NEW CHAMBERLAIN COLONY

SECOND LARGEST MOON OF BORR

EXODUS CLUSTER

OCTOBER 2188

WINSTON BLACK was not missed until Shizuka noticed him no longer behind her.

"I can't force anyone to join us." Miranda had told her when she was informed of his absence. Going after Flynn? Miranda wished him luck after a fashion, and thought maybe if Black could talk sense into the man, she'd ask just how he'd managed it, for she was fairly certain that was a feat bordering on the impossible.

"Duke's too forgiving. Damn Flynn." Again, Shizuka used that tone that made his name sound like she'd just uttered an curse.

"Trying to convince Flynn would seem to be a waste of his time." Miranda replied, not slowing. "As I said, he's not under my command."

"You're paying him, so he's at least under contract, and we shouldn't leave Duke behind. Flynn and folly go hand-in-hand and we need Duke."

"I'm sure you're correct, but we don't have the time to wander the area looking for him. I'll order the Phoenix to scan for him from orbit when we get out from under all the long-range comm jamming. I'm surprised there's this much for some second-rate wildcat mining operation."

Besides, Miranda thought with a surprising amount of bitterness, Flynn can take care of himself.

Shizuka frowned, but acquiesced. She'd been listening to Flynn and Miranda talk, not that she'd meant to, not really, because she didn't actually care, but something there just wasn't ringing right. There was something deeper there, something to do with Miranda herself, and that just smelled like even more trouble.

Shizuka was seriously starting to wonder if wasn't too late to regret this whole thing.

FLYNN SPAT DUST then sucked in a breath as he slapped a dollop of medigel on his burnt arm. He softly grunted to himself as he heard footsteps scrabble past his hidey-hole. A quick handful of gravel reloaded Brigid. He pulled himself into a crouch, found a hole to peer through. There were the buggers… down a few, but still dangerous.

He hadn't even waited for the leader to finish speaking. Flynn had simply and suddenly dropped flat to the ground and had Brigid in his hands as the troopers had opened fire and having rather stupidly surrounded him they managed only to kill three of their own and wound two others. Brigid had torn the legs off another and he'd rolled furiously out of the circle – knocking a few down in the process to buy himself a moment or two. Then he ran like the devil was on his heels because he wasn't a damned fool. A shot had clipped him as he'd vaulted a low wall, the same shot killing an unfortunate drunk who'd chosen then to step into the street. He'd ridden the momentum and flipped himself between two large excavators that had bought him enough time to skid into this hole. He could see through the small gap between walls that these boys were serious professionals (aside from seriously underestimating him) – they didn't run willy-nilly or shout like idiots. If they were mercs they were exceptionally disciplined ones. Nor did they belong to any military he recognized, the weapons they carried straight up energy-spitters, rare enough in the civilized armies and completely unaffordable for any rag-tags. They'd split up into teams of three to methodically comb the area. Why they'd chosen him specifically he couldn't imagine. No one from his past had the kind of coin it'd take to hire these fellas.

He waited until the three nearest his hiding spot passed, backed himself out slowly. He waited for a few heartbeats. He could hear other teams on streets nearby but none but those three close enough to be an immediate concern. It might have seemed unlikely that a man his size could be particularly stealthy, but Flynn had learned his art from professional exemplars – for if N7's were the elite, what then did one call those who trained those elite?

Stowing Brigid, Flynn silently rushed the three troopers from behind, grabbing two around the neck and using them as leverage to solidly kick the third in the back of the head sent him sprawling whilst using the momentum of the kick to pull he and the two rather surprised troopers forward, both locked securely in ferociously strong arms. Flynn then broke the necks of both as he dropped to the ground, his weight doing all the work. The third groaned only to be finished off with a hard stomp that sent him into oblivion still in a daze. A quick check of the corpses netted Flynn a few weapons, a few disc-shaped grenades that appeared to follow the old Alliance standard and a comm. There was no insignia on them anywhere he recognized, noting absently that the 'bone' patterns on their armor all had subtle differences. He pocketed the comm, tucked the guns and grenades, pulled himself to the roof of a nearby mining garage, wedged himself into a shadowed corner and took stock.

The rifle looked like a heavily modified M-37 Falcon, slightly heavier, with nothing that looked like an ammo chamber nor any opening for thermal clips. The pistol he'd stolen looked like a Carnifex, again with nowhere to use standard mods, ammo, or clips. Firing them was pretty standard from the looks of them. They were already primed, so point-and-shoot it was. Given the damage a near-miss had done to his still throbbing arm, a full-on hit would do some serious damage, likely kill him outright. The grenades were a kind he was familiar with – they resembled the old Mark XIV's, which Flynn had always liked and resented when they'd been discontinued. Unlike new kinds, the XIV's could be easily carried, easily concealed. Like t-clips, he had to wonder what went through the weapon-techies heads sometimes.

Below him, he heard chatter as his kills were discovered, feet moving with purpose up and down the street. The comm he'd purloined crackled softly and he quickly searched for an off-switch. He chose the most obvious one and the noise died.

…only to come back louder and clearer as a voice demanded a sitrep. Flynn waited two entire seconds and then flipped himself off the roof and into the alley of the building just as two bright beams punched through the floor and through space he'd just occupied. The comm he threw away from him as hard as he could – hopefully a diversion - as he ran, being more a detriment in its unfamiliarity than useful at the moment. He could always grab another later, right after he kicked himself in the head for his own stupidity.

Been away from it too bloody long. Forgot too much. As he ran, however, he could feel old instincts kicking back in. Though he might have seemed like the last person to be one, despite what some might say, Flynn was an N7 for good reasons.

Shots speared around him showering him with detritus, not slowing him. A quick glance back showed six troopers – including the black-armored leader - in full pursuit, and he slowed long enough to snap off a few shots with his purloined gun, managing to drop one and send the rest scattering. He had to admit he liked a weapon with no kick. Flynn threw himself over a safety barrier and leapt into mining traffic, momentarily slowing his pursuers. A few nimble dodges and he was on the other side, but he didn't get far. A shot hit him in the leg and he went head-over-heels, skidded into a pit barrier on the other side, grinding his teeth at the agony that shot up his leg.

Well, then. Last stand time. Suited him just fine.

Flynn dragged himself up against the barrier, put his back to it, weapons coming up. For the first time, he heard one of the troopers shout and point, but all he saw was a dark blur go over his head from the top of the barrier to spear into the troopers. A wild shot blew a hole above his head showering him with dust, causing him to curse and duck. When he looked up, he saw five dead troopers and the welcome form of one Winston Black, blades in hand.

"Well," he told his old friend. "Yer getting' old, Duke. Ye shoulda been here ten minutes ago."

"You move rather quickly for a clumsy oaf." Duke sheathed his blades, in no hurry. "There are others, but they are still behind us. We have time." He indicated Flynn's bleeding leg.

"It still works, jus' hurts like a bugger." Duke nodded while Flynn added another quick jolt of medigel. "Appreciate the save." Another short nod that accompanied a hand to help Flynn up.

"I don't recognize this livery," Duke returned to the bodies. He also helped himself to a rifle, grenades (stashed quickly in a pocket) and a comm. "These are not native technology."

"Part of yer 'mystery what kills'?"

"That is extremely possible." He turned the rifle in his hands as he walked back, the comm he tossed to Flynn. "Curious. I would say this weapon is composed of a ceramic-composite material."

"Makes sense. It's a burner, from the look o' it. Don't see them too much." Flynn agreed, investigating the comm with more care. A switch he'd not seen earlier shut the thing off. He reactivated it. Orders were being flung about, but so far it seemed the troopers had lost them. "Better'en swapping heatsinks alla time, but heavy on the batt'ries." Flynn tested his leg. Sore yet serviceable. He'd gone farther on worse. "I managed abou' a half-dozen. Lousy bloody shots, though."

"I have a feeling they may be the ones that chased me through the Boneyards." Black mused. He clipped the rifle to his back. This technology bore further research. "Perhaps as shots they are not quite as 'lousy' as you say - this weapon is on what appears to be a low-power setting." He frowned. "I would speculate killing you was not in their orders."

"Hmm. Well, too bad fer them. No' in th' mood to be caged today."

In the distance, sudden explosions, the dim sound of weapons fire and shouting people. The comm in his hand exploded in a staccato of orders and reports. The main body consisted of warnings that the 'locals' were attempting to engage them.

"'Pears the folks hereabouts didna take kindly to them fellas shootin' up the place. Take's the heat offa us – a'least for a bit."

"We shouldn't count on that. How far are we from your quarters, Dullahan? We need to leave this moon."

"No' far. I took some near me ship. I used the miners' port, not the civvie one." He oriented himself. "Tha' way. It's a bit of a slog, we'll ha' to circle the big pit." He pushed himself off the barrier wall, willed himself not to limp. Duke fell in beside him, and they made good time until what appeared to be a dropship came low and landed ahead of them. When it began to disgorge a large squad of troopers, the N7's quickly found a maintenance shack – standard colony construction - and hunkered down. The shack had an outer auto-lock that actually worked in their favour. No appearance of anything forced. The noise of the colony counterattack rumbled behind them. The troopers marched by, securing the area, in no hurry. Both knew they only had to wait, made themselves as comfortable as possible.

Flynn almost got nostalgic. After a few moments, he said softly casual, mindful of their situation, "Ye were th' very las' person I'd expected to see, Duke. When were the last time we'd seen one 'nother?""

"November in '80." Black answered in the same careful tone. "The 'Propio seno de la Madre' tavern in Las Cruces, if I'm not mistaken, the day after Día de los Muertos celebrations."

"Ah, roight'cha are." Flynn looked thoughtful for a moment. "Di' they ever rebuild it?"

Duke shook his head.

"Mr. Banaszewski decided against it. However, the crater was dubbed "Taza de té de Mama", I believe, keeping in the matriarchal theme." Both laughed, and for a moment, they were old comrades again, the years between them gone.

"What have you been doing since, Dullahan? You've stayed under the scan grid."

Flynn's face hardened for a moment, then relaxed.

"Aye. Had a wee bit of trouble after I saw ye last – financial difficulties - but it worked out in th' end. Been a kinda 'gen'ral contractor' since. Came here on a job for the Himichanunra Shipping House, some rather stupid lad that thought he could outrun an' hide from me - stayed for the cards after I was paid. The one nice thing you can say abou' salarians is they pay on time."

"I had wondered what you were doing on a mining colony."

Flynn laughed lightly.

"Yah, well, a job's a job." Duke halted him as another crack of an explosion sounded, closer this time. Voices were raised and heavily-booted feet ran off. The sounds of vehicles came and went. A quick glance showed too many troopers still out there. An errant breeze made it into the shack, carried the smell of wet garbage past them.

"We were heroes once." Duke said with an tinge of melancholy, got an inquiring look from his old friend, wondering what he was thinking.

"Aye. Can't all be Mad DoG." Duke smiled at the old nickname for Shepard, back before he'd been anybody. "Mad DoG" or "Mad Doom or Gloom", as the name ran, bestowed on Shepard for his seeming inability at the time to see much of anything in a positive light.

"I admit it never occurred to me he would go so far." Duke thought about it. "Shepard always struck me as one of those humourless lifers who ended up stern admirals, married to a political wife with prerequisite children and a home furnished with a lot of glass and chrome that never gets actually lived in."

Flynn sent him an incredulous look.

"Ye've got a rich fantasy life – sad, but rich." Duke chuckled quietly, shook his head.

"A soothsayer I am not, agreed."

The sound of a vehicle going past silenced them, and Flynn stuck a wary eye up to a small window. No one near, but troops yet close by. He sat back down.

"You're runnin' with innerestin' folks these days." Flynn said as casually as before, but Duke knew better. He briefly sketched out how he came to be in Miranda's employ, concluded with,

"I admit the sheer number of seeming-coincidences tests even my patience." Flynn just smiled. "We are survivors of unique circumstances, Dullahan. Perhaps it's not so ironic to fall together again – eventually."

Flynn just nodded. Concurrence of coincidences was nothing new in the kind of lives they led. It may not have been supernatural, but at the rate they sometimes happened, they may as well have been.

"It's noice ta see some things never change." He scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Shizzy still hatin' me, fer one." He was still on the fence as to how he felt about that after all this time - he wasn't responsible for what anyone believed. He knew what he'd done and what he hadn't done.

"Some pain we cultivate. For some it is better than facts we'd rather not face." The wind moaned into the shack and swirled dust that smelled of copper, chalk and flint around their feet. There was a muted whump of a low-level explosive – likely a grenade – going off somewhere behind them. "Akilah has always been the epitome of 'stubborn'." Flynn nodded.

"Stubborn, sure – one of 'er better qualities." Flynn sniffed. "Pity she never knew when ta bloody quit."

"Another of her qualities," Duke said to Flynn's roll of the eyes.

"If'n I recall, you had quite the mad-on fer the gurl, way back when." Duke scowled.

"One did not compete with 'The Gun' for a woman." Flynn grumbled derisively.

"That greasy arsehole. He never got a woman he e'er told the truth ta, tha's fer damn sure." He laughed a maliciously-tinged laugh. "Remember when he was in Asimov's Folly's sickbay fer two weeks wit' a broken jaw?"

"I remember wishing I could have shaken the hand of the one who'd done it, unworthy as that sounds." Duke shook his head at the memory. Flynn thrust a hand at him, a grin on his face.

"G'head. Yer welcome." Duke gaped at him for a moment, then shook the hand with a small smile.

"And why exactly did you?" They threw themselves against a wall as the sound of a very heavy vehicle rolled up and stopped, waited with hands on weapons. The vehicle moved on after a few moments.

"Punch Grimaldi? Why nawt? Ye'd never ha' done it, and ye shoulda. Besides, he di'nae go after her because of herself – it were to spite you." Duke sighed, not really all that surprised.

"I was unaware he disliked me that much."

"He di'nae. Fer guys like him, it ha' nuthin' to do with either you or her, jus' his own bloody ego."

"You are remarkably insightful, Dullahan." He said, amused.

"Christ, I have to be, don't I?"

Another check showed the area now empty of troopers and they slipped from the shack, but they didn't get far. A rumble under their feet, the wind going from breeze to sudden gusty – and clouds going dark with an ominous shadow. Those same clouds broke apart as a dark ship, covered in bone white sigils descended over the colony. The noise of the ship's lifters sounded like an enraged lion a fifty metres tall.

"That is not encouraging." The ship turned in their direction. A pole of searing-bright light speared to the ground, and everything beneath it – vanished. The structures seemed to flash-freeze for a moment and then crack-whump into iridescent dust. Some fire was directed toward it but not much. It was quickly snuffed.

"Tha's e'en less so," Duke started backing away, but Flynn did what he usually did - the unexpected. He began jogging toward the beam. Across from them another beam flashed, more buildings vanished into dust rolling past them in a crackling whoosh.

"I missed where you mentioned suicide as a viable alternate!" Duke yelled over the lifter noise and blustery wind. The next blast hit only a few metres behind them. The concussion threw them a good five metres up the road. Both rode the pressure wave to land expertly on their feet to keep running.

"My fookin' ship's back tha' way – and I'm no' havin' it blown away!"

"You have a plan?"

"I certainly hope so!"

Another beam hit before them and both flattened themselves almost instantly, the concussion passing over them. After a few moments, heavier fire began bracketing the ship from the ground. The ship began ejecting soldiers in heavy mech-suits - vaguely reminiscent of the Atlas mech, but slimmer, darker, also painted with distorted skeletal patterns - onto those positions which they quickly silenced. Duke leapt nimbly over a wall, turned and pulled his heavier friend over. They ran up an alley and out into a side street just as the building behind them detonated, picking both up to send them flying to impact into a retaining wall where they rolled to groggy halts as dust billowed over them, obscuring everything in a dusky cloud. Flynn fought through his daze with a shake of his head, pain lancing through his back. He assessed – nothing broken. He called for Duke in the haze, but received no reply. A blast of wind blew the dust clear and Flynn could see Duke crumpled against the wall a metre from him. He managed two steps but was interrupted by four heavy mech-suited soldiers dropping heavily between him and escape, guns leveled. Black skeletal praying mantids armed with heavy cannon, Flynn knew even Brigid wouldn't do much in the way of real damage to them. A quick look showed him that they were all in a staging area that led into the big mining pit. Above his head were the heavy pipes that fed the coolant systems for the heavy drills and excavator heads down below.

Flynn looked at each mech in turn, automatically looking for weaknesses, at the shadow of the underbelly of the ship slowly coming his way, heard the clomp of heavy-booted feet behind him. He didn't turn, just planted his feet, planted fists on hips, every centimeter radiating defiance, even though he could think of no immediate way out of this that didn't end in a manner he didn't want.

Well, shite.

"Surrender." A voice said from the air.

"Why?" Flynn yelled back insolently. "What's innit fer me?"

There was an extra moment of silence. In their suits, the pilots looked at each other in bemusement of his bravado.

"Surrender."

"If'n I do, do I get a gift basket? Dinner? What? I need a reason. I can'nae just go easy."

"Surrender!" The voice was beginning to sound less-than-amused. He could hear weapons cycle, lifters whine as mech-suits shifted.

'A Thaisce, ye di' it to yeself,' he heard his Maimeó say in his head just then. She'd been tending a black eye from a bully. 'Ye did exactly wha' he wanted, and he beat ye. Never do what they expect.' That advice had gotten him in trouble more than once. It had also saved his life more than he could count.

"A'right, then."

"Drop your weapons." Flynn dropped the purloined weapons, but not Brigid. He put his hands behind his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Duke stir.

"All weapons."

A shot speared above his head into the retaining wall for emphasis. Flynn didn't flinch, only smiled. Behind him gaped the deep chasm of the New Chamberlin Mining Concern through the new hole.

"All roight, all roight." He muttered in exasperation. "All weapons it is."

Flynn, as if he were shuffling a deck of cards across a table, suddenly and expertly tossed his stolen grenades at each of the mechsuits, grabbed the groggy Duke as the grenades impacted then detonated, flung them both through the hole and into the abyss behind them.

Maimeó, he thought as he arced into the air and saw the deep darkness below, it's time to see how Irish I really am.

ABOVE IT ALL, in the ship of the Pandemonia, called the Angelus Jescha – and indeed the one that had chased Black through the 'Boneyards' - its commander cursed silently as Flynn threw himself and his comrade into the pit. Three of the mechsuits were severely damaged, two pilots killed, five troopers via shrapnel. He knew he'd seriously underestimated his prey. Why they were wanted alive he did not know, but it wasn't his place to question. He was about to order a retrieval team go after them when he was interrupted.

"Lord!" His sensor tech sought his attention, the man young and scared of him. Reputations could be everything, depending on the man. "Scan indicates an array of ships approaching this moon!"

"Were you not commanded to jam all communications from this cinder?" The tech took a step back. His commander was an imposing figure in his dark armor, like the idea of a samurai in full regalia, cloak and all, if the samurai had existed in the 22rd Century. His helmet and armor bore the bone-white skeletal sigils unique to his rank, personalized for him.

"It was done, Lord! Yet, several small vessels escaped before the Net could be closed." The commander calmed himself. A Lord Commander is not excitable, he does not rage, he does not become frustrated. That is not a sign of control, but a lack of it.

"How many ships?" he asked, deadpan. A few escaping had been inevitable. They could not cover every eventuality.

"Twenty-one. At least five frigate-class or larger." The tech did a quick double-check. "They are not official military, Lord. They may be corporate forces."

The Lord Commander put his hands behind his back and turned from the tech to regard the large screen before them. He was not authorized to engage in any large battle. Until he heard different, he would obey his initial orders. Find Corrupted. Offer them a chance of Redemption. Refusal meant extinction. He could deal with opposition as he saw fit, but he was not to overtly alert the official forces of the Lie until commanded.

"Recall all ground forces. All damaged mechs will self-destruct. Prepare an Absolution Charge, then set a course to our next objective." Salutes he didn't see came his way and he frowned to himself as the ship rose. He could not be held responsible if the prey chose suicide over capture. He would, however, make sure it was a suicide before he left.

The Angelus Jescha was five hundred metres over the colony when it dropped the 'Absolution Charge' from its belly, the weapon fell and stopped fifty metres above, halted in the air, waiting. It was detonated when the Angelus Jescha reached orbit, and New Chamberlin simply ceased to be.

THE PHOENIX could do nothing but watch. Miranda and company had just sighted the Phoenix when her crew commed them that an alien ship had just attacked the colony. Miranda ordered the Phoenix to full battle-stations, then turned the shuttle around almost immediately. Her heart froze when she saw the blistering mottled-white glow that had used to be the colony vaporize its way through the clouds. Riley immediately started a scan.

"Holy hell…! I'm reading a massive dark energy emission below, it's some kind of inversely directed pulse. Computer says the equivalent energy to a dreadnought main gun!"

"They couldn't have survived that." Miranda said flatly, felt a little space open up in her chest. She'd always taken it as read that Flynn would always be out there somewhere, being infuriating. That there would always…

"No." came an adamantine Shizukian refusal from behind her. "First Rule of the N7. No one's dead until bodies turn up. Duke doesn't die that easy."

Riley looked doubtfully back at her.

"No N7 ever dies, they just go missing. That it?"

Shizuka gave him a determinedly smug smile, crossed her arms as if defying him to gainsay her.

"Ask Shepard."

Riley could see her point and just nodded, decided he liked this lady. Miranda stuck her head into the cockpit. Illemna Rafleen, who could double as the shuttle pilot when the mood struck her was all eyes at the explosion below. She'd stayed with the shuttle when the rest had gone to 'negotiate' with Flynn.

"What in all the – who blew that up!?"

"Not blown up – blown in." Riley corrected her from his scan station. "Believe it or not – that's a compression wave, it's not blowing stuff apart, it's pulverizing everything beneath it. I know what you were gonna say, Boss, but I don't recommend we go anywhere near it until it collapses completely." He glanced back at the readings. "Shouldn't be long."

True to his prediction, the light died away a few moments later and an ugly grey/black fire-lined billow replaced it. Miranda tapped Rafleen on the shoulder and the shuttle arced back into the atmosphere. She then commed the Phoenix, terse, her emotions on a slow boil.

"I want a tightbeam communique to Our Friend," 'Our Friend' was code for the Shadow Broker. "Send the same to Jericho." The codename for Councilor Hackett. "Tell them that we've officially confirmed outside intervention and to implement safeguards. Will advise when more information comes in. New Chamberlain has been destroyed by a force alien and unidentified. I think it safe to assume war stances where appropriate."

"That's all we need." Riley muttered. Miranda watched that dirty dark cloud below them grow larger as they approached.

"Just be ready," she told her Engineer. "This is just getting started." She stood and her face hardened.

Somewhere Flynn was down there…

Miranda surprised herself with the depth of her concern as the shuttle plunged into the darkness.

…and he'd better be alive, dammit!