Interloper 2: Chapter 29

The turian sprung his carefully laid trap.

"I've got you now, Liddle. There's no way you're wriggling out of this one," Garrus said as his squad appeared out of the innocent looking pile of rubble. "Prepare for destruction, mere humans!" There was a rattling sound and a sudden burst of bright flashes as precise rail-rifle fire engulfed my own soldiers. The rattling sound came again.

"No good, all saved," I crowed. Garrus' reaction was not pretty.

"What? From an attack of that magnitude? You shouldn't even have gotten a save!" the two of us leaned away from the holographic game table, bringing our eyes away from a simulated patch of ruins, roads, and gently rolling hills to face each other.

"Power armour, Garrus, power armour. Which I believe leaves me in control of…" I did a quick count, "all of the objectives. This round goes to me Vakarian."

"Fine, you're the best at obscure board games from your planet's past. I think next time we should try something a little more realistic though."

"Whatever you want, this round makes us even though." I smiled at my friend, who underneath the soreness of losing a competition was none the less looking as relaxed as I felt. The extra day of shore leave on Illium had been a chance for everyone to let off some steam, and an hour or two under the bright lights and thumping music of a dance floor had made the shadows that hunted us between stars disappear for a time.

But now we were back in space, the Normandy rushing headlong towards its next destination with new fire in its belly. Garrus had spent his day of rest putting the finishing touches on the new Phoenix cannon, the twin-barreled magneto-hydrodynamic mass accelerator. He had chuckled darkly as he flipped the final switch and sent power rushing to all of its subsystems and hardware.

"The next time the Collectors try and sneak up on us, they're in for quite a surprise," he had said to me. He had echoes of that chuckle on his face now, no doubt planning the next stage for our running competition.

"So, Illium was… eventful," the turian said, face becoming more serious.

"That it was," I replied, "another addition to the team, and a Justicar to boot. That and our run in with the extended Lawson clan…"

"From what I heard, that was a mean fight to get to the top of those towers," Garrus said.

"You heard right, Henry Lawson had us fighting our way past some of his best, it's too bad he didn't expect us to be bringing a Krogan Warmaster to the fight."

"That and his own daughter, I hear our XO wasn't too happy about what he had to say." Garrus leaned in conspiratorially. I scanned the open crew deck, looking for any eavesdroppers. The deck was essentially empty, discounting Doctor Chakwas who sat at her desk in the infirmary, and Mess Sergeant Gardner applying a thick sauce from a can to some newly acquired Illium roots.

"From the sounds of it, Lawson was in pretty deep with Cerberus. Miranda might not want to hear it, but he might have been telling the truth. This is the same Cerberus that fed its own operatives to the rachni 'for science.'"

"It's also the same Cerberus that brought Shepard back to life and gave her this ship," Garrus replied, "But I see your point. It could get interesting aboard here if loyalties get divided."

"I'm with Shepard," I stated bluntly, "No question about it."

"I didn't say there was. And I'm with you on that, I don't owe Cerberus anything. I'm just saying, there's a few aboard who do. Keep an eye out." Garrus leaned back into his seat.

"I'll be careful," I assured him, "but I trust that Shepard will pull us through this." Garrus nodded and snatched up the glass he'd been drinking from. With a flourish, he deactivated the game table and hauled himself to his feet, "I hope she's up to it. Though if there's anyone who can pull off the impossible, it's her."


"He said that to you?" Liz asked as I finished relaying Garrus' warning to her. I had headed down to the now familiar armoury space after parting ways with the ex-Citadel Security officer. Liz, as she seemed to do more and more often these days, was camped out near the back of the room, working furiously on two of the remaining mechs. The wrecks of the other two lay in various places across the room, stripped to bare bones.

"Yup, said that we should watch out, that there might be some kind of mutiny or something." I leaned heavily on one of the few open spaces in the armoury.

"You ask me, his time on Omega's really gotten to him. I mean, on Omega that kind of paranoia would be understandable, I guess, but here on the Normandy?" she gave a little shrug and reached back to grab another tool from the shelf. Light arced between the contacts and she returned to work.

"Hey now, I wouldn't call him paranoid," I said uncomfortably. Liz turned and gave me a blast of her raised eyebrow.

"Look Mike, I know he's your buddy, but come on. The crew coming to blows over Miranda's family feud? I think he's getting worked up over nothing." She stood and stretched, arms arced high over her head.

"I don't know; you saw how the crew got when they thought we had Shadow Broker sleeper agents hiding out board, it got pretty nasty. This could end up being the same thing."

"I think you're forgetting there actually were sleeper agents aboard. Your friend worries too much and so do you. Now give me a hand with this thing." I relented, moving to help her adjust the freshly repaired mech. This particular rebuild looked a lot thicker than its previous incarnation, with new welds visible under the dull grey paint, which was itself still wet in places. In upgrading the robotic soldier, Liz had taken the time to add a few decorations. This mech now bore a fearsome set of tusks that framed its rounded head. One of its arms had been replaced with a squad assault weapon, pulled from the racks of the armoury. Its rounded form was easily recognizable, an M-76 Revenant.

The other mech sat silent and still in the background. It was done up in an olive drab, though yellow chevrons had been stenciled onto its bulked up shoulder guards. A thin black and yellow strip wound its way along the seams and edges of its plates. It had what looked like a mount for a heavy weapon perched beside its off-center head.

"You like them?" Liz asked, "When I got the pieces back after that raid on Illium, I figured they were in need of some serious upgrades. I mean, the model is really only designed as a disposable unit. This way we get fewer mechs with more staying power. I call the green one Sergeant Bash, and the scary one here Matilda." She patted the mechs proudly, drawing away a hand smudged with grey paint.

"Looks like you've put together some serious hardware," I leaned in for a closer look. The new armour was pristine under the gleaming coat of paint.

"It's not just hardware, I've upgraded their combat and aiming software, they're essentially autonomous. That and a new holographic interface should improve their combat ability." She motioned towards a patched together metal ring on the floor.

"You put all this together from stuff you scavenged around the armoury?" I asked. Liz looked around conspiratorially and flashed a wicked grin. She jerked her head towards a blank space on the wall where EVA's holo-ring should have hung. It was now graced by a thin slit in the wall and a pair of twisted wires.

"Mostly." She laughed then, a laughter I shared until cut off by the rough clearing of a throat.

"Having fun?" Zaeed asked. I turned slowly. He stood, still encased in his scratched and worn yellow plate armour. "I think it's about time we train again."

"You're training with that guy?" Liz whispered in a shocked voice.

"Alright," I stood up and squared off with the man. He eyed me appraisingly before turning towards the crew elevator.


Zaeed's quarters were darkened as walked in, as I had come to expect. What I didn't expect was to have something slapped into my hand. It was a knife, long and sharp. Considering the owner, it was surprisingly elegant, with a decorated handle that melded almost organically with a broad and flat blade. The metal shimmered with a not-quite steel sheen, another colour just under the surface that shifted as the dim light played over it.

"A real thing of beauty, innit?" Zaeed asked, "Picked it up on one of the Asari colonies for a pretty penny. A genuine piece of art." I snorted a little despite myself. "What?" Zaeed asked brusquely.

"I'm sorry, it's just strange to hear you describe anything as a work of art."

"If you live long enough, you'll learn to appreciate the finer things in life, and there aren't many blades finer than this. Mercenary work's not all blood, balls, and bayonets you know. It's travel, lots of time stuck on shitty transports and shittier freighters. You don't find something to appreciate along the way; you're liable to drive yourself mad."

"So, what, you're giving this to me?" I asked, confused. Zaeed almost bent over double in harsh laughter.

"Give… give it to you? No, that thing's worth more credits than the rest of my kit combined, and I wouldn't part with it for the price of an Alliance dreadnaught besides… No, I just wanted you to see it up close before I try and ram it into your gut." He snatched back the knife roughly and pressed another into my hand. "That one you can keep." I looked down at the weapon that I had been given. It looked like a standard pattern Alliance combat knife, a long knife perhaps seven inches long in the blade with a straight spine and a diagonally cut tip. There was a burn mark that ringed a circular hole scooped through the metal just above the handle.

"There's a funny story to that," Zaeed said, pointing with the tip of his blade. "Maybe I'll tell it to you if you live." His face took on an ugly leer and he began to circle, knife held out in front of him. I adopted a similar stance, ready for the first strike. It came from the left, a quick, backhanded strike. I dodged, countering with a quick swipe to give the older mercenary pause. He caught it in an armoured gauntlet and followed up with a headbutt. I hit the ground with a crash. I had to shuffle back to avoid a kick to the ribs.

Zaeed fell back into an intense pacing. I quickly jumped to my feet and brought the knife back up in front of me. It was my turn to attack first. I feinted to the right and came up with an elbow to the neck, following with a hard drive towards his gut. He blocked both and struck back. I danced away, and the circling began again.

"You're going to need to commit if you want to hit me," Zaeed said through gritted teeth. He came on like a storm; a flurry of blows matched by an equal number of high and low kicks. One connected with my knee, and another with my shin, driving me back. I threw myself into an attack, catching the man by surprise. My knife skittered off armour plate. "Good hit," Zaeed grunted, "But I'm not dead yet," he trapped the arm and threw me to the ground. I swiped at a stinging split in my lip and got to my feet more slowly, a little unsteadily. "You've improved, but you're not Codex material yet."

We went back and forth for a time, trading blows and short, gasping insults. Throughout the clash, our eyes remained locked, his steely grey, mine pale green-brown. Breath hissed through my teeth as metal bit through my thin work shirt. I could feel the blood trickle and seep, but pushed it aside to make another hard strike. The point caught in between plates, eliciting a harsh cry. Zaeed struck with a closed fist, then another, then another, each one faster than the next until I was unable to block one of them. The blow landed just before Zaeed bulled past my guard, sweeping my forward leg. I fell hard, driving the air from my lungs. I lay gasping.

"What's wrong, War hero? Feeling a little slow today? Not in fighting form without a little something extra?"

"What are you driving at?" I asked. I picked myself up heavily, getting dizzily to my feet."

"You know exactly what I'm driving at, the adrenals, the stims. You think I can't spot a soldier on boosters?" he placed his knife carefully into a molded leather sheath that hung on the wall and grabbed a pair of bottles from a case. He twisted the cap off of one and offered me the other. I took it with thanks as I propped myself up against a wall.

"So what is this, your crazy messed up version of an intervention?" I asked, smelling the opened bottle. From what I could tell, the dark glass bottle held a simple beer.

"Intervention? Ha. Unlike your vaunted Commander Shepard, I appreciate a little initiative in my subordinates. An unaugmented human like yourself needs all the help he can scrape up for himself on the battlefield. So how are you taking?"

"Mixed in with the medigel," I said, mind still focused on something he had said, "you're not a fan of Commander Shepard?"

"Hmm, never heard of it done that way," Zaeed said, thoughtful. "And the Great Commander Shepard and I might not see eye to eye on more than a couple of things. Her handlers are paying me a pretty penny to follow her orders though." He stopped to take a swig.

"And if they were to stop?" I probed.

"Well then, things would get pretty interesting around here. I don't see that happening though, this Illusive Man's put a lot of eggs into this basket, I don't think he'd risk one going rotten on him. That's one of the reasons he's given me leave to pursue a little payback of my own. We're steaming for Zorya as we speak." He chuckled darkly and leaned back against the back wall. The words rang in my head, leaving me uneasy.

As long as they keep paying me… …would get pretty interesting around here.

"You're going to want to clean that up," Zaeed muttered around the rim of the bottle. I looked to the slowly seeping wound for a second before dragging myself back to my feet.


Author's Note:

Ta daa! New Year's update. Apologies for the delay since my last post, hopefully you find it worth the wait. Enjoy and don't forget to leave a review.

p.s. Fun Fact: Garrus, of course, plays Tau.