Tales from the Citadel

Chapter 13: Shepard versus the Tall Tale

"Shepard? What are you doing here?"

Turning around, I saw Kaidan. I hadn't seen him since the time he wound up cooking dinner for me and Miranda, something that turned a disastrous start to a date night into a pretty good time. "Got an e-mail asking me to come here," I replied, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder at the Spectre office. "You?"

"Same."

"Any idea what this is about?"

"Nope."

I immediately started looking out for mercs or assassins sneaking around. Call me paranoid, but it wasn't that long since someone had lured me and a shipmate out into the open, all in an attempt to take me out with a small army of hired goons and replace me with a clone. These were peculiar times…

Before I could get antsy, the door hissed open and Jondum stepped out. "Ah. You're here. Both of you. Come in, come in."

Jondum Bau was a fellow Spectre. We'd crossed paths during the Reaper War, when he requested my help in investigating indoctrinated hanar diplomats after receiving a tip from Kasumi. I remembered that incident; partly because it was one of the few instances when a Spectre wasn't antagonistic or hostile towards me, partly because he had actually listened to my warnings about the Reapers and had tried to make some preparations before the war kicked off.

"What's this about?" I asked as Kaidan and I followed Jondum into the office.

"The Special Tasks Group keeps close tabs on the various mercenary outfits operating throughout the galaxy. They disseminated their latest findings to the Spectres during a vid-conference yesterday."

Somehow, I had a feeling the STG kept close tabs on many, many groups and even more individuals. For the moment, though, my attention locked on his last few words. "I wasn't aware of any vid-conference."

"Neither was I," Kaidan echoed.

"Not surprising," Jondum sighed, "considering neither of you were on the mailing list. Major Alenko, that was probably because you joined the Spectres under exceptionally chaotic circumstances."

Translation: he accepted the offer to become a Spectre while recovering in Huerta Memorial Hospital during the Reaper War.

"As for you, Commander Shepard, your evaluation and induction into the Spectres was fast-tracked, to put it mildly. Between that and your KIA status… well, let's just say a lot of the administrative details were accidentally overlooked."

Right. Because the guy who was supposed to evaluate me was killed by Saren during our first mission together. Naturally, the Council didn't believe me, choosing to question my memory, competence, sanity and generally labeling me as an embarrassment to humanity. Once I found some scant evidence, TPTB decided to bypass standard procedure and make me a Spectre so I could track down their former golden boy and spare them any embarrassment. Then I became an embarrassment anyway by going on and on about Reapers to anyone who would listen. Then I died. Then I came back in a Cerberus lab and started working with—not for—them, which was also viewed as an embarrassment. So TPTB decided to reinstate my Spectre status on the provision that I go far, far away. And then the Reapers came and everything went tits up.

"Since I gave the briefing yesterday, and I was still on the Citadel anyway, it was decided that I should bring the two of you up to speed," Jondum finished.

Irritation about bureaucracy aside, I was a little intrigued. I've had the misfortune of tangling with numerous hostiles over the course of my checkered career. While they came in a variety of shapes, sizes, genders and species, one broad category I kept fighting were mercenaries. Private military companies or private security organizations if you wanted to use the legal definition; mercs if you didn't give a crap. Bottom line: I kept running into them. So I was definitely interested in hearing what the STG had to say.

"The Blue Suns are still operating throughout Citadel space, the Skyllian Verge and the Terminus Systems. They appear to be sticking to their usual revenue streams: protection rackets, arms deals, combat training courses, private security, pirate raids and racketeering—all run with their usual ruthless efficiency. While they had suffered losses during the Reaper War, they were able to maintain an impressive recruitment drive to replenish their ranks."

"So… situation normal?" I asked.

"For the rank and file, yes. However, there seems to be some disagreement as to who is actually leading the Blue Suns. Some say Vido Santiago and Solem Dal'serah are still co-leaders of the Blue Suns."

Much to Zaeed's displeasure, I thought, considering Santiago was the one who ousted him and Dal'serah was installed to appease the influx of batarian support.

"Some say Santiago and Dal'serah are quietly fighting each other to gain sole control. And some say the current leader is Darner Vosque."

"Don't know about Dal'serah, but Santiago concerns me more than Vosque," I supplied. "Santiago's had a couple decades' worth of leadership experience. From what I've seen, Vosque operates mostly on bluster and ego."

"I am aware of your encounters with Santiago on Zorya and Vosque here on the Citadel," Jondum nodded, "and I would be inclined to agree with your assessment. My main concern is whether we are receiving misinformation or whether the Blue Suns are splintering into factions that are vying for control. For now, we will have to continue gathering intel.

"Moving on to Eclipse. "They may not be as widespread or as disciplined as the Blue Suns, but they certainly make up for it with their use of cutting-edge equipment, weaponry and biotics. What concerns us are the various indicators suggesting that the Asari Republics and the Salarian Union have independently struck a deal with Eclipse. If our analysis is correct, Eclipse has agreed to smuggle in hard-to-find supplies and provide extra security for some of their outlying colonies. In exchange, the asari and salarian governments will turn a blind eye to their operations, particularly if they took place outside their territory."

"Yeah, that's definitely a concern," Kaidan said slowly. "If what you're saying is correct, it sounds like state-sponsored mercenary operations on a galactic scale."

"That could give Eclipse a sizable advantage over their competition in the long run," I added, "not to mention triggering a seismic shift in galactic affairs. What does the Asari Republics and Salarian Union have to say about this?"

"They claim they have no knowledge of any such arrangements," Jondum scowled. "Many of my colleagues in the STG are rather unhappy with these revelations and their potential repercussions. I understand that my counterparts amongst the asari commandoes are similarly dissatisfied."

No kidding. Their political leaders were basically saying that they'd rather bypass proper channels and make side deals with criminals than work with established professional operatives, and that the services of said professionals were not valued. That kind of thing could not end well. "I can't blame you," I commiserated. "That's a train wreck just waiting to happen."

"My thoughts exactly." Jondum paused for a moment. "I should mention, Shepard, that my answer to your question was strictly off the record."

Good to know. But two could play that game. "Question?" I asked innocently. "What question?"

"Exactly," Jondum nodded with a slight smile.

"You mentioned the Blue Suns and Eclipse," I said. "What about the Blood Pack?"

"They've experienced an extremely significant downsizing. Partly because of casualties during the Reaper War, partly because most of the krogan members have quietly left and returned to Tuchanka."

Gee. Fancy that. You'd almost think that the krogan felt they had a future again.

"The only krogan who stayed were the ones who revelled in violence and mayhem, and had no desire to go back to their ancestral home. As a result, the balance of power, not to mention the numbers, has drastically swung towards the vorcha. While they haven't gone back to their roots as a Terminus Systems vorcha gang, there's no denying that the vorcha now have a much larger role in planning and running operations. It will be interesting to see what happen next, but the general consensus is that the Blood Pack is definitely the worse for wear."

"If you know about Vosque," I said, "then you know I… indirectly recruited the Blue Suns, Eclipse and the Blood Pack into the war effort against the Reapers."

"By unifying them under Aria T'Loak's leadership," Jondum finished. "Yes, we are aware. Under normal circumstances, the Council would be reluctant to sanction such an arrangement. Given the unprecedented threat of the Reapers, however, the Council has retroactively acknowledged your authority as a Spectre to broker that deal."

Huzzah.

"However, the three groups don't seem to show any signs of coordinated operation. All reports suggest they seem to be operating independently throughout the galaxy, particularly in the Terminus Systems."

"Well that's a relief," Kaidan said dryly.

"What about Omega?" I wanted to know.

"Their presence and influence on Omega itself has all but evaporated," Jondum replied. "It appears that some resistance from a self-styled vigilante of your acquaitance, coupled with a disease supplied by the Collectors, had decimated their ranks. These factors created a power vacuum that was filled by a local, predominantly turian, group known as the Talons. They seemed content to continue as drug runners, smugglers, guns-for-hire and slavers… until Cerberus ousted Aria from Omega and took it over. The occupation inspired the Talons to transform themselves into a multi-species resistance effort."

Thanks in no small part to Nyreen Kandros, I thought.

"Shepard, you may be interested to hear that, after you helped remove Cerberus from Omega, the Talons have declared themselves Omega's new security force. Again, it's too early to say for sure, but all the data we've gathered thus far suggests they are making an earnest effort to become a legitimate private military organization, one determined to protect Omega's civilians and prevent other mercs from establishing or re-establishing a foothold on the station."

"Good," I declared. "The people of Omega have suffered enough."

"Then there's CAT6."

"Oh boy," Kaidan and I groaned in unison.

Jondum shook his head sympathetically. "As you are aware, CAT6 was a new and relatively small outfit known mostly for hiring soldiers who were dishonourably discharged from the Alliance, had extensive criminal records, had histories of steroid abuse, or all of the above. Thanks to Maya Brooks—or whatever her true identity was—and her attempt to steal Shepard's identity by replacing him with a clone, all of that has changed."

"He says that with a straight face," I murmured to Kaidan.

"I noticed," he replied.

"Believe it or not, Shepard, that's not the strangest thing I've heard," Jondum admitted. "Sadly, your suspicions were correct: we confirmed that CAT6 received a massive influx of surplus or reverse-engineered weaponry, tech and supplies over the last few months—all from Cerberus caches. While you were successful in handling the recent influx of CAT6 mercs, there are far more out there in the galaxy… and now they will be able to tackle larger operations and cause more problems in the future.

"On a brighter note, we won't have to worry about the Grim Skulls."

"Never heard of them," I chirped, before recalling Zaeed saying he worked with them once upon a time. Oh well. Too late.

"Before the war, they were a small outfit operating in the Skyllian Verge."

"And after the war?" Kaidan asked.

"They're still a small outfit operating in the Verge."

Heh.

"Also, we won't have to worry about the Grim Skulls anymore," Jondum said.

"First the 'Grim Angels,' now the 'Grim Skulls'," I said, rolling my eyes. "Very original."

"Quite. They were a small and inexperienced merc band operating in the Skyllian Verge. Nothing more than a few dozen amateurs with basic military training at best. Apparently Saren Arterius had all but wiped them off the face of the galaxy back in 2165. As far as we can determine, the few survivors were killed one way or the other during the Reaper War."

"Good news, I suppose," Kaidan allowed. "Anything else?"

"Just one final merc outfit: Ti… Tiburawn Rowjow?"

"Tiburón Rojo," Kaidan corrected. "I heard a travel advisory about them the last time I had a vacation in Cancun. They're a small merc group stationed in… Mexico City, I think."

"With aspirations of expanding throughout the rest of Mexico," Jondum confirmed. "The last time they made headlines was when some teenager snuck into one of their landing pads, stole a Mantis spaceplane and proceeded to take it for a joyride… before running out of fuel, ejecting over Antarctica and freezing to death. Clearly a concern for the locals, but hardly a threat for Earth, much less the rest of the galaxy. The only reason I brought them up was that your Alliance Intelligence shared a status update."

"And?" I prompted.

"Like the Grim Skulls, Tiburón Rojo had been wiped out by the Reapers."

In summary: some of the smaller merc outfits were gone. But the main ones were still capable of causing trouble—and some were now in a position to cause greater headaches in the future. "Well, good to know," I said. "Thanks for bringing us up to speed."

"My pleasure. Major Alenko, that will be all for today. As for you, Commander Shepard… this latest bureaucratic incident highlights how poorly you were integrated with the Spectres. That's a failing on our part, by the way—not yours. However, it's well past time we addressed those administrative oversights."

"Paperwork," Kaidan said, clapping me on the shoulder. "Have fun."

I watched him practically fling himself towards the exit. "Uh huh," I said sourly. "Fun. Right."

Looking back, it wasn't that bad. Jondum did a good job of patiently walking me through all the forms I had to sign and things I had to read. It's just that there's no way to make that kind of administrative stuff fun. Which might explain why, when I finally left, I was ready to clear my head and get a drink.

My wanderings eventually took me to the Silver Coast Casino. I honestly don't know why I kept coming back there. Maybe because I wanted to see whether it was still standing, as if I subconsciously feared that every establishment I went to inevitably suffered some horribly violent fate and would be shut down indefinitely and the livelihoods of all the employees would be ruined and it would all be my fault. I reminded myself that I couldn't assume responsibility for everything—my shrink said as much, so it must be true.

In any event, the casino was still in one piece. As I walked up the stairs, above the general hum of people talking and laughing, I could hear the telltale sounds of quasar machines. One of the VIs announced the results of the latest varren race, which yielded the usual cheers and groans. I could hear Joker insisting he shouldn't have to pay—

Wait. What? Joker?

I followed his voice to the upper floor. Joker was leaning against the bar, his back towards me. The asari bartender had a look on her face that could best be described as… skeptical. "I was here when Cerberus attacked," she said, "and I don't remember seeing you. I think I caught a glimpse of Commander Shepard fighting over by the elevator bay, though."

Joker made a dismissive noise. "Well, yeah, Shepard was busy protecting the Council. That's kind of what he does, you know?"

True. On occasion. When the galaxy wasn't making my life a living hell.

"But I had my own problems to deal with."

Stifling a smile, I found an empty chair and sat down. This should be good, I thought.

"You see, I was down by the docking bay near C-Sec headquarters. The lights were flickering. Smoke and flame were pouring out of a broken window. And there were ten—no, twelve—Cerberus troopers trying to break in. One of them propped his missile launcher on his shoulder, slapped his buddy on the back and laughed. 'Ha-ha-ha! Commander Shepard is chasing the Council,' he said. 'This is our chance!'

"'Oh shit,' I thought. 'Cerberus!'

"I tried to slip away, but one of them saw me. Must've recognized me, too, 'cuz the next thing I heard was the asshole laughing again. 'Ha-ha-ha! Look, guys. It's Joker! He can barely walk! How's he going to stop us? Ha-ha!'

"You know, I get that a lot. Poor Joker, he can't do anything without help. Poor Joker, he can't make it as a pilot. Poor Joker, he can't do anything to help humanity. But that's not true. I worked my ass off to be the best damn pilot in the Alliance. The best damn pilot in the galaxy."

It didn't take much for me to detect the bitterness in Joker's voice. He'd fought more battles than most people would know because of his disability. He had to work twice as hard to prove himself. And he'd succeeded. By any and all measures, he'd proven himself. At least enough that I had to let him finish this bull-shit story of his:

"And as I looked around, I saw something else I could pilot. It might not be a starship. It might not be a gunship. But I guess an Atlas mech would have to do."

Yeah, that would do the trick, I thought. Totally unrealistic, but this was his story after all.

"So I climbed up, strapped myself in and turned it on.

"Have you ever seen an Atlas?" Joker asked. "Probably not. Well let me tell you, those things have weight. I know Cerberus heard the Atlas, 'cuz they all turned around in time to see it stomp around the corner. I know they heard me through the Atlas's loudspeakers as I pulled up the targeting reticle. 'How am I gonna stop you, assholes?' I said. 'Like this.

"'It's jokin' time.'

"And with that, I squeezed the trigger. The Atlas cannons began firing, all THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD. Blazing rounds spewed out, taking chunks out of the walls, the computers… and Cerberus troopers. 'Oh no!' the goon with the big mouth wailed. 'We were fools to underestimate Joker! Oh no!'

"'Yes,' I growled. 'You were.'

"I started walking up the main ramp, still firing. One of the Cerberus troopers tried to get up, only to fall as I stomped him into the ground. Bullets were flying but none of them hit me. They couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. Not like me, though. Each and every shot blew a trooper to smithereens.

"Finally, about five or six of them rallied. They formed a line as if to stop me. One of them fired his pistol... and it just plinked off the armour. Swear to God, it was the most pitiful sound I'd ever heard. I reached out with a mighty claw and swept them all off their feet and into the nearest wall. Bones crunched as they hit before slumping to the floor. I ignored them and kept firing at their buddies. 'That's right!' I called out. 'You just landed on the island of Doctor Me!'

"None of them had any other smart-ass remarks to say. They were too busy dying. I was shooting and they were dying. Thanks to me, they never took C-Sec. Thanks to me, Shepard was free to save the Council. And that's pretty much how it happened… which is why you should comp my drinks."

The asari bartender looked at him. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

…

"No," she said.

"Aw, come on!" Joker protested.

"I barely believe what they're saying about Shepard," she said. "You?" She leaned forward and stage-whispered "I don't think so."

"Okay, trying not to be offended here," Joker tried. "Look, if Shepard were here…"

And that's when he saw me. "…uh…" he trailed off. "Shepard. C-Commander Shepard. Hi."

I got up and joined him by the bar. Looked him right in the eye for a whole second. Maybe two.

Then I straightened my shoulders and faced the bartender. "I'm Commander Shepard," I declared, "and I'll vouch for my pilot."

Joker's eyes widened. So did the bartender's.

"Lieutenant Jeff Moreau is a hero. Together, we tracked down a rogue Spectre, spearheaded Alliance efforts to rescue the Council and ultimately thwarted the Reapers. Together, we stopped the Collectors from abducting and experimenting on colonists throughout the Terminus Systems. Together, we fought tooth and nail to bring the galaxy together and defeat the Reapers once and for all. Everyone in this room owes him their lives, myself included."

"I… I'm so… so sorry, Commander," the bartender stammered. "I had no idea."

She looked at Joker and nodded solemnly. "Drinks are on me, Lieutenant."

The bartender went to fetch Joker something that was undoubtedly alcoholic. Joker, for his part, looked at me uncertainly. "Uh… thanks, Commander."

"You can pay me back later," I shrugged.

Now that Joker had a free tab, he was determined to make the most of it. He didn't drink enough booze to make his liver explode—probably because he wasn't sure how serious I was about him paying me back—but he certainly got his money's worth.

After the eighth drink, I started feeling a little… uneasy. I mean, it's one thing to support your crewmate, especially one who truly had made a difference while remaining an unsung hero as far as the media—and thus, the general public—was concerned. It was another thing entirely to mislead someone into offering said crewmate a bunch of freebies. Time to set the story straight, I decided. Getting up, I made my way to the bar.

"Commander," the bartender said. "I never got to say that drinks are on me, too."

"That's all right," I replied. "But speaking of drinks, I wanted to clear the air about something."

"Are you about to tell me that Lieutenant Moreau didn't save C-Sec and the Citadel from Cerberus all by himself?"

I shook my head and chuckled. "How long did it take?"

"Oh, I knew he was full of crap long before you showed up," she said dryly. "I am a bartender, after all. Listening to tall tales and other bullshit is about fifty percent of my job."

"The other half involving drinks?" I suggested.

"I was going to say being hit on by customers in varying degrees of sobriety but, sure, let's go with drinks."

"Sure. Let's. Now back to Joker. If you picked up on his bullshit, why let him get away with it?"

"Because he knew what Lati's been going through and went out of his way to make her comfortable."

I blinked. "You know Lati?"

"I certainly hope so. She's my niece."

"She—sure. Because apparently it's a really small galaxy."

"It is," the bartender smiled. "It really is. And Lati… Lati's been through so much. Manava too—every time we dared to contact each other over extranet chat, Manava was crying. She always tried to keep it together in public—older sisters, am I right?—but even super-sisters have their breaking point. Lati had it just as rough, though. Obsessively searching the extranet for any scrap of news about you was the only thing that got her through those long, dark days. That and combat sims. So when she heard you were actually playing combat sims, it was like… what is that human holiday? During the winter?"

"Christmas?" I offered. 'Hanukkah? Kwanzaa?"

"All of the above," the bartender said gamely. "That was when Lati finally started smiling again. She and Manava. When Help a Dream agreed to bring her to the Citadel to watch you play, they were both ecstatic, albeit for different reasons. When you surprised them with a personal meeting, well, I thought that would be all Lati would talk about. But to my surprise, Lati spent just as much time talking about Joker, how nice he was and how knowledgeable he was about the challenges she faced after her operation."

"That was the general idea," I admitted. "Strictly speaking, Joker is responsible for flying the Normandy, not the Normandy's shuttle. I made the switch hoping Lati could see someone else who served in the military—specifically, someone she could relate to."

"Well, she did. And that, along with meeting you and seeing you fight in the sims, truly made her day. All things considering, I think that's earned him a night of drinks."

"Despite the bullshit?" I asked.

"Despite the bullshit. And since you did so much for Lati—and tried your best to salvage Joker's laughable tall tale—I think you've earned the same privilege."

"I'm pretty sure I should decline," I said with a straight face, "but there's anything I've learned after years of slogging through the trenches, it's to never turn down free drinks." Especially if you planned on leaving a ludicrously big tip that somehow matched the sum of all those libations. "Thank you…"

"Maida."

"Maida. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine, Commander. Now, can I take your order?"

I placed my order, along with something for Joker, and chatted with Maida while she made our drinks. Turned out Maida got into bartending as a way to make ends meet while trying to figure out what to do with her life, decided that was her calling—cheesy pick-up lines from drunks notwithstanding—and never looked back. By sheer luck, she had the night off during their last charity event—which meant she wasn't around when I blundered around with my squad—and only found out her boss was killed the following evening. I feigned surprise at Khan's death, all the while wondering whether my years of fast-talking and speech-giving could beat her bullshit radar.

In the end, I brought our drinks back to the table. Joker swiped his glass from my hand, took a swig and grimaced. "What the hell is this?" he sputtered.

"Club soda," I told him. "Time for you to space out your drinks, if not slow down."

"Are you serious?"

"Maida—that's the bartender, by the way—was just as surprised. But seeing how I'm the first human Spectre and all that, she ultimately gave in."

"Okay, see, this is definitely not how Spectres should use their authority."

"I could get you an umbrella to go with that drink."

"Very funny."

"How 'bout two?"