The extraction had gone by without any major incident.
Taylor and Stalker had linked up with Turman and his team, the camera drone bobbing up and down while trying to keep up with their fast pace, and several Collector drones had been hot on their tail. With the combined firepower of the united team, the drones were dispatched in quick order. It was as bloodless as Turman had expected; the schematics of the Collector Ship the Imperial Navy armsmen had gathered during the boarding action above New Istanbul provided to be invaluable. The entry point he'd chosen for the Storm Eagle was situated at an ideal distance away from the central control platforms. He'd needed a location that was both isolated enough from any significant Collector hibernation pods, yet far enough that the gunship wouldn't be counterboarded when the time came to extract the team. These Collector vessels seemed to be cut out from one template; there was very little ingenuity in their construction. They were all largely the same from the inside – a fact that had come in very handy.
With the large insectoid heavies closing in, they'd released the airlock cradle, left several high-yield melta charges attached to the hull, and blasted away from the vessel just as it had started to power back up. The explosions vaporized large sections of the decking material inside the Collector ship, disintegrating the majority of the aliens that had followed them. Those that survived were exposed to the hard vacuum of space from the tens of meters wide crater now inset on their hull. It became less and less pronounced as the Storm Eagle zoomed away from the kilometer long craft, but the trail of body parts and debris glinting in the light from distant stars was evidence enough of the wounds the ship had suffered.
Archangel had retrieved coordinates for a rendezvous point from the data slate Lawson had given him, and before the Collector Cruiser had any chance to acquire the gunship and blast it apart, they'd jumped to Warp and sped along to the mission debrief.
Upon reaching the rendezvous point, they'd had to wait for several hours before the Normandy, as Archangel's ship was called (Turman had the Chronicler inquire with Garrus, when she hadn't been talking Stalker, as to the name of their ship so he could catalog some researched intelligence with Pax at the earliest opportunity), had reached them. Soon thereafter, Garrus and his men were quickly transferred over to the Normandy, and the Storm Eagle had waited, docked to the larger ship.
Now, he was just passing time by replaying his memories in his head. Memories of old battles, operations, conversations. Of comrades lost, enemies vanquished, systems liberat –
"Lord?" asked the Navigator. Turman looked at her, annoyed. She couldn't see his face through the helmet, but she'd still feel his irritation.
"Specialist."
"Sorry – specialist. Can I ask you a question?"
"You just did," he said.
"One more, then?"
Turman didn't answer, and she took that as an affirmation of her request. "What happened to Stalker?"
So she could feel Stalker's emotions. Turman sighed into his helmet; it had been bound to happen sooner or later. The man had been through a lot in his life. Nearly too much. "I suggest you ask him."
"I think you know how the Navigator Houses feel about his kind," she replied.
"Yes." The Assassin Clades were the shadowy enforcer arm of the Imperium. Most citizens didn't know of their existence. A lot of Legionaries didn't, either. But the Navigators … they all knew. There were whispers of Assassins that were recruited solely for their anti-psyker abilities, to be used to curtail the rapid advancement of the Navigators through Imperial society. The three-eyed mutants held power, yes – but limited. Never too much. Always checked by mysterious illnesses, inopportune vehicular accidents, or some other deadly occurrence always pared the Navigator Houses and their leaders. "His personal history is … checkered."
"What do you mean?"
"Classified," he responded tersely. It was true enough. If they were back in their time, she could pull strings and find out. Here, the Navigators had no resources for that. Let her chew on what information he provided her.
"Very well," she replied. Apparently the Navigator was still equal parts afraid and in awe of him, as evidenced by the relative lack of dismay in her voice.
There had been far more at stake than uprooting a simple greenskin empire when the Twenty-Fifth had originally set out. As far as she, and the Army personnel were concerned, that wasn't their problem. It had never been.
A flashing light indicated an incoming message over the local radio frequencies. Turman flicked at a switch, syncing the Storm Eagle's systems with his helmet's.
"What?" he grunted. Lawson's voice answered.
"We're ready to receive you."
"Good. Maybe you can tell me why your team and I were sent into a trap." There was nothing but static on the line for a while. He'd caught her slightly off-guard; good. Finally, she responded.
"Like I said … we're ready to receive you," Lawson replied. That was about as clean a reply as she could've made, given the circumstances. Turman guessed that she wasn't relishing the prospect of an eight-foot tall armored killing machine in a rage. Fair enough; in her position, he wouldn't be too happy either, he supposed. "We're on our way, then."
The Normandy SR-2, communications/briefing room
Garrus slammed his hand down the table, shaking his head. "He damn well knew where we were going, Miranda. There's no way he didn't."
The senior Cerberus operative sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "If the Illusive Man kept his knowledge of the situation from us, I'm sure it was for good reason."
"Did you know too? Is that it?" the Turian pointed a sharp finger at her. "He held all the cards this time. Hell, he still holds all the cards. He's screwing around with us, and we're his errand runners. Go over here, nearly get killed, and for what?"
"Garrus …"
"No. I only joined your little group because Shepard was running the show. Now that he's gone, why should I stay? So the Illusive Man can use me as an expendable pawn? I don't think so. I thought I was making a difference, not working for Cerberus."
The door to the room opened, and the giant Turman strode in, helmet tucked under one arm. His facial expression was unreadable as he came to a halt at one edge of the table, opposite Garrus. Miranda nodded to him. "I'm glad you were able to join us. We were just discussing what happened on the Collector Cruiser."
Turman gestured with an open gauntleted hand for them to speak first. Miranda took a deep breath; she had to mollify both this man and Garrus at the same time. She had an inkling that what she was about to reveal was certainly something that could potentially (and hopefully) achieve this.
"We've finished analyzing the data Garrus was able to recover from the central control panel of the vessel you boarded. There were several interesting tidbits, not the least of which concern the method of travel that the Collectors use to get from their base of operations to out here." She paused for dramatic effect. It seemed to work for Garrus, but she couldn't tell for the big man. "The Collectors use a specially designated IFF signal to traverse through the Omega-4 Relay. We're going to go after it, adapt it, and use it to get to the Collector base, or bases, and put them out of business permanently."
Garrus clicked his mandibles impatiently. "The Collectors that got Shepard … they took him to their base, then. Let's go get the IFF, then."
"We will. That's where you come in," she said, motioning to Turman. "The Illusive Man advised me to continue building my team." No reaction from Garrus; good. With Shepard gone, she needed to assert authority subtly wherever she could. "I need you head to the Tasale system, in the Crescent Nebula, and to Illium to retrieve the last two members of the team – if that's at all possible. I know you're not part of my crew. You're free to do what you wish. I hope that because our goals are the same, you'll help me with this."
"Is this another trap to walk in to, set up by your superior?" he asked. There was nothing snide or threatening about the question. He asked it in a flat tone of voice, implying nothing at all.
"I'm sorry about what happened on the last mission. I assure you that I did not know what was going to happen there beforehand. If I had, I wouldn't have asked you to do that."
"Necessary risks and missions are acceptable, so long as you have the intelligence required to keep your wits about you, and your lives intact," he rumbled. "However, leading your own people into traps is reckless. Convey that to this Illusive Man for me: the next time it happens, there will be no place illusive enough to hide him from me."
Inwardly, Miranda shrugged. There were only a few people who knew where the main Cerberus facility was located. She doubted that this one giant could find the Illusive Man, who had remained hidden from galactic authorities for a little under two decades.
"Alright. We understand each other," she ventured.
"Yes."
"Like I was discussing with Garrus before you arrived; the Collectors used some sort of IFF tag to traverse the Omega-4 relay back to their base. We're working on a location from where we could potentially retrieve an identification tag, but until then, we need to continue and build our strike force, for when we eventually do attack the Collector base of operations,"
"You want me to help you in this regard?" Turman asked.
"I'd like it if you were able to render any assistance at all towards this goal. There are two potential recruits on the planet Illium. It's … well, it's a very unique world. I'll send someone with you, and advance word that you'll be arriving there, to make everything go as smoothly as possible." She was thinking Garrus, again, but that could be a doubled edged sword. He wanted to get Shepard back as soon as possible, but he also needed time to simmer down. Seeing an old friend might be able to do the latter for him. And these two recruits were vital to the end goal: when they hit the Collector base, she wanted to hit it as hard as possible. Get in, deal with the Collectors, and get the hell out.
"This may be possible. I will assess the situation myself, and inform you of my decision."
"Thank you," Miranda said, inclining her head in thanks. With two teams working towards the same goal, they could focus on multiple objectives at once. Detouring to Illium would've required at least two to three days. On top of that, they had to take the Normandy around to scout for any intelligence regarding the collectors, and refuel. Every day they could salvage via working with Turman was one day less that Shepard spent as a prisoner of the Collectors.
And one day closer to the inevitable suicide mission to get him back.
