetta came crashing down on her head. When she realized, after all these centuries, that she was far worse a monster than Morinth had ever been. All that Morinth did was preserve the wonders, the greatness of those who came to her, forever. She could bring order, hierarchy, control to a dispirate and scattered galaxy. But Mother? All she could do is kill. Kill and kill and kill.

Who was the evil one, there? The artist, or the murderer?

Her heels clicked as she continued, the sum of her possessions in a bag hanging from a hand, and she took up to the glassed-in booth that sat next to a turnstile, demarcating the divide between the city of Nos Astra, and her freedom from it. "My name is Morinth. You have a seat prepared for me," she declared to the asari at the gates. The woman gave a confused look.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean. This flight is chartered to a miss Moros," she said.

Inwardly, Morinth growled and shook her head. Of course Servilla had to make the arrangements under a name, and a name that she'd just discarded at that. There were times where she felt her patience worn very thin with such meager minded servitors. But she had to show some compassion to them; nobody else in this galaxy ever would. She looked up to the woman, in her booth that opened onto the spaceport tarmac.

"It's a simple misunderstanding. My secretary, she's dreadful at her job. If only I could hire good help..." she said, her tones honeyed. The woman on the other side just raised an eyebrow. A shard of worry began to fester in Morinth. Was she losing her touch? This woman should have bent herself backward for Morinth by now.

"Well, bad help or not, I can't authorize a transit for a name which doesn't match our records," the transit authority mistress declared. Morinth's smokey smile drew into a scowl. She slapped her hand onto the glass. The asari leaned back, alarmed.

"You're going to let me in," Morinth demanded, her honeyed tones now greasy and poisonous, like a brutal venom infused with rot. She barely noticed her pupils dilating until they dominated her eyes. "It was your mistake... and it is yours to fix."

The woman in the booth looked fairly gray for a long time, even as Morinth pulled her hand back, and set her passport onto the pad. That the most technologically advanced species in the galaxy still depended on paper passports was ridiculous beyond all reason! The Asari Republics should get with the times. Morinth certainly did. The woman in the booth didn't even seem able to breathe, as she mechanically took the passport and sloppily stamped – with ink, no less. Ridiculous! – a valid transit away from the Gateway to the Terminus. Morinth smiled, then, taking back her passport.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" she asked, tapping a finger against the glass, and walking away. Only when her back was turned, and her eyes began to constrict back to their flinty, almost-white blue, did the woman in the booth utter a gasp and start breathing again, blue blood dribbling from her nose and auditory creases. She'd survive. She likely wouldn't even remember why she'd done what she'd done. If she was very, very lucky, she wouldn't remember that she'd done it at all.

Lucky, because if she did, then Morinth might have to come back for her.

Heels clicked, as they moved in a sashaying gate toward the ship that would bear her away from her mother, and all that the demon in the red armor could bring. Another victim, on her hands. Another casualty in her pointless holy-war.

When Samara Yeldechiyv finally snapped, Morinth would be there. And she would be smiling, while that hateful shrew put a bullet into her own brain from the shame of it.

---

"Well, that was perhaps more eventful than strictly was necessary," Asha muttered as they dragged themselves out of the smoking hole in the ground. Shepard couldn't restrain a chuckle herself.

"Never thought I'd be that close to a nuke going off. I was seriously underwhelmed."

"Underwhelmed, by a nuclear bomb?" Liara asked, even through her helmet obviously astounded.

"No mushroom cloud," Shepard said, as they walked to the edge of the cliff, that looked down into that now open cave system.

"The mushroom cloud is a manifestation of air being blasted out, then sucked back in by the vacuum of pressure generated from any significantly large explosion, and is not restricted in any way to exclusively those created by nuclear devices; one of the largest explosions of Thessian history was..." Liara said, at a ramble. Shepard reached back and slapped a hand over the mouth-guard of the helmet, a symbolic gesture since one could not reasonably hold somebody's mouth shut in a vacuum. Still, the point was made.

"Fascinating. Now, can we get to the part where we get revenge on that asshole for almost nuking us?" she pointed down the cliff, to the mining camp that rest at the bottom of it. The turian sniper went without so much as a word, dropping to a knee and steadying his aim. Shepard raised a finger to her ear, and opened a channel to the psychotic pirate below. "Haliat, you poor, poor, sad son-of-a-bitch. Did you really think that's all it would take to kill an Avatar?"

"Shepard! Impossible!" the turian declared. She muted the audio for a moment, and leaned toward the sniper.

"You've picked him out?" she asked. The turian nodded. A smirk came to her face. The line went back up. "Now, I'm going to catch hell when today's done, because you just blew up another Mako, and Admiral Hackett's pissed that he's already had to issue the Normandy three of them. So how about you lay down your weapons and make this somewhat easy on yourself."

"You overestimate your position, Avatar," Haliat spat. "I have an army ready to shoot you to pieces."

"And I have a sniper with a bead on your skull. Goodbye, Elanos Haliat."

There was an anemic crack, which sounded through the very thin atmosphere of Agebinium. And a kilometer and a half away, a helmet popped, and a turian fell dead onto the ground. Shepard then chuckled, and raised her finger to her ear once more.

"That's what I thought. Joker? Get us out of here. And drop a torpedo onto the camp at the bottom of this cliff when you come," Shepard said. Silence answered her. She frowned. "Joker?"

She turned to Asha, standing next to her. "I'm not getting anything from the Normandy. What about you?"

Shepard then realized that Asha, and Liara, were perfectly, unnaturally still. And the sound of cold winds zipping past her helmet, weak though they were, had stopped. She turned, and started when the turian did start to turn toward her. As he did, though, the helmet began to flake and fall away, crumbling as though made of pressed ashes, until a face was finally visible through it, and that face was not Garrus Vakarian.

Artificial eyes glowed with red light, and a mechanical jaw flicked. "You can't escape your fate, Shepard," Saren said, at an insidious whisper. "Not even death can save you."

…

Shepard bolted out of her seat, and punched a bulkhead as she came awake suddenly. She pulled in her hand, not even noticing that despite not consciously metalbending, she'd left a dent in the plate. She waved the pain of split knuckles nevertheless, and looked around. She was sitting on her couch. Formerly sleeping on her couch. With her armor half-on. She blinked a few times, getting the unsettled feeling out of her stomach and – less successfully – out of her mind. She let out a growl, and put a finger to an ear.

"Joker? How far are we from Illium?"

"Far? Commander, we've been in a holding pattern for the last half hour," Joker answered.

"Traffic in this region is especially heavy, as it is a trade hub for several other, smaller cities, and the only site with the terrain to host interplanetary docking structures," EDI added.

"Thank you, EDI," Joker said sarcastically.

"I have circumvented certain safeguards against 'jumping the queue'. We should be getting a landing path and a berth assigned shortly," EDI completed.

"Oh... Thank you, EDI," Joker said, this time, a bit caught off guard. Shepard looked up, and noted that she could see the blue tinge of sky through the transparent section of her roof. Fell asleep while armoring up? Well, at least she'd gotten the tricky bits on before dozing off. And it certainly explained why her back hurt.

"Bring us in. I'll be at the airlock in five minutes," Shepard said.

Ten minutes later, Shepard made her groggy way off of the elevator, clad in the charcoal-grey and red-striped armor that she'd bought wholesale. It was uncomfortable, unfashionable, and didn't host her favored colors at all. But, it would stop a bullet, and that was what mattered. In fact, Shepard was a little concerned that the former were concerns at all. When the hell had she ever cared about aesthetic?

Shepard tromped through the trench, toward the airlock, but she spotted Lawson rounding the holo-tank and pursuing. "What? Didn't think I could survive on my own in the big city?"

"Honestly, no. But my business on Illium is to make sure you don't terrify Mister Weaver's contact into fleeing for her life."

"That was an honest mistake," Shepard said defensively.

"Honest mistakes don't tend to involve pistol-whipping," Lawson pointed out.

"Can we drop this?" Shepard asked, opening the airlock. When she did, her eyes went wide. "Oh, what the fuck?"

"I know, I'm as confused as you are," Garrus said, leaning against the wall, opposite the white-and-scarlet, cracked-and-reconstituted armored Balak.

"There are things I need. Things only I can trust to get," Balak muttered under his breath.

"Fine," Shepard muttered. She stared dead ahead, as the airlock whooshed open, to a fist of hot air punching Shepard in the face. She blinked at the wind, which instantly started pulling sweat from her pores, and gave a glance back to Lawson, who's getup was just as form-hugging, but noticeably thinner. "Damn, that's hot."

"That's Illium," Lawson said, and Shepard shook her head as she stepped forward. She'd made it about twelve steps before an asari flagged her down, waving a pad in her hand in a clear sign of barring passage. She then shouted something at Shepard in a thick and heavy language that left her blinking and mildly confused. She pointed to her ear.

"Translator," she urged. The asari's eyes widened, and she turned on her Omni. She then gave a groan and a shake of her head.

"I can't believe I spent all morning with that thing off," the asari muttered. She then looked up to Shepard. "You can't just land there without a clearance permit and a paid tariff card. If you don't move that ship in five minutes, I'm going to have the automated guns target it."

Shepard's brow rose. "Really? This sounds a bit like extortion. I don't like being extorted," Shepard pointed out.

"Shepard, this isn't..."

"Why, I remember the last time somebody tried blackmailing me. I broke his knees with a crowbar. Damned near got me expelled right before my high-school graduation. You might have me pegged for an easy mark, but..."

"SHEPARD!" Lawson shouted.

"What?"

"She's telling the truth," Lawson said. "We landed in an... unorthodox manner. You might not be aware, but in the private sector, there are hours or days-long waiting periods for landing or docking," she pointed out. "And everything costs money. Every minute that the Normandy is on the pad, it's costing somebody about two thousand credits."

"Two thousand?" Shepard asked. "That doesn't sound right."

"Look, you can either shove off and come back when the paperwork is on my desk, or we blow your ship and take the money from the salvage. Your choice, human," the asari in the dark uniform said. Shepard felt her temper starting to flare, her teeth grind.

"If you so much as scratch the paint on that ship, I swear I'll..."

"You'll what?" the woman asked. Shepard seethed, but was cut off by the woman turning, a finger to her ear. "Wait, what? But you said... Why doesn't anybody tell me this shit?" she growled much the way that Shepard wanted to. "Fine. But it's on your ass."

"What just happened?" Lawson asked.

"There must have been an oversight. Your tariff card was purchased several minutes ago, and your docking visa was stamped yesterday," she said, almost begrudgingly.

"Way to go EDI," Shepard mumbled, mildly impressed.

"That... wasn't the name on the application form," the asari said, but shook her head. "Whatever. Welcome to Illium, don't break the laws, and claim all products purchased at customs before you leave," she then turned away, shaking her head and grumbling. "...Damn I need a drink..."

"That could have gone worse," Garrus said easily. Shepard shot a glare at him, but he merely shrugged it off. Balak, though, had a look of absolute bale at the woman who was now taking off at a jog, shouting at several asari who were improperly unloading something and making asses of themselves. What the hell was his problem?

"Let's just go," Shepard said. To Miranda, she asked, "So, where are we supposed to meet this Nyxeris woman?"

"There's an establishment just on the other side of the upper Market Deck that she frequents in her off hours. It's called Eternity," she said.

"A bar? Are you sure that's a good idea?" Garrus asked.

"Can it," Shepard ordered. They passed through an air-conditioned hallway, flanked by security who looked bored out of their minds, before passing beyond into another extremely hot, open section of the tower that they'd landed upon. "Quick question. Why's everything built so damned high?"

"Because it's about twice as hot down on the ground," Lawson said. "Up here, it's livable. Down there... you don't want to live at the base of these towers in summertime."

"Wasteful," Balak muttered.

"I don't know what you mean by that," Garrus said. "I always thought that the asari cities had a nice aesthetic. Sweeping lines, nice and tall. Long sight-lines and a lot of glass to use in IEDs, the little things."

"They're just putting on a show. 'We are asari, and we're better than you'. Just like they always have," Balak said.

"They don't say that," Garrus said.

"Are you sure?" Balak asked. "Take a look around. What do you see? What kinds of buildings are there?"

"Asari," Lawson said, her patience tested.

"What kind of language is written on the walls?"

"I think that's Scarov," Garrus said, squinting at a billboard.

"An asari language," Balak said. "The fashion. Who's it designed for?"

"Salarians," Garrus joked. Balak turned four dark eyes on him. "Fine, asari."

"Everything here is a testament to the asari cultural superiority over the rest of the galaxy. The same thing happens everywhere else. First the asari shower you with gifts, make themselves seem magnanimous and generous. Then, they start to dig in their hooks," Balak said. "Little by little, they turn your mind away from your own kind, and force you to look at theirs. You start seeing them as... attractive... you start desiring them. You start desiring anything to do with them. And in that, they hold the most devious patent of rulership. They make you want them to tell you what do do."

"That sounds insanely paranoid, even for a batarian," Shepard muttered, as the great lines of shops began to pass by them, their conversation only audible by the relative berth that they were given by the presence of heavily armed people amongst them.

"Is it?" Balak asked. "Do you see anything human here? Anything turian?" he swept an arm out over the displays, the advertisements. "I don't see anything with four eyes staring back at me. That's the asari's plan, in the long term. To erase every culture but their own. And they can play the long game better than anyone."

"Are you sure you're not just projecting your government onto the galaxy?" Lawson asked.

"The Hegemony is corrupt to its core, black and twisted and foul, but damn it, it's honest," Balak shouted. He thrust a finger toward a volus standing before a display. "Just listen to this, and tell me this isn't cultural domination?"

"I need something with a lot of flash. Something that says, I own everything here. I own you. And something that's compatible with... asari... physiology," the volus said to the shopkeeper, a button-nosed asari who looked in her early twenties – thus was probably about eighty – who gave a patronizing smile.

"I'm sure I can find something to your tastes," she said.

They all turned back to Balak, who had a darkly triumphant look on his face. "So you see. They claim to be republics, but all I see is a hegemony under another name."

"This is ridiculous," Lawson said. "The asari might be some of the more annoyingly self-righteous rule-mongers in the galaxy, but they're not out for unlimited power over a trillion lives."

"Then you're dreaming too small, and dreaming too soundly," Balak said. "They've hidden behind rules that they made, to enact laws which benefit them most, for thousands of years. The only defense we had from them was to cut them off completely. We saw what they were doing, even from the beginning; we weren't going to sacrifice who we were, as batarian people, for shiny baubles and tawdry affairs. And look what it got us?"

"Smacked down by humanity," Shepard said.

"Exactly," Balak said, darker yet. "Because who did the council... no, who did the asari back in that war? You. Because you were sucking at the teat they offered, and we weren't," he shook his head, and split off, heading toward another path through the markets. "You're dancing to the tugs of strings, humans, and you don't even see the puppetmasters. In that, I pity you," he finished, before rounding a corner, and vanishing out of sight.

"Alright, now that we've gotten that insanity out of the way," Shepard said. "Eternity is... Gods, why couldn't there be moving sidewalks in this place?"

"Overheating," Lawson said, flatly. Shepard gave her a glance, but then her vision went up, the front of a building that looked down onto the market. An office was present there, but the intense backlighting through the window left a form of an asari staring down at them in stark relief. Shepard felt a little uncomfortable being under such shadowy but intense scrutiny. "You're probably well aware that Nos Astra has a teeming nightlife," Lawson said, pulling Shepard's attention away from the asari who tracked her even yet, cutting their way through crowds of volus and asari and salarians. "Places like Eternity tend to be very well protected, so don't pull a gun on anybody, or you might get ripped apart. And I must remind you how much money it took to resurrect you last time..."

"I'm aware, I'm aware," Shepard shook her head. She turned to Garrus. "You know, I don't think I'm ever going to live down this 'dying' thing."

"I don't see how you could," Garrus said. He looked over his shoulder, toward the street that Balak had left down, as it vanished into the distance and the sea of people. "I couldn't tell you what that guy's problem was. Never knew he had it out for the asari. I thought batarians universally hated humans."

"The galaxy is seldom so simple a place as that," Lawson said.

"Well, this," she pointed up the stairs they were ascending, toward the sign that marked their way in, "is going to be simple. We go in there, we talk with Nyxeris. From her, we figure out where this Samara woman is, pick her up, and be back on the Normandy in time for dinner," she said, now walking backward before the rest of them. "It's as simple as that."

She turned, right into a blue fist into her face. She staggered back, to Garrus' outrageous laughter, such that he held his stomach and sides, almost doubling over from it. Shepard, though, pulled herself back forward, rubbing at her cheek where the knuckles impacted her jaw, while she glared at the woman who provided them. "I thought I recognized you! You're the squad-mates of that idiot who's threatening my bar!"

"Excuse me?" Shepard demanded. "I just landed here five minutes ago."

"Yeah, well, you're that human Spectre, aren't you?" she asked. Shepard grunted a 'yeah'. "Well, then reign in your lackey, or I will send a lawsuit to both the Citadel and the Alliance that'll have you running tours using outdated Lancers!"

The asari then turned and moved through a doorway, growling angrily to herself. Shepard turned to the others. Garrus had barely reclaimed himself. "I'm sorry. The timing on that was too funny," Garrus claimed, rubbing at his eyes as though they were leaking tears. Which they might well have been.

"What the hell was that?" Shepard asked.

"I'm almost afraid to guess," Lawson said, her icy demeanor somewhat set aside for honest uncertainty. Shepard pointed up the stairs, toward where the building billowed wisps of fog at ankle level, and emitted some sort of quiet but insistent pop-music. Shepard took the lead, letting the aching of where her teeth bit into her cheek keep her anger at a low boil as she ascended past a human, turian, and salarian getting a table-dance from a mostly naked asari.

"Alright, whose ass do I have to kick now!" The least expected voice in the galaxy demanded, spreading his arms wide. "Don't frig with me, lady! I'm on the edge! I got nothin' to lose!"

"Uh-huh," the extremely bored sounding asari behind the bar responded, her eyes practically glassy.

"I'll go all the way to get my job done, don't you forget that. After all, I learned how to put a gun in your face from Commander Shepard herself!" Conrad Verner said, miming a pistol at the eye rolling asari, who looked past toward Shepard and those with her. She took one look at Shepard's bog-standard armor, and sighed a 'finally'.

"Hey, can you yank the leash on this idiot before I have to slap his ass with a Singularity?" she asked, her voice slightly accented and bearing all the good humor of somebody who missed three breaks and had to work a double shift with no overtime. Verner turned.

"Who do you think you..." he began, but his face went from naïve outrage to open gaping in about a fraction of a second. "A...vatar Shepard?"

Shepard took a step toward him, her face cradled in her palm. "Yes..."

"It's me! Conrad Verner! We met on the Citadel," he said eagerly, before seeming to remember that he was supposed to be a 'man on the edge', and his tones went mock-serious again. "Uh... and then you shoved a gun in my face when I said I was gonna be the next human Spectre. Showed me what it was like to go to the extreme. I learned that lesson well!"

"You've got to be kidding me..." Shepard muttered into her palm.

"So you're alive, huh? I guess that's how it goes in this biz," he said, arms cast wide, pacing around like the idiot he was. "Why don't you sit back and watch how it's done?"

"Conrad..." Shepard began, and then she decided a better tack.

She kicked him in the testicles.

Conrad let out a girlish shriek and collapsed to the floor, holding his groin. "I'm guessing that isn't actual Onyx armor, because even this shit armor has a groin-cup."

"Ha! Kick him in the quad!" the asari shouted. Shepard looked to her. "Sorry. Father was a krogan."

Shepard ignored the bartender and turned her attention back to the pest that somehow landed at her feet once again. "Conrad, how in the name of every god that humanity has ever named did you come up with an idea this suicidally insane?"

"Owww. That really hurt!" Conrad whined.

"And what's with that armor? Anybody could tell it's an out-of-date model to begin with," Shepard continued.

"Well it was the only replica armor I could afford," Conrad said, his tones slowly dropping back to their usual tenor. He unsteadily took his feet once more. "My wife helped pay for it. She even bought my ticket off world!"

Behind him, the bartender palmed her face. Shepard felt like emulating her.

"I had to do something. You were dead, and... And everybody started talking about you like you were some sort of villain. I knew you weren't. Even after that accident in the Citadel," Conrad said, finally retaking his stand completely, if with a wince of pain every time his groin shifted. Accident? Did he really have that much personal delusion to wave off her threatening him with two flavors of death as an accident? Gods help her...

Shepard waved a hand vaguely at him, as she continued to stare at the floor, shaking her head. "Do you have any combat training at all?" she asked.

"Well, I've been in the Armax Arena tonnes! That's why I knew I could help you as a Spectre," Verner said. Behind her, Garrus was audibly holding in laughter.

"Has anybody ever shot at you? In real life?" Shepard clarified.

"Well, there was that one time, when I stopped a smuggling ring..." he said, somewhat bashfully. Shepard actually looked at him. He'd done what? "I didn't know what the big deal was. I was just helping that lady find her little boy. That lead to having to get that modulator for the volus, and I couldn't get the modulator until I made that krogan stop threatening the shopkeeper... And how was I supposed to know that the volus and the krogan were smuggling guns and drugs?"

Shepard stared, agape. "You brought down a criminal organization accidentally?" she asked. Conrad rubbed the back of his neck, blushing. Garrus erupted into laughter.

"Oh, spirits help me, I can't breathe," Garrus managed between gouts, while Miranda's face was buried in her palm.

"How did you even... feed yourself?" Shepard asked.

"There's lots of money out there if you're willing to scrounge for it," Conrad said chipperly. "I might have had to dig through some garbage cans and garbage compactors for chits and nickles, but I made enough to get here, after all!"

"I'm going to die," Garrus wheezed

Shepard puffed out a sigh. "Why are you here, Conrad?"

"Huh? Oh, right! After that, I understood just how much of a problem those drugs were. And this undercover operative over in the other part of the port – you know, where they sell that stuff from Serrice Council – told me that the bar here was a front for selling red sand!"

"Hey listen, kecht for brains; first, we don't sell red sand here, and second, red sand isn't illegal on Illium, you just need a license," the bartender said caustically as she poured a splash of ryncol into something that looked like lager, making the whole thing the color of vomit. The human who scooped it up didn't seem to mind, though.

"I just thought..." Conrad said.

"Listen, Conrad," Shepard said, grabbing his shoulders, and staring him in the eye. "Don't move. Don't leave this spot. No going out of this bar, no going to the bathroom. You stay right here, until I deal with this insanity. Got that?"

"Uh, yeah. I mean, of course!" Conrad said, and he took a seat at the corner of the bar.

The bartender breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, human. If I kill annoying customers, there's usually property damage, and that comes out of my pay."

Garrus only now seemed to be recovering from his side-splitting laughter, which Conrad had utterly ignored the whole time it happened. He rose, rubbing tears that had pressed out of his eyes in the madness. Shepard turned to Lawson, who was making a strongly negative motion.

"No, no! I forbid it. We're going to get the contact information from Nyxeris, then we're getting the Justicar. That's. It," she said.

"Lawson, Lawson, you don't know how being around the Avatar works, do you?" Garrus said, with mild condescension.

"I'm going to go and deal with this, right now, before it has a chance to escalate into something that's going to bite my ass clean off. And considering how much money there is in that, I don't feel like losing it. Stay here if you want. I'm going to... Do something," Shepard said, eyes rolling. Lawson let out a groan of defeat, and slumped into the chair 'round a nearby table, as Garrus followed after her, still chuckling richly. Behind their backs, the bartender let out a high whistle, causing Lawson to look up.

"Catch," the bartender said, and chucked a bottle of something that had more alcohol in it than was perhaps recommended for people who enjoyed having a liver to her. "On the house. Looks like you need it."

Shepard couldn't stop shaking her head at the madness of it all, though, even as they descended down into the markets once more. "Garrus, did I ever tell you about that guy?"

"Once. You were drunk when you did it, so the details were fuzzy," Garrus said.

"I was so sure this guy was a trap. So sure! But it turns out, he's more dangerous when he's on our side!" Shepard could only shake her head at it all. She gave a glance to the turian. "He's going to be haunting me till the day I die – again – isn't he?"

"Probably," Garrus said. "That's why I'm glad I don't get fans. They tend to get foamy at the mouth and faint, which makes for difficult terrain when you have to run fast."

"Always with the battlefield tactics with you, isn't it?"

"Would you like another metaphor? I warn you now, they tend to go places that nobody wants them."

"Alright, duly noted," Shepard said, as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "How am I going to... to..."

"To what, Shepard?" Garrus asked.

Shepard had trailed off, though, because she recognized somebody she'd known a while ago. "My luck can't be this good," she said. Garrus gave her an askance look, but could only follow as she cut through the crowds, until she reached the table that was built out of the flow of sapients, giving those who sat at it a place to look out onto the tumult and, presumably, drink. "Could that possibly be you, Parasini?"

Gahliya Parasini looked up from her pad and her drink, with a look of the uncanny written large across her face. She gawked for a moment, unable to believe her eyes, before Shepard reached forward, took her by the wrist, and pulled her to her feet. "I...wha...How?"

"You're still in the business of nailing people who cheat in business, right?" Shepard said, as she walked, an arm wrapped round the woman's shoulders. The dark complected woman stammered for a moment, still lost in the shock of the whole situation.

"Well yes, that is my stock and trade... I thought y–"

Shepard gave her far shoulder a squeeze. "I was hoping you'd say that. 'Cause you see, I've got a bit of a problem. Do you know the guy running the market kiosk for Serrice Council merchandise?"

"Lady, but yes..."

"'Guy' is gender neuter," she dismissed with a shrug.

Shepard barged ahead, moving through the guts of the building which was, in essence, a mall built as close to the space-port as was asarily possible, skirting past the crowds who now parted not due to her status as a heavily armed person, but rather as somebody of questionable sanity.

"Anyway. This asari's managed to dupe some poor, sad bastard into trying to shake down a bar, claiming it a drug-running front. Which to me stinks of shady business practices, if you think about it."

"That's... a heady claim," Parasini said. She looked to Garrus, then back to Shepard. "You're supposed to b–"

"Oh, I've got evidence up to my nipples," Shepard said. She looked over to Garrus. "You figure Conrad'll testify?"

"That kid's got more good intention than good sense. Of course he will," Garrus answered. He tilted his head at her. "Are you alright, Shepard? You're acting strangely."

"Must be the heat," Shepard dismissed, passing a salarian who halted in a worried phonecall to lean away from her as she passed by him. "So I figure that if I send you a nice big court-case, you can reap it all in, so long as you tie it up nice and fast. I don't want this thing hanging over my head like some sort of boulder on a leash."

"I guess I could..." Parasini still looked confounded. Shepard finally spotted the great sign that featured a very intensely glaring asari woman, and the words which most likely read 'Serrice Council', in whatever language they were writ in. One of these days, she was going to have to invest in a visor like Garrus'. Writing translation on the fly would be damned handy.

"That's her, I take it," Shepard said, releasing Parasini, who stood, a finger raised as though she had a question, but no impetus to ask it. Shepard moved up to the asari, who was tidying the displays, before turning toward Shepard with a bright, saleswoman-smile. "So, I'm given to understand that you've had words with my... 'friend'... Conrad Verner. Something about a drug cartel running out of Eternity?"

"What – Oh, yes! It's very important. I'm actually deep undercover, and Matron Rostochenko is a dangerous figure in the Nos Astra underworld," the asari said. Gods, she was almost as bad a liar as Conrad. Figures, he would be the only person in the galaxy she could dupe. "If you could help secure the deed to that bar, I could shut down that operation for good."

"Heard enough?"

"Enough to detain her," Parasini said. The asari's eyes went wide.

"WHAT?"

"Roschel Molovai, you're under arrest for impersonating a government officer and for corporate extortion," Parasini said, producing manacles from her back pocket and slapping them around the stunned asari before her, and raised a hand to her ear. "Police? I need an officer and a squad car on the North Market Square? ...Morrissey Plaza... Just in front of the taxi terminal, yes. I can keep her here, believe me."

"You're making a mistake," Molovai claimed. "I... I didn't mean it, this is all a mistake."

"Just shut up, you're making this too easy to convict you," Parasini said. She turned to Shepard, and shook her head for a moment. "I don't know what the hell just happened, but I suppose I owe you one for this."

"Thought you could use an easy case," Shepard said. Parasini offered a chuckle.

"I have to admit, I do enjoy the work here," she gave a glance toward the crooked retailer who was now rocking back and forth, squatting on her heels, and sweating bullets. "These asari act so ageless and superior, but when you nail 'em, they all squeal like schoolgirls."

"You already owe me one beer. This makes two," Shepard said. "I'm keeping track."

"One of these days, I'll make sure that you collect," Parasini said. Shepard turned and started back, with Garrus shaking his head slightly at the whirlwind that he'd been pulled into.

"I missed this kind of thing," Garrus said.

"Solving problems at FTL speed?" Shepard asked.

"No, solving problems in the most ridiculous way possible."

"Hey, it's still solved," Shepard pointed out.

Garrus just nodded. "I've missed this."

---

The door opened slowly, with a creak of metal that didn't quite fit together correctly. Nyxeris had often recommended that the door be fixed, but her employer had been adamant that it remain as it was. The shrieking of metal, she claimed, gave character to the room. The kind of character that went well with forbidding furniture, black marble floors, and a ceiling every bit as black, if etched with a sort of mandala in ever-so-slightly-more-glossy stone. The only light came through the windows, leaving the woman in question as a silhouette.

"Has Shepard arrived?" her employer asked, her voice quiet. A hiss of a venomous snake in the tall grasses.

"Yes, Ma'am," Nyxeris answered. "I was going to meet with them before you..."

"And they have met... Mister Verner?" the indistinct asari asked, turning ever so slightly, a face barely in profile, toward the purple woman at the door.

"How would... Yes, yes they have," Nyxeris corrected herself. There was no asking 'how' she knew. It was simply that she would. The woman was damned near a prophet, sometimes.

"And how did Shepard react?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Nyxeris said. Goddess, if she wasn't in so much debt that there were only two people in the galaxy able to buy her marker, let alone willing, she'd have shut this door, jumped a ship to Omega, and hoped that she lived to see three hundred. And since that momentous birthday was later this month...

There was a creak, of leather, it sounded like, as the asari turned further, face fully in profile now, but still black against the light which streamed in the window. "Did. She. Deal. With. Him?"

"Well... there was an arrest in the Morrissey Plaza a few minutes ago," Nyxeris said, her Omni opening and streaming the information that she got from sources which, strictly speaking, weren't exactly legal. She read the police transcripts of the officers involved, and even watched the live-streamed video testimony of a very earnest sounding, flaxen haired human man, in what looked to be low quality human armor. "It seems that Mister Verner was instrumental in bringing down a corporate extortion charge on Missus Molovai."

"You have prepared her buy-out form, have you not?" the other asari asked. Nyxeris nodded, only now swallowing with nerves. That woman had this thing planned days ago! "Purchase her store. Sell it to Mister Thax, for one credit."

"Yes, Ma'am," Nyxeris said. "What about Shepard? I am still due to meet her."

"Send her to me," the other asari said, her tones low, as she turned back to look down on the streets and the markets below her. "And don't cause a fuss. With an Ardat Yakshi on the loose in Nos Astra, there's enough worry in the air already."

"An Ardat... Are you sure?" Nyxeris leaned back when the asari turned, casting a glance over a shoulder. "Of course you are. I'll bring her right away."

"See that you do," her employer murmured, before returning her attention to the crowds below. Honestly, Nyxeris was seriously considering whether she was going to survive to her three-hundredth. Between the Shadow Broker on one side, and that woman on the other, she didn't know whether to... how did her father put it? Oh, right. Didn't know whether to shit or go blind.

---

"I can't believe you didn't just shoot him," the bartender said, as Shepard finally dropped herself down into her seat. "First round's on me. The owners get so pissy when they have to clean up blood-stains."

"I needed this," Shepard said, taking the greenish liquor that was offered, and taking an experimental gulp. It was oddly salty, actually. "Salarian?"

"You've got a tongue for liquor, human," she said. Shepard turned her attention to the bar, where she saw Garrus looking somewhat tensely toward a quarian who was speaking fast and animatedly to an annoyed looking asari, and to Lawson, who looked more and more frustrated with every passing moment. This woman had better show up soon. At least Shepard had exactly no sensation that they were about to be ambushed. "Aethyta," she said extending a hand, which Shepard shook.

"Well, Matron Aethyta, I can't say I've ever drunk salty liquor before."

"You can't get hung-over on that. Trust me, I've tried," Aethyta said. "And it's 'Matriach', actually."

Shepard's brow rose. "I thought all Matriarchs were supposed to be political advisors and... well, guides, gurus, and all things in between."

"Not all of us have that much clout. Surviving past puberty might not seem like much – unless you're a krogan – but since our puberty lasts so damned long it's amazing anybody lives to see two hundred."

"Doesn't explain the bar-tending, though," Shepard pointed out.

"Let's just say that Thessia got a bit chilly for me," she muttered. Shepard finished the green booze in a shot, and had it replaced by something a sort of iridescent grey, which tasted like peaches pulped with iron shavings. But not in a bad way. "Bunch of haughty dumb-asses wouldn't know a good idea from their own assholes, which is surprising, because their heads are pretty much permanently up there."

"Picked a fight?" Shepard asked.

"Got laughed out," she shook her head, and then shrugged. "Sure, I made a few dumbass mistakes in my maiden years, but who hasn't? And you'd think that taking a swing at the Silent Beacon would be something you could live down in a few centuries, but no-o-o-o."

"The what?"

"Big thing on Thessia. Prothean site just standing out there like a batarian with his dick hanging out, and about as useful as tits on a hanar. Hell, you'd get more use out of it as a paperweight. A thirty-thousand tonne paperweight. But they've got the idea that if they plug away at it, scrape at it a micrometer at a time, they'll eventually get inside. Idiots. We should be trying something new, not digging at the old," she thumped a fingertip hard against the bar. "You know that right now, if the Republics got their asses in gear, we could be building Mass Relays?"

"Really?" Shepard asked.

"I shit you not," Aethyta said. "But when I tell 'em to try, to push our boundries further than the Protheans dropped it, they laughed the blue off my ass. So if I gotta sell booze to a bunch of ingrates and idiots that stream in from the Terminus, I figure I'm still in better company than I was back home."

"I've got an old krogan buddy who'd agree with you in a heartbeat," Shepard said, setting the emptied cup onto the bar, upside down. "Got anything else wild and unusual?"

"Dark-space is the limit," Aethyta said. She tipped out something purple that wasn't ryncol – you could smell ryncol from across the room – and handed it over. Shepard had only gotten one gulp, which tasted like she was drinking somebody's floral centerpiece but kicked like a Mako-turret, before a very purple asari came into the bar, looking like she was a twitch away from shitting herself.

"There's something that's confused me. I thought all asari were blue."

Aethyta gave a scoff. "And I thought all humans were pink."

"Good point," Shepard said. Every species has its races. She looked to Lawson, who was finally looking like she wasn't about to bite somebody for annoyance. So the purple one must be her. She set down her unfinished cup, ignoring the fact that she'd already had the equivalent of seven drinks into her, and moved to Lawson's side, feeling a lot more human than she had when she walked back into the bar. The asari took a look at the two women, and gave herself a nod, before moving toward them.

"Let me do the talking," Lawson said sternly at Shepard, who was now leaning against the wall at her side.

"What, afraid I might embarrass you?"

"Afraid you might terrify her," Lawson snapped quietly. She then turned back to the approaching Nyxeris, her visage the very picture of professionalism. "Miss Nyxeris. I was given to understand this appointment was supposed to happen a half hour ago."

"I've been somewhat delayed," Nyxeris said.

"So, the Justicar, Samara," Lawson said.

"I've been authorized to give that information but... there's a small caveat. My employer has offered to give that information to Shepard, and Shepard alone."

"Traaaap," Garrus said lightly, though quite loud enough for all present to hear it.

"If my employer wanted you dead, you wouldn't have left the landing pad," Nyxeris said coldly.

"This isn't what was agreed to."

"Yeah, well, she's altered the deal, and you'd best pray she doesn't alter it any further," Nyxeris pointed out.

"I'll go," Shepard said. Probably the alcohol talking, but she felt a bit more invincible than usual. "If nothing else, I think it might be a good idea to talk to Illium's Aria."

"Trust me, you don't want to see the ones who substitute for Aria in asari controlled worlds," Lawson pointed out. "You have to know this is a mistake."

"If it is, then you'll come barreling in the door with guns blazing and bombs exploding and save my hide," Shepard said dismissively. Garrus gave a shrug.

"Well, as long as you've planned ahead," he said, his tones sarcastically patient.

Shepard pushed off of the wall, and followed where the purple woman led. "So who exactly is your employer."

"Someone whom I'm not at liberty to speak of. To you at least," Nyxeris said.

"This spy-speak bullshit's getting really old, really fast," Shepard pointed out.

"Then you had best be glad you're not asari, because asari life is a nest of it."

"Duly noted."

The path that the two walked brought them out, into what seemed to be approaching sunset on the excessively hot city that thrust into the sky, back the way that they'd come, in fact. Shepard got a bit of an unsettled feeling when she recognized the building that they were approaching. It was the one where that shadowed woman had stared at her on the way in. Shepard didn't say anything, though, but she did check to make sure her gun was at her hip, and its safety, off. They ascended some internal stairs, until they reached an office with a veritable bulkhead between the outer desk and the inner sanctum. Nyxeris went to and lowered herself behind her desk, motioning forward as she did so. "The mistress awaits."

"That was dramatic," Shepard muttered to herself, as with a loud hiss, the doors opened. She took a half step before she took in the room, and that half step pulled itself to a stop. Everything was black, bleak, and brutal. Shepard saw a mandala cut into the ceiling, something that was so familiar that Shepard knew it better than her own face, but didn't know why. There was a thick desk sitting near the center-back of the room, facing her in all its imposing glory. But the only other occupant of the room wasn't facing Shepard.

She was wearing a leather corset, first of all, which made Shepard's eyebrows raise. It left her shoulder's bare, and hugged every curve of her, terminating about a centimeter short of pants – also leather – that hugged the rest of her. She slapped what seemed to be a riding crop into her waiting palm. But it was the voice which truly brought Shepard's brain to a screeching halt.

"I don't appreciate being lied to. And I always know when I'm being lied to," Liara T'Soni said, her tones low, dark, and dangerous. "You have the money, and you're going to pay for services owed. Is that clear?" there was a stammer on the other side of a holographic communication, and she outright cracked the riding-crop against her hand, cutting him off abruptly. "If you don't adhere to the agreement that you made, I'm not going to penalize you. Instead, I'm going to come to your house... and flay you with my mind. Clear?"

Silence, and then a vyoop as the call terminated. Liara turned slowly, a cold eye turned toward her. "Liara..." Shepard said.

"Either step inside or go away, but do not stand in my doorway," Liara said harshly. Shepard took a step forward. "Good. Nyxeris, hold my calls."

"What happened to you?" Shepard asked, barely at a whisper as with a metal whine, the door slammed closed behind her. She simply stared, at the freckled asari girl, who continued to stare imperiously, as the shades drifted shut on the window outside. With the last hiss, the last clank of something falling into place behind her, the blinds fell completely.

Then, the squeeing started.

Instantly, Liara was transformed, an enormous grin stretching across her face as she bounced in place. She tossed the riding crop across the room, her fists tight and the sound coming from her throat for some reason calling to memory some nightmare of Sajuuk. But Shepard had neither the reflexes – possibly due to the liquor she'd pounded into her system – or the time to do anything but gawk as Liara's bouncing in place suddenly gained a great deal of forward mobility.

Because after her fourth bounce, she launched herself at Shepard, tangled the Avatar in her limbs like some kind of happy, possibly horny tree-squirrel, and rode the Avatar to the floor, with a kiss that almost blew off the top of Shepard's head.

---

"Justicar?" Dara asked, her shoulders shrinking in. "Here? Tell me you found some way to turn her off."

"She did not," the serene, placid voice from behind Officer Dara made her stomach drop into her stomach. She turned, and took in the monk who was now striding into the room as graceful as leaves drifting down a stream. "I am told that this is the aftermath of an attack by an Ardat Yakshi. Therefore, this is now my investigation."

"Ma'am, no offense to your religion, but this is a murder investigation. We're not hunting for aberrants..."

"Then you are searching incorrectly," the Justicar said smoothly. She didn't look like most Justicars that Dara had seen – all three of them – in that she had her armor unbuckled such that it gave her cleavage damned near open to her navel. She also had one of the truly ancient biotic amps, the one which clung to the edges of her face like some sort of tiara. Great. A conservative. She gave exactly one look to the weeping father, who had the crestless mother trying to comfort him even as she was trying to hold off weeping herself. Say what you would about turians, they were a tough breed, most of the time.

"We're looking into suspects from the university," Dara said. "He was harsh, so he had quite a few former students who would..."

"You may search your avenues to your heart's content, however do not impinge on my searching the correct ones," the Justicar said easily, not ruffled in the slightest. Although, now, Dara was.

"I don't appreciate having the monks knock down my tape and take over my cases," Dara said, getting in the Justicar's face. The woman simply stared down at her, imperious, calm, cool, collected.

"It is not one of your cases. It is one of mine," she said. Then, she turned away from the grieving parents, and began to examine the destroyed decorations. Decorations!

"What do we do, Sergeant?" Jasmine asked. The maiden was barely a hundred, already working for the police. Dara had half a mind to send her into the Terminus for a few decades, if only to get the twitchiness out of her. But alas, she wasn't Jasmine's mother, nor father, and had exactly no say in it. Only what she did when Dara was saddled with her did she get a say.

"Find some way to get her out of here quickly," Dara said. "And whatever you do, don't provoke her. If she gets it in her head that you're breaking her code, she'll kill you in an instant."

"Then simply let me be," the Justicar said loudly, from the other side of the room. Damned woman had ears like a Zuub.

"This woman is going to be the death of me," Dara bemoaned. Jasmine, sweet girl she was, could only shiver.

---

"A...blu...what?" Shepard finally managed to say, after Liara had a reasonable time ago broken that embrace and veritably skipped away to the kitchenette which folded out of the wall, just as it dinged and the light of an oven went out. She blinked a few times, slowly pushing herself up to a sit. "Nice to see you too, I guess," she murmured.

"Have you eaten yet? I have prepared enough for two if needs be," Liara said over her shoulder. And when she did, there was an odd accent to it.

"I could eat," Shepard said. She motioned around her. "What's with this cave? And what's with the leather?" Not that she disapproved. It framed her very, very nicely. Made her seem dangerous, something forbidden and risque – a ridiculous notion to anybody who knew the first thing about Liara T'Soni. She turned, a platter of something steaming, white bits of meat sticking out of brown rice. Liara returned with a spring in her step, and set the platter down on the floor between them, before crossing her legs under her and beginning to dig in with a fork. On the floor.

Some things never changed.

"So... What's new?" Shepard asked, feeling like an idiot for having no better question to ask than that one, despite several dozen crowding her brain right now. Liara looked up at her, pausing mid chew.

"Well, the Avatar has come back to life. I believe that's something new," Liara said, motioning with a fork full of something-fried-rice at her. And still that accent?

"Hah. Seriously, though," Shepard said, pausing only to get some food into her. If nothing else, it'd help soak up some of the liquor. "For a second there, I thought you'd gone supervillain on me. Didn't help that Garrus said that you'd taken a turn for the nasty."

"Oh, that was simply a facade to protect my interests," Liara said brightly. And with an accent. What the hell?

"Alright, what's with the accent?" Shepard asked. "Is that part of your facade, too?"

"What accent?" she asked. With an accent.

"You're talking with an accent. Come on, drop it."

"No I'm not. Well, I might be. English is a hard language to speak natively," she pointed out. Shepard blinked.

"You're speaking English?" Shepard asked. Liara nodded, a full-cheeked smile peeking before she leaned back and masticated for all she was worth. "When did you learn English?"

"A few months ago. I had nothing better to do at the time," Liara said. So that was an Aramali accent, then? Huh.

"And all of this?" Shepard motioned around her again with her fork.

"After... after you died," she swallowed, and not for food at that, "I realized that your work – that our work – was falling apart. I had to use everything I had to hold a candle against the darkness. So I parlayed my inheritance from Mother into infrastructure and manpower, and set myself up as an information broker."

"That's not the kind of line of work that you can just walk into," Shepard said.

"It was remarkably easy," Liara said with a shrug. "I just had to convince the Matriarchs of Nos Astra that I was my mother's daughter. Which, come to think of it, is oddly tautological. Who else's daughter could I be?"

"Your father's," Shepard said. Liara stared into the distance for a moment.

"Ooooooh," she said, a revelation to her. She shook her head. "But once I had my network in place, my work was far from finished. It took months to find y...your body," again, a stammer. "And when I found it, I almost lost it."

"To the Shadow Broker, I'm guessing?" Shepard asked. Liara's eyes went wide, and she pressed forward with a loaded fork.

"Yes! He was working for the Collectors, so I knew I had to resist him. If they got ahold of you, there was no chance you'd ever... well..."

"Come miraculously back to life?" Shepard asked. Liara blushed a bit. "So you've managed to do what only one woman in human history has ever done before. And to be honest, you've done it on hard mode. Aang was only dead for a few minutes. I was gone for, what?"

"Six months," Liara admitted. She reached forward, cupping Shepard's cheek, before bringing it back to the edge of the platter, her eyes now locked on the floor. "And it wasn't easy."

"Stealing my corpse? Can't imagine it would be," Shepard said.

"There was a... a friend. His name was Feron. A drell, who helped me take you from the Shadow Broker when I thought all was lost. He... The Shadow Broker captured him, and I can only assume the worst."

Shepard tilted her head. Despite having no good reason for know it, she had a good notion that Liara was showing a fair deal of shame. "There's something you're not telling me. You and Feron. You were close?"

She couldn't look Shepard in the eye. Well, not until Shepard barked a laugh which sent rice flying until she could cover her mouth. It wasn't just from the grain that pegged her between the eyes that Liara looked to the Avatar, stunned.

"Liara, I was dead. If there was any excuse that would hold up, I figure that'd be the one," she said.

"Oh... I thought you would feel... jilted?"

Shepard offered another laugh, but this one a bit more uncomfortable. Because honestly, she didn't know exactly what was going on with Liara – which itself was business as usual. "You didn't think this would work, but you did it anyway."

"I had hope, even if I didn't have faith," Liara said, playing with her food. Which was annoying, because that meant she was safeguarding her side of the pile, and Shepard had already savaged her own. She looked up, with bright blue eyes and little smile "But it worked, and you're back. That's everything I could have hoped for."

"You missed my Protheanized brain, didn't you?"

"That. And other things."

Shepard shook her head. Some things never changed. She surreptitiously stole some of Liara's half of the rice and unidentified white meat, and popped it in. Honestly, she was feeling a lot more chipper, now that booze had met its long-time companion, food, in her gut. "I'm guessing that you were the one who coordinated the meet-up with this Justicar I'm supposed to meet."

"Yes," Liara said, bouncing up and moving to her desk, taking a pad from it, then plopping herself down across from Shepard once more. In that time, she'd half-savaged Liara's side as well. Damn, but she had an appetite today. "Justicar Samara, maestrix, and master of the Sapiens Style. Nine-hundred seventy years old. Formerly Samara Yeldechiyv, from Nos Anglesk, Illium. Only four hundred years with the Order, though. I selected her because she seemed most open to... unorthodox methods and techniques."

"Why are you making her sound like some sort of hide-bound schoolmarm?" Shepard asked.

"If that is how I'm describing her, then I'm doing it incorrectly," Liara shook her head. "She is a deadly warrior, and has driven herself to extreme lengths to master her techniques. I assume that you need her help with some mission?"

"Actually, not exactly," Shepard said, rubbing the back of her neck where the amp hid under her hair. "She's supposed to teach me how to use my biotics without breaking my armor. Again."

"Ooooh. That makes sense," Liara said. She cracked a smile. "She will be perfect. I am to understand that she is a very patient woman. But what about the Collectors? Will she not be of use in your attack?"

"You know about that?" Shepard asked. "Hell, we didn't know the Collectors were the enemy until a few weeks ago."

"I'm a very good information broker," Liara said primly, and bit some meat off the tip of her fork.

"And why information broker, again?" Shepard asked.

"All my life, I've had a knack for detecting disparities in the stream of information. Until I met you, the one which drove me was the Protheans, and the Reapers. Now since I have an answer that makes sense, I have other things which occupy my time," she said with a shrug. She handed over the pad. "Now if I have predicted her movements correctly, she is in the Verstog district, which, admittedly, is not nearby. However, she will be there for some time. She has a particular vehemence in hunting Ardat Yakshi."

"How am I going to convince a holy warrior to give up her quest, anyway?" Shepard asked.

"That's the strangest part," Liara said, her brow furrowing down, and she sat forward, staring through Shepard with her fingers laced before her chin. "As soon as I spoke to the Justicar and indicated that you would be requiring a teacher, she outright demanded that she be given the honor."

"The honor?" Shepard asked

"Her words," Liara said with a shrug, and an expression that told Shepard that it bothered her that Liara didn't know why. "I believe she'll be of great use to you. But be aware that... even liberal Justicars can be quite..." she waved a hand, and tried to find a word. When she couldn't, the next came without accent, telling Shepard that she'd defaulted to Aramali, "severe."

"I'll bear that in mind," Shepard said, slowly pushing herself up. "That was good. This... this was good," she said. Liara beamed. "You know, you could come with us. I'm pretty sure that you'd be just as good a teacher as she would."

"I know for a fact that isn't the case," Liara said, raising up, her laced fingers now behind her back, as she rocked for and back on her heels. "And to be frank, as long as the Shadow Broker lurks, your mission is in jeopardy," the smile slowly dissolved, until her expression was as dark as it was when Shepard had first seen her in this new life, and her heel-rocking stopped. She looked as grim and merciless as death. "And if nothing else, Feron deserves some revenge."

Shepard nodded, giving the blue girl's shoulder a squeeze. "If there's anything I can do to help, you know you can contact me, right?" she asked.

"Of course I do," Liara said. She tapped a button on her Omni, and the door began to whine and creak, metal bits beginning to slide past each other. She turned away, only to do a second take and turn back to her. "Oh, and one more thing..."

"Hrm?" Shepard managed, before the asari had Shepard hauled back into another eye-popping liplock that tingled all the way down her spine, one that lasted just long enough that Shepard started to wonder why she stopped doing this, only to have it end abruptly and swiftly, with Liara taking two steps back, her expression shifting into grim and dour once more, the same instant that the door opened and she became visible to her secretary.

"...don't let me down," Liara ordered, with an implication of dire consequences, before turning back. But even in her back, Shepard could tell that she was grinning like a ninny on the inside. Shepard stood, hunched a little bit forward, stunned, for a long moment, before she gave her head a shake and blinked, slowly getting some sense back into her head. Okay. That just happened. She turned, and left.

"Will there be anything more today, Ma'am?" Nyxeris asked.

"No... no I'm good," Shepard said, still a bit distant, drifting down the stairs and into the market. She immediately took a step aside, then dropped down into the chair of the table there, propping an elbow on the table, and supporting her chin on it, while she barely noticed Garrus spotting her from across the market. "Liara, you little madwoman... what am I supposed to do about you?"

"Stop intruding on our dinner?" one of the other occupants of the table asked, confused and surprised. Shepard turned to the asari who looked in her early teens – thus, probably thirty-ish – and a salarian who was starting to look wizened like Mordin was. Shepard looked at the two of them, then at the dinner that she'd almost put her elbow into.

"Right. Sorry. Wrong table," she said, pushing up, and moving away, mildly horrified. Gods damn it, even just being around that girl for a minute had her brain turning backflips. She started to walk toward where Garrus was now shaking his head mildly, but held his ground. Liara was... Shepard didn't even know. They'd had some wild times, make no mistake, but she clung to Shepard's mind like sticky-wrap. No amount of pulling ever got her off all the way. Wait, that metaphor went somewhere horrible. She shook her head. "Damn it, Liara, why do you do this to me?"

"Shepard, you're still in one piece. So you either defeated the trap, or there wasn't one, and I'm leaning toward the former," Garrus said.

"No trap. Well, trap, but the trap was Liara," Shepard said. Garrus sucked through his teeth. "That girl is... she's nuts."

"Yeah, I hear that."

"Hell of a cook, though," Shepard admitted. Garrus missed a step, and fell behind her.

"What?" he asked. "I thought... You know what, you'll tell me later."

"Maybe," Shepard said. Then, she looked at the pad she didn't even notice that she was still holding. Damn it Liara, you... A shake of the head. "We need to get to Verstog District. That's where the Justicar is supposed to be."

"Verstog probably isn't a small district, Shepard."

"We'll just have to follow the sirens," she said.

"That's good news. I think," Garrus said. He thumbed an ear. "Lawson? Yes... No. No. No... this is getting ridiculous. No. Yes, she did. Verstog. I know... Really? Huh."

"Something strange?"

"Balak is coming with us," he said, with a shrug.

"...why?"

"Good question. Why?" he asked through the airwaves. He waited a long time, then shook his head. "She doesn't know either."

"Great," Shepard muttered, shaking her head. "This'll be a fun taxi-ride."

"Could be worse," Garrus said.

"How?"

"We could be flying into the Gully again."

"Hah," Shepard said. A long pause. "You know, do you think we might be able to get Gavorn onto this suicide-squad? I like his style."

"You'd have to ask him," Garrus laughed.

---

Miranda had almost reached Morressey Plaza, where everybody was gathering to head off to Verstog, when her Omni went alight and told her of an incoming message. She puffed out a sigh, giving some room to a nearly frantic salarian who rattled in his staccato tongue at a rate that her translator couldn't match. But from the look of it, it was something pretty important. Luckily for Lawson, she knew better than to get involved with that sort of thing. Sticking your neck out for others was a great way to get one's head cut off.

She opened her Omni and it popped up a panel reading Voice Only, addressed from Weaver's yacht. She sighed, then opened the connection.

"What is it, Weaver?" Lawson asked.

"I always had a feeling you had a less-than-professional relationship with your new employer, Miss Lawson," the Illusive Man said into her ear. She missed a stride and almost fell, before catching herself on a planter. Her eyes, were they any more wide, would have fallen out of her head. "Don't be too shocked, Miranda. As much as your Siwang Weaver has his means of contacting you, so do I."

"This came from..."

"Weaver's yacht? How else would I be sure that you would open it?" the Illusive Man asked.

"I'm ending this call."

"That would not be a good idea," his words, while condescending as they so often were, held a threatening hint that they knew something very important. Something that would end in blood if she didn't get. "After all, I know that your brief loyalty to Phoenix and its ideals was purely one of convenience. I don't hold a grudge, but I am disappointed with your later choices."

Lawson grit her teeth. "What do you want?"

"It's not what I want," the Illusive Man said, as he paused to puff out a breath – no doubt of smoke – before continuing. "It's what I can offer."

"You don't have anything I want," Miranda said. "Goodbye."

"Oriana," the Illusive Man said, not rushed, but in the split second before she could do as she promised. And that was enough to make her halt completely.

"You said you couldn't find her."

"That was then. This is now," the Illusive Man said.

"Tell me where she is."

"Now now, Miss Lawson, let's not be impolite. There is nothing in the galaxy which is free, least of all information. If you were under my employ, I would of course give you the information as payment for services rendered. Since this isn't the case... you're going to have to do something for me."

Lawson desperately wanted to end the call. Hell, she desperately wished she had the power to punch somebody through an extranet connection, but she seldom got what she wanted.

But this was Oriana.

"What do you want?" Lawson repeated, barely able to keep the dread out of her voice.

"A small thing," the Illusive Man said. "Benezia T'Soni scattered information beacons throughout Terminus Space before her demise. The information on them would be invaluable. And they can't be accessed until opened by those they're keyed to. Either her daughter, or, I'm assuming, Shepard."

"You want me to steal the data?" Lawson asked.

"No. Stealing implies removing it from its intended source. I want you to pirate it. Do this for me, and I'll give you what you're looking for. I presume that this is an equitable arrangement?"

Gods, but she wanted to punch a man through an extranet connection.

"I'll do it," she muttered, under her breath and with a creeping sensation under her skin.

"Good. I knew you could be reasonable, Miss Lawson," the Illusive Man said. "Don't disappoint me."

With a vyoop, the call went dead. She looked ahead, to the threshold which lead to the cabs. To the mission. To one of her missions. Why? Why did she just have to reach out to Phoenix when she was young? Like so many other things about her, it seemed that all those choices in the distant past, some even before her birth, seemed to keep sneaking up on her, and cutting the legs right out from under her.

---

Balak was stonily silent the entire ride to Verstog District, which suited Shepard just fine. However, the palpable tension in the car was enough that it dragged down those with them to the point where even the cabby stopped trying to make conversation after the first minute. It seemed to have hit Lawson harder than most, but Shepard wasn't sure why. If it could infest Garrus, though, it was no laughing matter.

The sky-lines zipped in so many directions, trying to compete for positions, keep order, and have speed. The traffic sometimes dipped low and ran through the hollow hearts of buildings, before heading out the other side. Which didn't seem like good building practice, but it did seem very asari. Even asari dreadnaughts had a big damned whole through 'em. She wondered why that was.

Luckily, before her mind could get into the gutter, the flashing of red and orange lights ahead showed that there was a crime-scene in the offing on one of the higher buildings. The number of them on the ground gave a bit of pause. It seemed more than a normal murder, but a lot less than an act of terrorism. She guessed this was the baseline for 'sensational murder', then.

"This is the spot," Shepard said to the cabbie.

"Are you sure? I don't know if the cops are going to let me through," she said.

"Trust me, they'll let us through," Shepard said. The blue woman with the hot-pink facial tattooes rolled her eyes, but descended toward the landing plaza on one of the lower floors. The sun had perched right on the horizon, bathing the entire building in red, as though its blueness were bathed in blood. Or else, set afire. Either one, not a good thing. As the taxi descended, a police officer in black and blue armor waved them down, until the vehicle landed on the grass that lined the pavement.

"You're going to have to land elsewhere, Ma'am; there's an investigation ongoing," the officer said.

"I'm well aware; Shepard, Special Tactics and Reconnaissance," Shepard said, lifting the handy-dandy sigil that they'd finally gotten around to granting her. It looked like silver wings against black, and could fit easily in a pocket. "There's somebody I need to contact who is on site." The officer pulled back, confused, then thumbed an 'ear'.

"Sergeant? We've got a Spectre here?" she said. A long pause. "Yes, Ma'am. Spectre, you've been cleared to enter, as long as you don't interfere with the investigation."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Shepard said. Garrus barely managed to hold in a snigger. The door swung up, and they all began to pile out. Balak was the last one, and he looked at all around him with something like a mixture of contempt and wariness. His eyes kept landing on the most surreptitious of sights, fixating, scanning, before moving on. Shepard, though, had an eye for the obvious. The most obvious thing being, there was a crumbled statue which landed in somebody's car, and a twentieth story window open to shards which showed its place of origin.

"Officer?" Shepard asked of the one who was manning the police tape. "Has Justicar Samara arrived on site yet?"

"The Justicar? Yes. Yes she has," she said, before offering a shiver. "Those women creep me out."

"I can imagine why," Balak muttered under his breath. The officer turned a glance to him, but didn't say anything. Probably for the best that she hadn't.

"I'm heading up to the scene. Who's the officer in charge?" Shepard asked.

"Dara is in the apartment even now," the grunt on the ground said. Shepard gave her a nod, then moved through the lobby – itself filled with police questioning all manner of inhabitants, of whom, they weren't even mostly asari. She elbowed the call button, and the doors opened pretty much instantly. With a smirk, she got on.

As the doors slid shut, and the lift began to ascend, Lawson turned to her, even less mirth on her face than usual – which was to say she looked just this side of dead in terms of humor. "Shepard, I must warn you now, that if you interfere with asari justice, that will be a black mark on the name of humanity itself. Not because I'd hold it against you, but because the Matriarchs most certainly would."

"No big surprise there," Balak said. "All asari history is a game of Sejob Chekag, played by powerful Matriarchs using the young and the weak as their pawns. And ever since they reached the Citadel, all galactic history was much the same."

"For once, I agree with Balak," Lawson said. "The worst thing you could ever have in a political enemy, is an asari Matriarch. They never forgive, and they never forget, and they are as patient as time itself."

"Fine, you don't need to rub it in," Shepard said. "I'm just here to bring the Justicar into the fold, then walk, skip, and hop back to the Normandy before the sun goes down. If I wanted to tweak the noses of thousand year old women, Garrus at least would be aware of it."

"As far as I know, she's not got anything particularly insane planned," Garrus offered. Lawson didn't look very mollified.

The ding of the lift finding its proper floor was quickly lost against the clamor of voices as the door slid open. The floor was absolutely swamped with blue and black. One door stood open, the tape surrounding it on both sides, and to that, Shepard began to stride. An officer got in Shepard's way, she almost faceless behind what seemed like riot gear. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but we can't have armed people on this floor right now. You'll have to surrender your weapons until the investigation is over."

"Special Tactics and Recon," Shepard said, holding up her sigil once more. Gods, that thing was handy. The woman leaned back. "I need to speak to Sergeant Dara."

"Uh... Right. Dara is on the crime scene," she said, pointing into the room. She then tapped finger to 'ear', and started talking outside Shepard's ability to hear. Balak, for some reason, was watching a couple of asari who were standing next to the window as though they'd stolen something from him. Shepard ignored him, and passed through the holographic lines, which gave an unhappy blare as she did. One alien woman, dressed in a short-sleeved shirt rather than armor, and notably unarmed, turned toward her.

"So you're the Spectre that's come knocking on my door? I hope you've come for a damned good reason. This scene is already a goddess-damned circus!" Dara said.

"I'm looking for somebody, and was told that she would be here," Shepard said.

"Oh, for the love of G..." Dara muttered, palming her face in annoyance.

"She's a Justicar," Shepard continued, and Dara stopped dead. She looked up, her face going somewhat grey.

"...why?" she asked.

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me, because if you're here to detain her, she's going to probably level the building to prevent you from doing it. And I don't feel like getting buried in anything other than paperwork today," Dara said.

"It shouldn't be that bad. She's already agreed to come with us," Shepard said. Dara let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank the Goddess... She's right through there. The victim's bedroom," she said, pointing up an artistic staircase which lacked any sort of railing, and had barely visible glass panels for steps, making the whole thing seem like a massively bad idea that was one fall away from a self-decapitation. Then again, it was art. Shepard couldn't make heads or tails of that crap.

She ascended those uncomfortably fragile-seeming steps, turning up to a section directly over the entry foyer, which terminated in transitional glass and a doorway, also glass, that was swung in, showing the room beyond it. The door stood open, welcoming... of a sort. The floor was littered with strips of paper, and portrait frames lay in kindling in the corners. Shepard turned one over with her boot. A sliver of a scenic vista, painted in dozens of shades of gray, and a few blue and purple. Probably Palaven.

Shepard then looked up, seeing the red armor before her, so much unlike the black-and-blue of those behind and below. Another asari was examining the body directly, but the Justicar was facing a blue-painted wall, which was blank and bereft of anything interesting on it. "You're Justicar Samara?" Shepard asked.

"I am," she answered. Shepard almost missed a step. She'd heard that voice before. "And from the sound of a human voice, I can assume that you have come to... collect me. Now is not the most opportune time, but my business here will be brief."

"What are you looking at?" Shepard asked, moving slowly through the bedlam underfoot.

"A message," Samara said.

"I don't see anything," Shepard said. The Justicar turned a look over her shoulder.

And this time, Shepard damned near tripped. She knew this woman. She knew her very, very well... but she hadn't the first clue when or how. It was more than passing her on the street. More even than returning to consciousness while being lifted by the throat on the Citadel. She'd spilled blood with this woman. She had faced defeat with this woman.

And Shepard had no idea why she felt so damned familiar.

"The messages she sends are carefully prepared," Samara said. She took in a breath. "What do you smell?"

Shepard did as bade, and took in a deep breath. Yes, there was the odd-smelling blood of the turian girl, which pooled around her head in an azure halo. But there was something else. Something a touch more acrid. "Paint. Drying paint," Shepard said.

"Indeed," Samara said. She took a step toward a wall marked by portrait-hooks now bereft of portraits, and dragged an armored finger along it. The almost-set paint peeled up under that treatment, showing a very different shade of blue under it. "I do not doubt that Servilla was convinced to repaint in her last hours. As a sign," she said. She then moved to the kit of the asari who was working as forensic examiner, and pulled out a black-lamp. She ignored the annoyed 'hey' of the examiner, and turned off the lights with a wave of her hand. She then turned on the black-lamp, and shone it toward that featureless wall. Only now, not so featureless.

'This Is Your Fault', it said.

"What the hell?" Shepard asked.

"The predator who did this evil deed operates on an inverted and insane sense of morality. One that places the deaths she causes upon my responsibility. I disagree," she said. She turned to Shepard. "I am honored to be in the presence of the Avatar," she said with a formal bow which was somewhat out of place, something old-fashioned, before rising up once more. Shepard didn't notice the forensic examiner scowl, and rub at her brow. "I have searched this place, and found no clues. As much as I wish this could give me a direction to pursue, the records show nothing; they have been purged. Thus, I must hunt anew."

"This 'Ardat Yakshi' seems to have a personal stake in you at least," Shepard muttered.

"For understandable reasons. I have pursued her for three centuries," Samara said. And neither noticed the forensic examiner turning away from the body, from her job. "The only request that I ask of you in this endeavor that I have agreed to, is that if I should find this creature, I should have the right to end it before it can escape and cause such carnage again," she said, with a wave toward the body on the bed.

"If it ever comes up, I'll help you hunt her do–" Shepard began, but was rudely interrupted.

By the forensic examiner, hatred clear on her blue face, shooting her in the chest with a shotgun.

Shepard staggered back, slumping against the wall and detritus, her barriers holding up but only barely. Samara, though, flowed into action with all the speed and grace of a lightning-strike crafted in flowing water. She spun under the next shot, which was going to target Shepard once more, and head-butted upward, sending that shotgun blast into the ceiling. Then, with a flash, she drove what seemed to be a reverse-axe kick, driving up into the woman's jaw from below, before flipping and landing close to where the woman had staggered. Green, gnawing light now surrounded the examiner, who started to scream in pain, before the Justicar lashed forward with a brutal punch, one that caused a biotic explosion and sent the woman slamming through the transitional glass, causing it to shatter and rain down, and dropping the woman, who was now more blue-pulp in light armor, to the police below.

Dara offered a panicked swear, and rose her rifle toward where Samara now stood, imperious as the dawn, looking down on Shepard's surprising would-be assassin. "Don't shoot!" Shepard said from her spot on the ground. She pushed herself up, and moved to Samara's side just as her barriers kicked in full once more. "She just saved my life."

"I would not go so far as to say that," Samara said. She gave a nod toward the broad windows that looked over the city of Nos Astra, over the heads of Lawson and Garrus and Balak and so many other asari police. Notably, she nodded toward the gunships which were now converging, forming a firing wall.

"Thaaaat... can't be good," Shepard muttered.

"And this is the rest of the creature's message," Samara said grimly.

Whatever Shepard had to say to that, was drowned by the wail of gunfire, the crashing of glass shattering down, and the hell of engines against wind, as the sun set beyond the Illium horizon.

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To Be Continued

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Secondary Codex Entry (HISTORICAL): Storm Kings, The

An empire which at its height covered three quarters of the globe, the Storm Kings first came about as a reaction against the enslavement of airbenders during the years under the Monolith. The Storm King Era is well documented, comparable to the Monolith, and is much more recent, having ended only nine hundred years ago. While Storm King rule was harsh, it was marked by large-scale benign neglect, thus, rebellion was never a priority as it was for the Monolith, for three centuries of rule.

The great hypocrasy of the Storm Kings, who declared that they would never be enslaved again, was that they practiced a stratified form of slavery, bearing a very strict caste system which was rigidly enforced internally. The higher ranks included the priests and shamans, and the warrior chaste, while the lowest were those who reared and trained the bison which formed the backbone of their society and, in fact, their empire. Such was their dependence upon the bison-herder cast, that when Avatar Vajrapata convinced them to abandon their jailors, the Storm Kings ended as a coherent entity, let alone empire, within five decades.

When Avatar Vajrapata incited the rebellion within the Storm Kings' ranks, it quickly boiled over into what very nearly became the first World War. The Earth King Kuei II offered shelter for the escaped slaves, which drew the wrath of the Storm King military, which still had a certain number of already trained bison to rely on. Their assaults on Ba Sing Se brought to ruin the royal palace, and incidentally, the visiting Fire Lord. Thus, the Fire Nations entered the war. The battles were very even in the early days, however attrition strongly favored those who resisted the Storm Kings. Every bison which was brought down could not be replaced. Still, stunning upsets did occur during the first historically chronicled 'Day of Black Sun', which ended with the Fire Nations' navies scattered and leaderless. Tellingly, it was also the first recorded instance of what would later be known as 'Sozin's Comet' appearing, and swinging a later battle into the Fire Nations' favor.

The last battles of the Storm Kings were horrific for all involved. The Storm Kings, having exhausted their supply of trained bison, began to build remarkably advanced flying craft to keep their aerial advantage. While the craft were defeated in the last battles, they would later serve as the inspiration for the later, and far more advanced Fire Nation Airships which came about during the end of the First World War. After the destruction of the Storm Kings' infrastructure and society, the former slaves coopted several of their once fortresses, and repurposed them as monasteries. The slaves also reinvented themselves, into the cultural identity now called 'the Air Nomads'.

The Storm Kings also lived on in the memories of the Fire Nation, who bore the brunt of fighting them, for centuries. In the time of Sozin's Purge, the rhetoric that the Fire Lord used as his justification to the masses was of 'ending the Storm King menace once and for all'. Not until the actions of Avatar Aang did the populace of the Fire Nation by-and-large accept that the Storm Kings had long ago been consigned to the annals of history.

The Air Nomads as a distinct people has not returned to the degree it once had, as all airbenders currently alive can trace their roots either back to the son of Aang, Tenzin, or else to individuals who randomly were born into airbending, a process which still baffles some Applied metaphysicians.

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