She is alone. And oh! how brilliantly she shines — Nikita Gill, Wild Embers: Poems of Rebellion, Fire and Beauty

Húdié dāo – [蝴蝶刀] – butterfly sword (knife in English)
Irin – Pronounced similar to the girl's name 'Erin' – Zaeed Massani's shortened form of 'Iringù-Eßizkur'
Liuyè dāo – literally, a willow leaf saber; military sidearm for cavalry and infantry during the Ming (1368–1644) and
· · · · · · · · · Qing (1644–1911) dynasties. It weighs from 0.9 to 1.3 Kg, and is 91 to 99 Cm. long.
Qíngfū or Qíngrén – [情夫 – lover]

• INSIDE IRINGÙ-EẞIZKUR · WIDOW SYSTEM, SERPENT NEBULA •

Still in bed, I turned over and eased the covers back from my face just far enough to allow me to squint at the glowing display of the nearby chrono. 0623. Close enough to my normal wake up time, and the urge to pee had grown too strong to permit my return to sleep anyway. I stretched while still under the covers, then slid them aside so I could sit on the mattress edge unimpeded. Heaving a heavy sigh, I stood and padded barefoot into the nearby compartment, emptied my bladder, then stood in front of the full-length mirror beside the shower.

Grabbing the length of my hair at the nape of my neck, I came to the inescapable conclusion that it was time—past time, truthfully—for a haircut. I didn't wish to return to my signature wartime style, but I did need to rid myself of the long ponytail, thinking it would most likely be a real liability in any kind of physical altercation in which I might find myself. With an inward groan of resignation, I pulled on my workout clothes and returned to the bedroom to begin my exercise routine. Routine. That's what Iringù-Eßizkur said was bothering Žiuk'Durmah … doing the same thing every day. Still hard to believe an intelligent machine could become bored.

Intense, hour-long workout complete, I shed my sweat-soaked clothing and entered the shower. A thorough wash and rinse later, I blotted the water from my skin with an oversize towel, then continued to dry my hair with a smaller one. Another reason to have this cut, came the thought. It takes too much time to properly care for.

After getting dressed, I sat at my terminal and performed a cursory search for hair stylists on the Citadel. In short order, my inquiry produced the names of three shops on the Presidium, along with several that were close to the Alliance docks in Delta Ward. That's to be expected, I suppose – none of the other races ever have need of a barber.

I really had no desire to enter Delta Ward, but wasn't exactly thrilled about going to the Presidium, either. After weighing the options, I reluctantly decided on a small shop a moderate distance from the Delta Ward commercial docks. It was well outside the Alliance controlled area within the docks, making me hopeful I'd be able to avoid encountering anyone from the Normandy or Hong Kong.

"Iringù-Eßizkur. I need to visit Delta Ward. Would you set down in the commercial vessel berths?"

›There is a large open space 4.6 Km from the Alliance docks, a distance that should be sufficient to allow me to escape notice by members of the Alliance Navy, Friend-Samantha. Additionally, a speeder rental kiosk is nearby, should you wish to leave your personal aircar parked.‹

"Sounds perfect, Irin. Let's go. I don't wish to spend any more time groundside than necessary." I could sense, rather than feel, Irin beginning to move. The lack of any discernable noise always amazed me. The only indication that she was moving was a nearly imperceptible increase in the minute vibrations that continuously coursed through her structure. Additionally, Irin was always keenly aware of what was required for me to remain comfortable within her structure; she somehow managed to seamlessly rotate the artificial gravity in my living area so the decks I walked and stood on were always perceived by me to be 'down'. I wasn't surprised when, after only twenty minutes, she announced that her 'feet' were on the surface of Delta Ward.

• AT LARGE, DELTA WARD · CITADEL, WIDOW SYSTEM •

I inserted a small comlink in my right ear so the Destroyer/Repository could stay in touch with me while I was groundside, then pulled on my mid-calf length duster; with the deep hood over my head, I stepped into Irin's boarding/deboarding transfer tube. Less than 15 seconds later, I stepped out of the null-gravity device and walked to the nearby kiosk to rent an X3M.

Once seated inside the speeder, I entered the coordinates for the salon I'd chosen before leaving Irin – a place that was simply named Serendipity Hair. I didn't need more than an overall trim to eliminate what I felt was a convenient handle an adversary could grab in a street fight. I would be the first to admit I was not Xiùlán, in that I couldn't tuck my hair under my shirt in back as she did.

In just eight or nine minutes, the X3M came to rest in a parking area at the entrance to a pedestrian-only passageway less than 25 meters from the shop. After placing a hold on the speeder so I wouldn't have to hassle with finding another, I strolled in a seemingly aimless fashion along the passage until I came upon the entrance.

An old-fashioned bell tinkled as I pushed the door open and walked in. Of the several people inside, two were customers having their hair trimmed. A lone male stood from what appeared to be a vintage barber chair; with a small bow, he asked, "How may I be of service today?"

I removed my duster; grabbing the length of my ponytail to show him, I replied, "I need a trim."

The barber seemed familiar to me – like someone I had seen or spoken with a long time ago. Relieving me of my heavy duster, he hung it on a nearby coat rack, then held out a hand to indicate the chair he had just vacated. "Please, have a seat, Ms? …"

"Traynor," I said as I moved past him to take a seat.

If he was surprised to see a customer fully armored and armed, he gave no indication as he produced a large drape, which he used to cover my body by clipping the narrow end around my neck. Standing behind me, he placed gentle hands on my shoulders and studied our reflections in the large mirror across the small room. "You must realize I will have to trim your hair all over – simply chopping off your ponytail will leave the entire back of your head looking ragged."

I grinned at him, saying, "That's why I'm sitting in this chair. Do what you think is best. I just need to have shorter hair."

He nodded and began. After dampening my hair with a small spray bottle, he silently cut off the majority of my ponytail, then moved around me with scissors and comb. I studied his reflection in the mirror as he worked; unable to get past the feeling that I had met this man before, I finally asked, "Have we met? I'm sure I've seen you at some point in the not-so-distant past."

Standing at the left armrest of the chair, he paused with scissors and comb at the ready and looked at my eyes. "I was in the Navy before the war – perhaps on a ship?" He resumed trimming my hair as I thought about what he'd revealed.

With a start, I realized where I'd first met him. "SSV Hong Kong, early 2180." His eyes widened slightly as I added, "You trimmed my Inamorata's hair while we were recovering from a batarian pirate attack in the Hades Gamma Cluster; you trimmed mine as well. You're Qian Long Xi!"

He had worked his way around to my right side as I was speaking; I stuck my hand out from beneath the drape as I said, "It's Samantha, Mr Qian … Samantha Traynor. I was still a student back then." He smiled as he hesitantly shook my hand; I added, "It's so good to know you survived the damned war! How long have you been ashore?"

His smile lessened as he told me, "I was transferred off the Hong Kong in late 2182. Lost a lot of my friends when Sovereign destroyed the ship the following year.

He released my hand and returned to his task as I quietly offered, "I am so sorry!"

He continued to speak while he worked. "With the exception of traveling between systems, I haven't been back in space since that time. Lived on Earth for a while, before relocating here just before the invasion. Fortunate move for me; the city where I lived was obliterated during the first hours of the Reaper's assault."

He used a brush and hair dryer to finish up; after using an old-fashioned hand mirror to allow a view of the back of my head, he removed the drape with a flourish and solemnly asked, "What of Yuán Xiùlán? Did she survive the war?"

I answered with a satisfied smile. "She did. As a matter of fact, she served on the Hong Kong II as XO to the captain, then made captain herself, January last year. Admiral Hackett gave command of the Hong Kong to her after moving her previous captain to the Normandy."

The man grinned as he replied, "Sounds like the Hong Kong is in good hands, Ms Traynor, but I would imagine you don't get to see each other very often."

My smile faded with my reply. "You would imagine correctly, Mr Qian; times we're able to spend together are few and far between." My slight smile slipped to a grim, straight line as I added, "Unfortunately, that situation is unlikely to change anytime soon. Xiùlán is fully committed to her life in the Navy." The sudden, deep purple glow of my omnitool's activation caused me to pause; I acknowledged the sender with a brief response as I moved towards the door.

Long Xi retrieved my duster from the coat rack, then slid it up my arms and helped settle the garment on my shoulders as he continued speaking. "That's quite a coincidence, Ms Traynor – Yuán Xiùlán, the captain of a namesake ship, when the three of us were thrown together on the original? What are the odds of such a thing?" I turned to face him as he inquired in a curious tone, "Does this new ship look like the original, or? …" he trailed off uncertainly.

"It's actually designed and constructed more along the lines of the Normandy SR-2. The Alliance gathered as much of the Hong Kong's wreckage as possible – recycled it for use in the construction of her replacement. There's even a memorial wall on the mid-deck – lists the names of everyone lost when the original ship was destroyed."

He nodded in understanding as he concluded, "I give thanks to my revered ancestors every day for watching over me, otherwise, I expect my own name would also be among those on that wall."

"No doubt." I reactivated my omnitool, only to pause. "How much do I owe you, Mr Qian?"

"Please … call me Long Xi. It was a pleasure to see you once again, Ms Traynor." He indicated the shop's 'menu' board on the wall beside the door. This listed the various services offered here and the charges for each; of some surprise, the charge for a woman's haircut was no more than that for a man's. I entered the amount on my omnitool, included a gratuity, and transferred it to the shop's account in Qian's name; this brought his omnitool to life as it recorded the transaction. "Thank you for coming in today, Ms Traynor. Please, come again."

I grinned with my reply. "Since my hair will continue to grow, I'm sure I'll have occasion to return to see you, Qian Long Xi. Thank you."

Once outside the shop, I contacted the woman that had just messaged me. "Spectre Shepard. Do you have a location in mind for lunch?"

The smile was apparent in her tone as she replied, "Small diner, called the Bluestone Grille." She sent the location to my omnitool.

I quickly looked around. After orienting myself with locations on the map display, I replied, "I'm actually not that far away; I can be there in less than ten minutes."

"Excellent. I'll be waiting inside."

• BLUESTONE GRILLE, DELTA WARD · CITADEL, WIDOW SYSTEM •

The diner Rachaél had chosen for our lunch was, quite literally, a hole in the wall. The entrance, flanked by tall, narrow windows, was virtually hidden between massive buildings on either side; the sign above the door, unsurprisingly painted a bright shade of blue, was rather small, and would have been easy to overlook unless one was really paying attention.

I looked around expectantly as I entered and closed the door behind me. The reason Shepard had chosen this place became abundantly clear when an asari, clad in a shimmering, golden hued gown, her pale blue face accented with several dark tattoos, walked up and surprised me with, "You must be Samantha Traynor. Spectre Shepard is waiting for you. Please, follow me."

I fell in behind her as she turned and made her way past a number of small tables to a small alcove midway along the left wall. Within was a narrow table clad in a blue-tinted white tablecloth, accented with gold embroidery along the outermost edge; Spectre Shepard, seated on one side, looked up when we approached. Extending her hand, she said, "Sammy! Thanks for joining me. I hate eating alone, and there are a couple of things I need to discuss with you." She raised her glass and looked to the hostess, saying, "May I have another, and bring one for my friend, please?"

The matron bowed slightly in assent, then wordlessly turned and left as I took a seat across from the Spectre, who immediately commented on my hair. "My gosh, Sammy. You look … well, simply stunning." Her face colored considerably at her admission; she attempted to cover for this by placing her glass to her lips and downing the rest of her beer in one go.

I could feel my own cheeks warming slightly; with the singular exception of Liara T'Soni, I had never known Rachaél Shepard to comment on anyone's appearance. "I just had my hair trimmed – a lot. Long hair was taking an increasing amount of time to manage, and having it tied at the base of my neck provided a convenient handle for an assailant to grab."

Shepard nodded in agreement. She started to speak, but remained silent as another asari, dressed in a medium-blue, long-sleeved blouse over a pair of dark trousers, brought the requested beers; she placed one in front of each of us, set a bowl of chips between us and asked, "Are you ready to order your meal, Spectre? … Ms Traynor?"

Rachaél nodded, ordering a salad with bits of broiled fish and sliced shaari mixed in, along with sliced uloth and bread. Bluestone Grille touted its fish and chips as a customer top-ten choice, making it an obvious choice for me. The fish was broiled Maanru, and the chips were made from sliced práta. The beer, brewed in Serrice, was the perfect complement to the food.

While we waited for our meals, Rachaél ate a couple of chips, then took a swallow from her glass. Skewering me with those sea-green eyes, she spoke quietly, without a hint of levity. "Sammy, I need to tell you something." She sighed heavily before continuing. "I've come to realize over the past year or so that I love you." Upon seeing my amazed expression, she quickly added, "I'm not in love with you. I love you as a sister, Samantha … my sister … as family. It's a feeling that's been growing stronger in me for a long time. Actually, ever since we first met."

She took a long pull from her glass; setting it back on the table, she used fingers and thumb to idly spin it around a bit as she continued. "There are a number of reasons I haven't told you this before, but I believe it's important that I do so now, so you'll understand what I'm about to tell you next."

I took a couple of swallows from my own glass; upon finding my voice again, I whispered in near disbelief, "That's probably the most surprising thing I've ever heard you say, Rachaél. Does Liara know about this?"

A lopsided grin preceded her quiet laugh. "It was Liara that insisted I tell you. You think that farewell kiss she laid on you at the end of one of your recent visits was just a casual goodbye? You're Ai'a me, Samantha! … loved by both of us; it's because of this, I … we! … have a request for you."

I looked up as the young waitress brought our lunches to the table. After setting the plates down, she asked, "Another beverage for either of you?"

Shepard said yes for both of us; when we were alone once more, I looked directly into the depths of a pair of stormy green eyes and asked with a slight grin, "So, this request … must be pretty serious. What is it?"

Rachaél dropped her gaze. After studying her salad for several very long moments, she lifted her head and looked directly at me. "Sammy, I'm asking you, as your friend … as your sister, to please stay completely on the sidelines for this business with Sutton." I was instantly ready to argue with her; she held up a hand before I could utter a word. "Samantha, please don't. You cannot realize how difficult this is for me. As your friend … as someone who loves you like family … someone that doesn't wish to see you injured or killed, I'm asking you to please! Stand down."

"But I can help you, Rachaél! You know how I was trained. You know what I've done. Please."

Shepard shook her head firmly. "Sammy, I don't want to make this official, but I will if necessary. I can invoke my authority as a Council Spectre and order you to stand down. Please! Don't make me do that. Don't you see, that you getting injured, or gods forbid, killed! … for a worthless Ardat like Garrett Sutton? … It would break my heart, not to mention Liara's?" Were there tears in her eyes? "And your former colleagues? Including Bill Cody? Probably each of them would be devastated! And what about Xiùlán? I have seen the depths of her devotion to you, Sammy!" Definitely tears. "I don't believe she could survive that kind of heartbreak."

She fell silent and began picking at her salad while I mulled over everything the woman had just told me. After several uncomfortable minutes while I quietly ate and drank, I blotted my lips with the napkin and looked up to find her studying me. "Rachaél. I must admit, I love you, and Liara, as if you both were my sisters. You're the family I never had, especially …" I could feel my throat constricting. "… especially after Mum and Pop went missing on Horizon." A swallow of beer helped. "So, as much as I want to, I promise I will not interfere in the upcoming op to take down Garrett Sutton. But Rachaél, I'm begging you. Don't allow him to escape from this station. If he gets off, I sincerely doubt even the Shadow Broker would be able to track him down. He must be captured, Spectre – alive, if possible, but, if you have to kill 'im, so be it."

The relief in her expression was obvious. "Thank you, Samantha. I realize it's a huge ask." She finished her beer, then asked, "What will you do while I'm busy arresting Sutton?"

I grinned cheekily. "I'll provide top-cover while observing from Iringù-Eßizkur, of course. And, if he does manage to get on board the Thermopylae, Irin can shut down everyone in the ship before they can depart." The lopsided grin slowly returned as I explained, "She can cause organics to lose consciousness, with no permanent physical harm."

She rose from the table to leave, prompting me to follow her example. "Let's hope it won't come to that, shall we? Thanks for having lunch with me, Sammy." She grabbed me around the waist and hugged me tightly. "I'll contact you later," she whispered in my ear. This was followed by a kiss on my cheek, whereupon she released me, then turned and started walking for the door. "The bill has already been taken care of," she said over her shoulder, and was gone.

On my return trip to Irin, I stopped long enough to buy some groceries – staples, that would keep me from starving anytime soon. While it was true that Iringù-Eßizkur could provide me with food and water, the food was the Repository equivalent of Alliance bat-rats – not good as a steady diet.

After transferring everything into my pantry, refrigerator and freezer, I resumed my research into possible escape avenues for Garrett Sutton. Even though I had spent a lot of time looking at the data, I wasn't about to leave any stone unturned. Buchanan would have accused me of being obsessed. Perhaps I am. Still, having an obsession about critical data had always served me well in the past – I didn't intend to allow any lack of preparation on my part to contribute to Sutton's escape from justice.

I had seemingly just begun my renewed search for undiscovered escape avenues when the melodic voice of Iringù-Eßizkur grabbed my attention. ›Thermopylae just contacted Central Traffic Control, requesting permission to dock at a berth reserved for the human diplomatic delegation.‹

"Berth number?" I asked.

›Echo-seven-tango, Friend-Samantha,‹ came the slightly puzzled reply.

I chuckled. "It's a standard military designation, stated phonetically – berth E-7-T. The Alliance uses it in voice radio comms to avoid confusion and errors. Central Traffic Control is staffed with a mixture of turians and humans, which actually seems logical, since the Citadel Fleet is composed of turian and human vessels. Commercial traffic is handled in a similar manner." I allowed my smile to color my voice as I concluded, "That designation actually means something else, Irin. The first letter? The E refers to a position on the Presidium adjacent to the fifth ward – Echo Ward."

›Should I reposition in order to be closer to that berth?‹

After pondering her question for a few moments, I replied, "No. As much as I want to, I promised Spectre Shepard I would remain clear of her operation. I do need you to move, but I'd like you to float above the docks, just high enough to avoid notice, Irin. Your ability to incapacitate the organics on board might be exactly the edge the Spectre needs, should Sutton make it to the ship."

• PRESIDIUM, ABOVE BERTH E-7-T · CITADEL, WIDOW SYSTEM •

Iringù-Eßizkur had launched, and was now floating above the kinetic barrier dividing the commercial berths from the human diplomatic and military docks. From this vantage point, I could easily observe the tunnel exit I'd targeted as the most likely escape route for Garrett Sutton. I watched Thermopylae slide into her temporary berth; since only two of the six available docking clamps were activated, I expected her captain was planning to only remain for a short amount of time.

Of interest to me, the area around both sides of the barrier was a virtual maze of cargo containers; with the exception of the 15-meter buffer zones running parallel to, and on each side of the barrier, shipping containers were placed in a somewhat haphazard manner everywhere around the numerous berths used by heavy cargo vessels. Before having lunch with the Spectre, my original plan had been to get ahead of Sutton before he could reach the frigate. To this end, I had taken time to plot the current location of all the containers—along with the clearly delineated pathways running among the containers—sitting between Thermopylae's berth and the entry gate from the commercial docks.

After a few hours of sitting in front of my terminal, I got up, stretched out the kinks in my back, then heated a bit of food for dinner. While sitting at the small table to eat, I gradually became aware of just how deathly quiet the habitat area inside this former Reaper actually was, and I recalled telling Xiùlán I wouldn't be able to retain my sanity without someone to accompany me. The silence became so oppressive, I finally spoke up. "Iringù-Eßizkur. Please, talk to me." Hearing her quiet response calmed me immediately.

›What subject would you like to discuss, Friend-Samantha?‹

"Irin, you may not fully understand what I'm about to tell you, but …" I paused to gather my thoughts, unsure of how to tell this living construct what I needed. "Irin, I need a companion … someone to share my journey."

›Am I not a companion?‹

Her question was a bit perplexing. After thinking about it for a few moments, I replied, "Yes, you are a companion, Irin—in a manner of speaking—but you're not organic."

The tone of her response suggested hurt feelings, if that was even possible. ›You state the obvious, Friend-Samantha. I totally accept that I am incapable of being Yuán Xiùlán-Captain, if it is she to whom you are referring. Do you require another human to share this space with you?‹

Her question surprised me. After thinking it over, I replied, "I'm not really sure what I need, Irin. It's just that … I've been around other people my entire life, and not just humans. Sitting here eating by myself, I've become increasingly aware of just how quiet it really is in this habitat area. In a frigate like the Normandy, or the Hong Kong, one is always aware of the ship's operating machinery – and the crew members going about their jobs. It's never totally silent, like …" I raised my hands to indicate the space around me, " … it is inside your habitat area. I just realized how totally isolated I have become, Irin, and it's definitely not a pleasant feeling."

Admitting to this construct, an artificial intelligence, how utterly alone I actually felt brought tears to my eyes. After Shepard's admission earlier at lunch, I realized there really was no one to whom I could turn for help should things go completely sideways for me. My Qíngrén was captain of a Navy frigate; her duties would prevent her from being able to quickly respond.

It was her position as an Alliance Naval officer that had dictated that I turn my back on my friends on Ahn'Kahar Station. Mum and Pop had disappeared during the Collector attack on the Horizon colony; both were presumed to have been taken by the miserable creatures. I set my back against the doorway bulkhead and attempted to get my racing thoughts under control.

›Samantha! SAMANTHA!‹ Irin's extra volume cry finally registered. ›I am with you, Friend-Samantha. You are not alone here within my structure. You have a safe haven here.‹

Using the backs of my hands, I roughly wiped the tears away, pushed off from the bulkhead and strode back to the kitchen area; my comm unit trilled as I was clearing the table. It was Shepard.

"Hey, Traynor. I've met with Dokken. He and his companions are standing by in the likeliest tunnel entrances; I'm on my way to Sutton's office to take him into custody."

"About ninety minutes ago, SSV Thermopylae slid into diplomatic berth Echo-Seven-Tango," I responded, "and looks ready to initiate a rapid departure. There's a Keeper tunnel exit on the commercial side of the barrier; Iringù-Eßizkur is floating above that exit and the barrier pass-through gate. My guess is if Sutton manages to elude you or Dokken's team, he'll attempt to get to that frigate once he surfaces."

"How far does he have to run from there in order to enter the diplomatic docks?"

"From the exit I'm monitoring, about half a klick. The entire area is heavily shadowed, and there are numerous crates on both sides he can use for cover. Fortunately, he cannot elude Irin's sensors."

She chuckled as she replied, "Okay, Sammy. I'll contact you shortly."

"Sounds good." I broke the connection and thought about what I needed to do. If Sutton does elude Shepard, I need to be monitoring that hatch when he emerges from the tunnel. Best make ready.

As I was still wearing my armor, I rechecked the silenced heavy pistol I'd docked on its hip-side hardpoint; I added a very special shotgun—an asari-manufactured Disciple—to the hardpoint on my backplate. Along with the Liuyè dāo, its curved hilt protruding above my right shoulder, and calf-mounted Húdié dāo, I was very well-armed; after ensuring my combination cloaking/shield generator and my mass-reduction generator were both fully charged and correctly clipped to their respective hardpoints on my chestplate and backplate, I tested their reaction to mental commands through my omnitool. It was gratifying to see each instantly respond, energizing as required. I'm all dressed for a party I've been asked to avoid, I thought. Don't even have a date.

• CDR SUTTON'S OFFICE, HUMAN EMBASSIES · PRESIDIUM, CITADEL •

Lieutenant Declan Powell looked up as the entrance door parted in the middle and slid into the bulkheads on either side of the wide opening; of some surprise, a woman with a decidedly military bearing entered and marched in to stand at his desk. Her serious expression did nothing to hide her attractiveness; glacial-green eyes, set in a face graced with high cheekbones under fair, freckle-sprinkled skin, gazed at him from under an unruly thatch of medium length, auburn colored hair. She was wearing a full suit of armor, emblazoned with only the Council Spectre symbol on her shoulder pauldrons, and a small N7 emblem that was etched into the sleek surface on the right side of her chest plate. "What may I do for you, Ms? …"

"Name is Shepard … Spectre Rachaél Shepard. I'm here for Commander Garrett Sutton."

Powell had touched a hidden trigger the moment this woman had entered; he tried to speak over the faint noises he could detect coming from his commander's office. "You need an appointment to see the commander, Spectre Shepard. I'm afraid you'll have to …" His words trailed off as the woman moved past the end of his desk; he tried to get out of his chair to step in front of her, but was pushed back down – hard, into his chair.

"Remain seated, Lieutenant," she growled down at him. "You don't have the authority to interfere in Spectre business." Rachaél paused in front of the door to Sutton's office just long enough to slam her gauntleted fists, aglow with biotics, against the seemingly unyielding surface, which fractured and exploded inwards. Stepping into Sutton's office, she quickly scanned the empty office suite before zeroing in on a barely concealed panel in the rearmost wall.

The Spectre opened her comms and alerted Dokken's team to be on the lookout for a runner; after over-riding and shutting down Sutton's terminal, which looked to be purging files, she contacted Sammy. "Traynor, I'm standing in an empty office looking at a freshly opened rabbit hole. Looks like he's headed for the docks." She listened for a couple of moments, then chuckled lightly as she cut the connection, turned, and retraced her steps into the outer office.

Pulling out a set of wrist binders, she motioned to Powell. "On your feet, Lieutenant. You're coming with me." Before he could voice a protest, she grabbed the back of his shirt collar and roughly pulled him up and out of the chair. After swiftly clamping his wrists together behind his back, she said, "You're being detained for conspiracy to murder an Alliance general, and for interfering in the lawful business of a Council Spectre." With a strong hand gripping his shoulder, she shoved him into the passageway, sealed the access hatch behind them and applied a special encryption to the lock to prevent anyone else from entering until she released it.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked in a quavering voice.

Her reply was delivered with a humorless smirk. "The C-Sec detention block."

This surprised him. "You're not turning me over to the Alliance?"

With Shepard behind him, guiding him through the Presidium, he couldn't see her shake her head from side to side; her negative tone was actually all he needed to hear. "C-Sec won't release you until I return. For your sake, I hope their officers don't know you. Turians aren't especially forgiving of disloyalty, especially in a human. You do realize you were working for a rabid Xenophobe, don't you?"

• PRESIDIUM, ABOVE BERTH E-7-T · CITADEL, WIDOW SYSTEM •

"Traynor, I'm standing in an empty office looking at a freshly opened rabbit hole. Looks like he's heading for the docks."

"I'm waiting, Spectre. I really hope you can get there before he manages to get onboard the Thermopylae." Rachaél chuckled softly in reply as she cut the connection.

I was using Iringù-Eßizkur's infrared scanners to monitor the exit hatch and the yard on both sides of the kinetic barrier. Of course, the tunnel he had entered could have an exit on the Alliance side of the barrier enclosing that section of the port. If that was the case, the exit was one I had failed to discover. No! Don't begin second-guessing yourself this late in the game, Sammy.

As a precaution, I said, "Irin, search for any sudden movement within a hundred meters around the Thermopylae. He might have an exit closer to that ship than the one we're watching."

I continued to wait as I watched, confident that Iringù-Eßizkur would pinpoint Sutton if he emerged from a passageway closer to the frigate. I almost prompted her for an update when she softly spoke though our comms. ›There is movement at the ship, Samantha. Marines … seven in number, deploying from the hanger ramp.‹ She paused, then, ›They are moving towards the barrier gate.‹

"Standby, Irin." I was hoping the Repository's form could not be detected against the dusky sky when I thought I saw movement at the hatch. I looked away, then back; the hatch was most definitely sliding into its recess, revealing a figure standing within. The person hesitated to step out of the tunnel, with good cause. My research had revealed most of these external hatches could not be opened from the outside, even if one knew where to look for the nearly non-existent seam.

I activated my comm unit and spoke quietly. "Spectre Shepard, I have contact. Sutton is leaving the tunnel and moving towards the barrier opening. A Marine contingent just deployed from the frigate; looks like they've been sent to escort him to the ship." As I watched, the figure advanced far enough out of the tunnel's embrace that the hatch slid back across the opening to reseal the passageway. The man—who I could now positively identify as Garrett Sutton—embraced the shadows as he advanced purposefully towards the access gate.

Shepard's voice sounded softly in my ear. "Do you have a visual on him, Sammy?"

"I do. You want me to allow him to reach the Thermopylae?"

After a few moments, she responded. "If he gets that far, that's an affirmative, Sammy. If need be, you and Iringù-Eßizkur can track that ship anywhere it goes." She paused briefly – she had left the transmit circuit open; her increased breathing rate told me she was jogging through the yard, occasionally breaking into a full-on sprint. "I should be at the gate in less than a minute."

I acknowledged her directives – reluctantly. Permitting Sutton to reach the Thermopylae, with all the evidence uncovered of his collusion with Cerberus, of the murders and attempted murders in which he was complicit, just didn't sit right with me. I wanted to be down there waiting for him.

I widened the scope of the area I was monitoring. Once I had picked out Shepard's form moving rapidly towards the gate, I could readily see Sutton might reach that gate before she could get there. Deciding to tip the scales a bit more in her favor, I spoke into my comlink. "Spectre! You need to get to that gate! Charge! Now!"

I watched in utter fascination as she paused for a moment, and then … vanished, reappearing nearly instantaneously in front of Sutton just before he got to the gate. She had left her suit mic open, thus allowing me to hear the grunt she made as she connected rather forcefully with Sutton's body. The Marines, still on their side of the kinetic barrier, halted in their tracks. They were more than aware they couldn't interfere in Spectre business, especially if it was on the civilian side of the barrier.

I watched as the Spectre pulled Sutton—who was fortunate Rachaél hadn't followed through with the butt of her shotgun in his face, or a load of alloy pellets in his chest—back to his feet. She whispered, "Got him, Sammy. Thanks for the assist."

Continuing to observe events playing out below me proved to be a bit anticlimactic. Rachaél clamping a pair of binders on his wrists elicited a litany of complaints about false arrest and innocence and his rights – all of it filtering faintly through Shepard's open comlink. This brought a smile to my face as she commented, "He seems to think this is all some sort of huge misunderstanding, Sammy. He actually believed he was gonna fly outta here tonight."

"Thank you, Rachaél. I was afraid I'd have to track that frigate to 'ell and back." She chuckled in response as she started quick-marching him back to the Presidium, where he'd be spending some time in a C-Sec detention block, before being turned over to Alliance Naval Security. I was actually looking forward to hearing Westerlund News daily reports on the progress of his trial.

Rising from my couch, I moved into the kitchen as I addressed my constant companion. "I think the excitement is done for the evening, Irin. Head back up to a standard parking orbit. I'm gonna have a beer … then go to bed."

›As you wish, Friend-Samantha. Rest well, secure in the knowledge I will be watching over you.‹