Notice: This is part of the update meant here to fold chapters from the sequel into a single story here.

I wish there was a way to go about this discreetly and then write a note at the beginning of the next new chapter for you to read, but regrettably, there is not. Please excuse the brazenness.

Nos Astra — Illium

"What a beautiful piece of work," T'Perro muttered. The parking lot of the Dantius towers construction site was cordoned off. A score of officers and half as many patrol cars crowded the place.

"Whatever happened here, the mechs pulled no punches," Bau noted. Walls, columns, and machines bore the impact marks of gunfire. One of the two trucks parked there was nothing but a burned-out wreck.

The asari Spectre looked behind her shoulder. Six mean-looking police officers surrounded the owner of the building, who alternated between indignant rants and halting explanations as the officers interrogated her.

"I did some looking up," Nihlus told his colleagues. "This Nassana Dantius is not winning any prizes for social responsibility. Short of slavery, she's guilty of breaking every worker reg there is on Illium." Not that it means much here. "There's also been a lot of complaints about her security mechs disturbing the surrounding traffic."

"Well, if what I see here is proof, that's not something you're going to fix with a citation," Bau quipped wryly.

Karin Chakwas, Anika Ziegler, and Shilu'Vael approached. "We've been through the police report and double-checked it," the gray-haired doctor said. "Three sets of hematic traces: one belonging to an injured officer, another to a male salarian who worked here, and the last one is a match for Liara."

"Nothing on where could she be?" T'Perro asked.

"Sadly, no." The quarian cyborg shook her head. "The local security grid was wiped thoroughly. Everything works, except that nothing is being recorded."

Agleia, Shilu'Vael's own grafted AI, spoke out then: "If I may be permitted to add, whoever did it left no loose ends. It was a professional-quality piece of hacking work, on the level of an intelligence agency."

"Or Sombra's?" Bau inquired.

"We wouldn't rule it out," Agleia answered. "She leaves no traces either, but I advise not to read too much on this. Liara is relevant to many people."

T'Perro nodded coldly. She was angry. "We're still running catch-up," she grumbled. "Stuff is happening everywhere and we're always late to the scene."

Nihlus did not bother with saying that they had made record time from the Deliverance to Illium. He could not refute her point.

Javik and his batarian henchman Orbak were also there. The commander of the Compact was not talking to anyone, and Orbak rebuffed attempts to approach him; instead, the prothean was examining the scene with his own hands, in the same way his agents had just done. His ability to read more into things than others had revealed some details unknown to the police on the scene but also opened a lot more questions.

He was also angry but in a different fashion. Bodyguarding lazy civilians is not our job, he had first thought upon hearing about the attack on T'Soni. But it was not entirely correct and he knew it. T'Soni had been critical to defeating Sovereign, and Saren's murky network of contacts and assets had never been fully mapped out. In his opinion, what had just happened was that a dormant asset of the rogue Spectre had been reactivated and used by someone else.

By whom?

"You mentioned a car crash," he heard Nihlus ask a detective. The tag on her chest read 'Anaya'.

"Yes. Some shooters aboard a rented car waylaid officer Dara and T'Soni. Dara said T'Soni fired back with this." Anaya hefted an evidence bag containing an M-11 Suppressor pistol.

Bau stared at the gun. "That's Alliance hardware."

"The first time we see it here," Anaya noted. "We've already analyzed it. It's not digitally signed, so we surmise it's an illegal copy, unusual as it may seem. It fired twenty-one rounds in total today. Two sets of prints, one belonging to T'Soni, another to the turian who attacked her on her flat. We haven't identified the turian yet." She hefted another bag, this one containing a Tempest sub-machine gun. "This is Dara's standard issue gun. Both she and T'Soni fired it." She looked oddly at the Spectres. "I understood she had the most superficial combat training."

"That's correct," Nihlus confirmed. "Why?"

A snort. "Then the Goddess Herself guided her shots today. The driver of the merc car was shot right between the eyes with the pistol. Our forensics expert determined T'Soni fired that round from the rear seat of her rental car at a distance of ninety-six meters. After that, this gun disabled a YMIR mech with two well-placed shots. Two ridiculously well-placed shots. That's the kind of accuracy you get with fire control systems or smart ammunition, or the sort of marksmanship you see in movies. Or if you've gotten genetic boosts — extremely rare and tightly controlled ones, you know, the stuff reserved for elite huntress cadres, or you Spectres, or even one of your adjutants", she pointed out. "But we haven't found a trace of any of that. And I haven't gotten that kind of boost for sure. None of my fellow officers here have them either. At least none that I know of, and I had that checked out just in case."

Javik had overheard the exchange without comment, but now he stepped in. "We require the weapons and samples you have collected for tests." Orbak stepped forward to collect the evidence bags.

Anaya felt a surge of indignation at his brazenness. She glanced briefly at the Spectres, and was extremely surprised by their reaction: instead of pulling rank on her or objecting to the prothean's confiscation, they looked away — Bau and Nihlus in bitter resignation, T'Perro equally indignant but clearly unable to do anything about it. The police officer bowed to the inevitable and surrendered the bags. "As you say."

The prothean nodded perfunctorily. "You have my thanks. Whatever findings that need not be classified will be forwarded to your office."

Along with Chakwas and Shilu'Vael, Anika Ziegler had witnessed the exchange from a few steps away. And it had sent her mind on overdrive. Unbidden, it had strung together a sequence of events, which she was trying to disprove or disbelieve. Unsuccessfully at that.

She could not be the only one to recall that one defining trait of Shepard's had been her mastery of sidearms, a skill honed through hours upon hours on the firing range and further enhanced by the panoply of boosts and upgrades a soldier of her rank and experience mandatorily underwent. Details Anaya had cited almost word by word.

Mei had also told her how, as the first Compact base at Erinyes station came apart under Sovereign's and Reaper's onslaught, she had witnessed Gabriel Reyes handing Shepard a lump of his own substance. Both Shepard and Reyes had been presumed lost then, only to miraculously reappear at the prothean ruins of Ilos. Anika could not be the only one to recall that either.

And something she was certain that had escaped no one was how the meek T'Soni had been Shepard's paramour.

And now T'Soni had displayed Shepard's own skill and relentlessness in battle.

Fact one, fact two, fact three, fact four.

Ist denn das die Möglichkeit…

Chakwas noticed how Anika had paled. "Is there something wrong, dear?"

Mercy, the AI molded after Ziegler's late mother, replied in her stead. "Anika just had an idea."

Javik had something else in mind. This was an unexpected interference. His judgment counseled leaving this incident into someone else's hands while he brought forward his plans, but doing that without unmasking the forces behind the attack on T'Soni would further alienate a significant part of the Compact against him — and, far more importantly, it could expose them to further hostile acts he had little chance of anticipating.

He turned, thus, towards Anaya. "We need to inspect T'Soni's living quarters."

Minuteman station — Horse Head nebula

"Ah, we meet again."

The young asari recognized the spindly shape before seeing her face. "Moira O'Deorain."

"Your memory is as sharp as ever." A smile.

For some reason, Liara found it chilling. "Your team took great pains to get me here. Why?"

"You left behind quite the trail of wreckage in your escape attempt. We did some checking up: that turian in your flat was an experienced gun for hire with a mixed story of contracting out to both the Blue Suns and Eclipse mercenaries. So were those in the car you wrecked by shooting the driver." The mismatched eyes scrutinized her. "I'll quote the detective in charge of the scene: the driver was shot right between the eyes, once. How good a shot are you, doctor?"

"Firearms aren't my—um, my strong suit," she stammered. "Why?" she repeated.

Moira handed her a cup. The contents were warm and smelled slightly bitter. It seemed ages had passed since Liara had last smelled coffee. "I understand you were depressed and you just went through some very stressful moments. I guess that's why you're not making the connection."

The young asari frowned as she sipped the cup. "I don't see it. Why my shooting skills—"

"Our common acquaintance was an expert pistol shot even without any enhancements or boosts. It was seen as quaint by her peers and superiors, but it served you in good stead."

Me? Only then understanding flashed in her mind. She herself had used that Suppressor pistol way better than a rookie could ever have. Her immediate assessment had been that…

That wasn't me. That was what Shepard would have done…

It served me in good stead…

"Are you implying Shepard did something to me?"

"She most definitely did something to you. What I still ignore is the exact nature of it."

Liara glared at her. "You can't have had me brought here just because I might have some enhancement."

"No." Moira's piercing gaze became almost burning in its intensity. "I believe you might be holding the key for a project that's had me stumped for a while."

O'Deorain turned on her heel and walked into the adjoining room. Liara followed, half-expecting to find vats filled with strange liquids and other arcane instruments, but instead, a desktop computer terminal, an empty work table, and some small metal boxes were all there was.

"How did you like the coffee?" Moira asked casually.

"I can't—couldn't say—I mostly drink tea myself…" She put down the empty cup next to the computer terminal. Moira immediately picked it up and held her omni-tool over it. Liara's brow knotted, then anger flashed in her eyes: "You tricked me. You needed my DNA to do something!"

"Hmmm… well, yes, but…" She frowned slightly and tapped a few commands on the desktop terminal.

The young asari was furious. "Look at me when I'm—I'm talking to you here!" she demanded.

"I have a better idea. Look." Moira stepped aside and gestured at the screen.

"I won't." Liara was too soft and mellow to curse properly and she lacked the proper vocabulary, but, if those kinks were ironed out, one of her words of choice for this moment would have had four letters.

"Don't be childish. Look!" she insisted, and almost shoved her towards the screen. T'Soni opened her mouth to spout whatever angry invective she could come up with, but then scientific curiosity took the helm, and her sharp gaze assimilated the contents on display there.

"There's something… in my blood?!"

Realization struck her an instant after uttering those words.

And then, finally, the cogs started turning. Anxiety and longing almost overwhelmed her.

"And you need it to… to…"

She took a deep breath.

"You want to bring Shepard back."

Moira rolled her eyes. "All that time spent wallowing in depression has really dulled your edge. Yes, I want to bring the good colonel back. I thought I had all the pieces… but it turns out I didn't," she corrected herself. "If these readings are correct… not only did she imbue you with reflexes enough to see you through any danger, but she also left a key part of her on you. With several fail safes and safety locks built-in."

Liara had indeed been dulled by those months spent in mourning, and her heart was racing wildly at the prospect of seeing her paramour again, but right now her thought processes blazed with unreal clarity. "And those safeties can only be overridden by me."

Her human—no, her nanite collective counterpart looked intently into her eyes. She arched her eyebrows next. "How peculiar. I thought you would jump at the chance."

"Don't lie to me. You knew I would hesitate." And Liara's mind was quickly shedding all the rust and grime clogging its cogs.

"And you believe you have good reason to doubt me."

"Nothing you've done so far invites to believe you're trustworthy." The young asari's glare now matched Moira's in coldness and dispassion. "What do you want her for?"

Both scientists stared at each other in silence for a few moments. Then Moira arched an eyebrow. "Name one other individual in this galaxy who commands respect among every major faction."

Liara's face twisted in disbelief. "I'd believe it more if Sombra had that kind of initiative."

O'Deorain let out a spirited laugh. "That's a callous comparison, even if correct." She continued with an amused smirk on her lips: "Javik is about to start an initiative in search of the answers that eluded his kind the last time the Reapers invaded. Cerberus managed to obtain a dossier he provided the Spectres on this matter: five hundred and ninety-one locations suspected to harbor Inusannon ruins.

"Now consider our prothean. He distrusts the Spectres, hates the Alliance for their use of AI, and is neglecting the Compact in favor of handpicking people in person for an armed force that answers solely to him. What do you think he'll do if he finds the answers he's looking for?"

"And Shepard would give that knowledge to you instead?" Liara was not swayed. "She would argue you hardly are a better recipient for that information than he is."

"She would, indeed," Moira allowed with a smug grin, "but she would also work with someone she doesn't quite stomach. She teamed up with Reyes of all people. And on top of that, we have cooperated once already. She'd say it's better to deal with the devil you know."

Point taken… the young T'Soni closed her eyes and rubbed her temples and face. Moira's expression fit her conundrum perfectly: it was a deal with the devil that she was being offered.

She struggled mightily to control her feelings. However much she missed Shepard, she was achingly aware of the stakes in play right now.

In her gut, she felt it was equally mad to trust O'Deorain or to refuse her proposal. She would not trust the former Blackwatch researcher with anything more delicate than… than… Goddess, I can't even think straight!

"So those are your terms?" she asked as she tried to organize her thoughts. "I can't help but find them inadequate in exchange for performing the feat of resurrecting someone."

Moira's grin grew wider and even smugger. "Information is power, doctor."

Liara was being outmaneuvered and she knew it.

Shepard would spit on my face if I brought her back as someone's puppet.

That thought brought some clarity to her mind. Her eyes bore into Moira's. "I'd think this was insane if it came out of anyone else's mouth. But both Reyes and Sombra warned Shepard to be wary of you. I'm not a specialist in nanotechnology like Anika, so I don't have a clue of how you are planning to bring back Shepard. And I won't be able to tell if you seize the opportunity to control her somehow."

The smugness vanished from her counterpart's face. They again looked at each other in silence, then intrigue first and disappointment next flickered in Moira's eyes. She sat down in front of the computer terminal, and asked tiredly: "What can I do to prove I'm worthy of your trust in this matter?"

Omega

The burly krogan bouncer gestured at Garrus Vakarian to come in. The turian then walked past the gate and into the entrance hallway proper to the Afterlife pub. The seedy Chora's Den was a far cry from this place, but also probably nowhere nearly as dangerous as here. Everyone in view was armed, more often than not with pieces that would earn a body prison time if she carried them around openly on the Citadel.

As he walked into the huge amphitheater-shaped hall, a few heads turned to look at him. Some eyes lingered a moment too long on him. He stifled a sigh: he did not want to be recognized. Oh well. There was nothing to do about it now.

Other than getting out of sight as quickly as possible, that was. And the person with whom his father had arranged this reunion had been mindful of that: the meeting place was not this immense hall where asari dancers flew around their poles to the delight of patrons, but a discrete table set on a box next to a passageway linking this hall with its twin.

His host was nursing a drink when he arrived and perked up upon noticing him. "I thought you would not come."

Garrus did the turian equivalent of a frown as he recognized him. That was Tiran Kandros, a covert operations specialist that had earned some notoriety as a team leader of Sagirus Eight — the counterterrorism branch of the Hierarchy. "I don't see why. My word has value." After taking his seat across the table, he added: "Whose toes did I step on for you to come looking for me?"

Kandros allowed himself a brief smile. "I was told all the time working with Alliance agents had left its mark on you. They weren't lying."

Garrus could not decide whether the comment was sympathetic or demeaning. He decided to err on the side of caution. "It isn't reasonable to expect any different." He looked into the eyes of his counterpart. "If you're here because my father contacted you, you must know what I'm after."

To his relief, Kandros nodded gravely. "Yes. A lot of people were upset by your departure from the Compact."

Vakarian snorted. "If that didn't jolt them into action, then that serves them just right." He gave Kandros a stony glare. "After the Citadel, I heard a lot of people speaking nice and promising things but little in the way of concrete support. So I'll be blunt here. The Reapers are coming. What can you do to help?"

Again a nod. "I understand your frustration. For the record, Sagirus Eight agrees with your assessment — though we have not succeeded at convincing the decision makers of this. Honestly we hope the latest news will compel them to act: there are signs of troubling activity on the Terminus systems. The epicenter seems to be the Omega 4 relay."

Excerpts from reports read long ago flashed in Vakarian's mind. One of the first things he had done after becoming Nihlus' adjutant in the Spectres had been to use his newly granted clearances to sift through the oceans of data that had been made available to him. Dormant relays were spread across the galaxy, gateways whose destinations they could only guess. Omega 4 was not dormant, though it was equally mysterious —and sinister— for another reason: no ship entering Omega 4 had returned, ever.

Why didn't I think of this, he realized in a moment of bright clarity. Sovereign had been defeated —narrowly— in the battle of the Citadel, but one stridently troubling concern was one other Reaper whose existence they had managed to ascertain — one that had lain dormant buried under the surface of Pokhara, the world contested during the First Contact War, before being released by Sovereign. Or salvaged. They had yet to catch even a glimpse of it.

The other side of a relay accessible to nobody else is the ideal place for a Reaper to hide.

He temporized. "I heard some disconnected rumors, but nothing concrete."

"Two human colonies have vanished: Ferris Fields and Minamo. Ships are disappearing, or they are being found empty and drifting in space. Piracy and smuggling are down… crews are starting to get reluctant to go on raids. I hear even Aria here is worried." Kandros looked straight at Garrus. "We can't say for sure this is linked to the Reapers, but with so many unexplained things going on just after the battle of the Citadel… if you want help against the Reapers, work with us. Help us make sense of this. Nothing indicates this could spill out of the Terminus worlds and into Citadel space, but we can't ignore the possibility."

Vakarian needed just a moment's thought. Two whole colonies gone — 'vanished' had been the word. Anderson and his crew must be going mad.

He did not hesitate. "How can I help?"

Kandros reached into his satchel for a tablet computer, tapped a few commands on his omni-tool first and on the computer next, then handed the tablet over to Garrus. "A source of ours got word from a quarian on his pilgrimage. He claimed to have seen a vessel just like Sovereign but in a severe state of disrepair. We're looking for him."

That got an immediate reaction on Garrus' part. "You could have started from there." He scanned the file, only to utter a grunt. "You know, a few years back, I'd have written this quarian off. Wanting to befriend the geth…"

"I thought the same. But then the Shambali led an expedition into the Perseus Veil and came back bearing words of peace, so…"

"Maybe he was not all that wrong." He continued reading as his mind recalled the exchanges he had had with Tekhartha Zenyatta. This Shio'Leth vas Novarra would have jumped at the chance to have a talk with this robot… and who's not to say he did? "And… maybe I can think of something."

Author's note: My thanks to brokenLifeCycle for the insights and the comments.