Editorial Note: In this personnel report, Shepard examines his relationship with Samara, the insights he gains into justicars and asari culture, and a heartbreakingly personal mission.

Personnel Report—Samara

Some people have compared Spectres to justicars. I guess it's because both are regarded as symbols or examples for others to follow. Personally, I've never really bought that. From my admittedly limited experience, we're not so much a representation of ideals as we are the first and last line of defence. We don't really stand as an exemplar for any one race as much as we stand as a bastion against anything and everything that threatens galactic stability. If that means those lofty ideals get tossed out the window, so be it—so long as TPTB don't hear too many details. From what Samara was showing me, though, justicars were an entirely different breed. Unlike Spectres, justicars were bound by their Code, which laid out how they were expected to conduct themselves in exhausting detail. Very black and white, with little room for interpretation.

In some ways, that made her an invaluable member of the squad. Her biotic and combat skills were top-notch and she had seen more decades of combat than the rest of us combined. Heck, she'd lived longer than the rest of us combined. Not to mention what a relief it was to have someone wouldn't go off on a rampage or vendetta at a moment's notice. Still, she wasn't the easiest person to know. Despite her politeness and unfailing courtesy, there was no denying the fact that she lived in her own bubble of right and wrong, which made it a bit difficult to connect with her. (1)

So I was a bit surprised when Kelly told me that Samara wanted to chat. I couldn't help but review all the missions we'd faced on the way to Starboard Observation, like a kid who's been hauled to the principal's office. Had I swiped one too many items? Had the Code deemed my handling of some random crook or merc too lax? Not that I broke out a sweat sifting through all those memories. I'm a man, after all, and we don't sweat. We glow.

As usual, Samara was meditating, drawing peace from the stars outside the window and the ball of biotic energy pulsing between her hands. "I am glad I joined your team," she said when I entered the room. "It has been too long since I traveled with companions."

Oh goodie. There was a chance I wouldn't get my brains smeared across the wall after all.

"When the time comes, I will do whatever is necessary."

"Good to know," I replied. "You're an important part of this crew, Samara."

"It is my honour," she returned. "However, there is a matter I need to discuss." The biotic sphere between her hands waned and flickered out, as did the biotic field coursing over her body. She stood up and walked towards the window, staring out into space. "When we met on Illium," she said at last, "I told you about a very dangerous person I was pursuing. Using the information you obtained, I have located her. She's been going by the name 'Morinth.' I would like to apprehend her before she disappears again."

Here we go again. Though I had to admit her request made sense—by the time my mission was complete, this Morinth could be long gone. Assuming that Samara survived to continue her hunt, of course. Not that I said that, of course. "Where is she?"

"Omega. A night club called Afterlife—which seems a perfect place for her to hunt."

Ah, yes. Afterlife. That happy place where you could lose your hearing, your liver and your life—not necessarily in that order. "You mentioned that you've been tracking this Morinth for a while," I recalled. "How important is this?"

"Killing her has been my focus for 400 years," Samara said. "It is the most important thing in my life and the reason I became a justicar."

So, pretty important. "Tell me about her," I prompted.

"She is an Ardat-Yakshi. It is a term from a dead asari dialect. It means 'demon of the night winds.'"

"Charming."

"But that is merely mythology," Samara continued. "She is simply a very dangerous woman who kills without mercy."

"So an Ardat-Yakshi is a special kind of murderer?" I asked.

Samara shook her head. "Morinth suffers from a rare genetic disorder. When she mates with you, there is no gentle melding of nervous systems. She overpowers your own, burns it out and hemorrhages your brain. You end up a mindless shell and, soon after, you are dead."

So not so much a serial killer as she was the asari version of a vampire or succubus. Sadly, I can think of several people who wouldn't mind going out that way. "I haven't exactly made a study of this, but it doesn't seem like they're mentioned much in asari literature or art."

"When we were primitive, there was much fascination with Ardat-Yakshi. Some cultures worshipped them as gods of destruction. Now the asari have a place in the galaxy. They don't wish this defect to be widely known."

Yeah, there were enough people of various races who thought the asari were so wise, so graceful, so perfect. I could see how they'd want to hide that little skeleton in the proverbial closet.

"As far as I know, only three exist today. Two chose a life of seclusion. The third ran."

"Morinth."

"Precisely. She ran and I am sworn to kill her."

"Couldn't you just apprehend her and take her back to join the other Ardat-Yakshi?" I suggested.

"It is too late for that," Samara replied, shaking her head. "When she fled, she proved her addiction. She was not taking a great moral stand—she simply wants to keep killing. She is a tragic figure, but not a sympathetic one."

"'She wants to keep killing,'" I repeated. "Does that have anything to do with her... unique way of melding?"

"It does," Samara nodded. "She confuses her victims, twists their feelings. They will do anything for her favour. Each encounter gives her strength. The effect is narcotic; the more she does it, the more she needs to do it. She will never stop. She can't."

"You mentioned this is a genetic condition," I said. "Can't it be detected in utero and corrected?"

"Regrettably, no. We are an advanced species, but we don't have magic. When the trait manifests at maturity, it is too late for mitigation. When one is diagnosed, she is offered the chance to live in seclusion and comfort. If she refuses, it shows her addiction to the ecstasy she gets from killing her mates. There is no redemption for such a person."

"They have to choose between prison and death?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It is an addictive condition," Samara said calmly. "Remember how adaptive we are. If Morinth does not want to be cured, she won't be."

That seemed like a remarkably narrow-minded way of dealing with it. My way or the highway, without any middle ground whatsoever. The only reason I wasn't more sympathetic was probably the fact that my libido had been quiet throughout this entire conversation. Not that I would have listened to it, regrettably—can't hear it over my insatiable curiosity. No wonder I still haven't gotten any action. "I can see why you gave her such a high priority," I said neutrally.

"Thank you, Commander," she sighed. "There are no words to express what this means to me."

"I'll tell Joker to set course for Omega," I said, turning to leave.

I'd scarcely taken three steps before Samara spoke again. "There is one thing more."

There always is.

"This creature, this... monster. She is my daughter."

Hoo boy.

Something Samara had said earlier floated to the surface. "You said this is genetic," I frowned, walking back until I was in front of her. "How many children do you have?"

"Three. And three more Ardat-Yakshi are in existence today."

Oy.

"It is as it sounds. Morinth was always the wild one—she was happy and free... but selfish."

Awkward didn't begin to cover this latest development. Though that didn't stop me from trying to offer my condolences. "I can't imagine what this is like for you—"

"I don't want pity, Shepard," Samara interrupted, brushing my words aside. "I do not accept it. My daughter's condition is my fault. And my redemption lies in killing her."

Oookaaaay...

"Do not pity me. Simply understand my situation."

"All right," I agreed slowly. "But if you want me to understand your situation, you're going to have to provide a bit more information."

"I spent my youth on the move, one adventure after another," Samara began. "I killed people, mated with them, or just danced the night away. I learned so much, experienced so much. And then my matron days came. (2) I could finally sit back, bask, and enjoy my family. But in one moment, it was all taken away.

"I sat in a med lab while a nearsighted doctor droned at me. And I learned that nothing was as I thought it would be. I gave up all that I possessed. Now I own nothing, claim nothing. All my knowledge will die with me. Now my purpose is to destroy my own children. And I have hundreds of years left to pursue that purpose and live with the consequences—

"I say too much," she suddenly said. I wasn't sure if she interrupted her own self-reflection because she thought she was getting off track or because she was starting to think of those consequences. "Forgive me. Help me find my long-lost daughter. And kill her."

"We'll go find Morinth," I nodded.

What else could I say?

Despite the health hazards involved with simply walking down Omega's many dark corridors; I didn't bring the entire squad with me. A full squad would attract way too much attention and alert Morinth to our intentions. Not to mention that there were some people who probably wouldn't be suited for this particular mission, given the parameters and the location.

I decided that Garrus should probably stay behind just in case someone had managed to figure out that he was the infamous Archangel and wanted revenge for all the inconvenience he'd caused. Tracking down a quarry who wanted to remain hidden required a certain patience and subtlety... which, needless to say, Jack and Grunt lacked. Legion's mere presence would draw way too much attention. Period.

And Miranda... Yeah, that was tricky. After the unexpected conclusion to a certain conversation, neither of us knew what to do about that particular elephant in the room. So we silently and mutually agreed to pretend it never happened. That didn't seem to be going very well, much to my surprise. (3) I still dropped by to interrupt her day on a regular basis, in the name of returning to what passes as 'normal' in my life. Unfortunately, there was no denying the fact that there was a definite tension in the air, an unspoken panic over what had occurred between us and what the heck to do with it, which abruptly and dramatically lifted whenever we parted ways. Sooner or later, we'd have to deal with this. But for now, I had the luxury of putting it off for another day.

In the end, I hand-picked a small team to go with me. Samara had to come along, for reasons that should be perfectly obvious. I also chose Thane and Zaeed for their experiences in hunting down targets as an assassin and bounty hunter, respectively. This team would be ideal for tracking down Morinth and countering any biotic tricks she might throw at us.

And if Morinth had any backup—especially mercs with those pesky shields? In the short term, Zaeed and I could use our disruptor ammo mods to even things out. To further tip the scale in our favour, I had the rest of the squad placed on standby. Miranda would lead Jacob, Grunt and Legion; while Garrus would command everyone else. Hopefully, that would give each team a broad enough skill set to handle anything while maintaining as much unit cohesion as possible after all my tinkering.

Hopefully.

Before we docked, I had EDI begin a scan of Omega's various databases. The results came just as we passed through the airlock. "The daily death count on Omega is too high for me to pinpoint an Ardat-Yakshi's location."

Naturally.

"However, given the reputation of Ardat-Yakshi among the asari, Aria T'Loak may have tracked her movements."

Oh goodie. I was meaning to have a chat with her. I marched past the bouncers and entered Afterlife, noting for the first time how nice it was that I didn't have to line-up. Guess Aria figured I'd be less trouble if I didn't have to wait like all the other civvies.

Speaking of trouble, I decided to say hi to Patriarch and see how the first krogan I aided as a 'krantt' was doing. That, and I wanted his take on something. When I found him, he was busy giving advice to Captain Gavorn, the turian tasked with keeping the local vorcha population under control and out of sight. He seemed happier than before, probably because he was actually acting as a real advisor rather than wallowing in nostalgia. When they were done, I nodded a hello to Gavorn before turning to Patriarch.

"Seems like you're doing well for yourself," I said.

"Thanks to the human who served as my krantt," Patriarch smiled. "People listen to me now—and not just for old tales. Of course, that means that Aria has to keep a closer eye on me now, just in case I try anything." His smile became a bit cold. "Diverting her attention and manpower like that amuses me."

"I need to get some information from Aria. If you have a moment, maybe you can give me some advice." I quickly laid out the plan that I'd hastily pulled together on our trip to Omega.

"No harm in mentioning the... complications in obtaining the cache first, but see if you can get the information your comrade requires before handing over your gift," Patriarch recommended. "Perhaps that will prompt her to offer more aid. If not, you end things with her in your debt."

"I like the sound of that," I admitted.

Patriarch chuckled. "So do I."

With that matter settled, I led Samara, Thane and Zaeed straight to Afterlife, rather than killing time sightseeing, marched right up to Aria's private booth and plunked my ass down on the couch before she could give me permission. "Hi, Aria!" I positively chirped. "How ya doin'?"

She gave me a look that could be construed as humouring an overly energetic child or the escapee from the loony bin. Both of which might be true, depending on who you talked to. "Shepard. You look well."

"Yeah," I smiled cheerfully. "No thanks to you and your little favour. When you gave me the details on that smuggling depot on Daratar, you kinda glossed over the garrison."

I should probably explain that, shouldn't I?

The last time I was on Omega, recruiting Mordin and Garrus, I'd also helped Aria out by protecting the former ruler of Omega—the Patriarch—from a couple Blood Pack assassins. While my tactics weren't exactly what she had in mind, I did complete the assignment, so she passed me the coordinates to an Eclipse cache. She'd conveniently neglected to mention the three YMIR mechs that were guarding it. Granted, there was a remote possibility that she simply didn't know. It was more likely, however, that she saw the 'gift' as a win-win situation. Either I blew up the mechs and swiped what they were guarding, which would give Eclipse a bloody nose and further solidify her dominance, or they'd blow me up, which would eliminate someone who had had a disproportionate impact on the power structure on Omega.

"As I recall, I said whatever you found was yours to deal with," Aria shrugged. "Clearly you did. So what brings you back to Omega?"

"An asari fugitive is hiding out here," I replied. "She's an Ardat-Yakshi."

A grimace rippled across her face. "I knew it. Nothing leaves a body quite as... empty... as an Ardat-Yakshi does."

"You haven't taken steps to kill her?" Samara interjected.

"Why would I?" Aria asked. "She hasn't tried to seduce me."

"You've obviously taken steps to keep apprised of any unusual deaths," I said. "Care to share?"

Aria considered me for a moment before nodding, obviously figuring that I could remove another potential problem before it flared out of control... or die trying. Again: win-win. "Her last victim was a young girl. Pretty thing. Lived in the tenements near here. That's where I'd start looking."

"Thanks for the help," I nodded.

"Good luck finding her," she smiled. "Better luck catching her."

I took a few steps as if to leave before spinning back. "Oh, almost forgot," I said casually. "How are all the merc groups doing?"

"You mean after you slaughtered several of them in your attempt to find the infamous Archangel?" Aria replied. "How did that go, anyway?"

I ignored the fact that she never answered my question. "Archangel's dead." Which was true, since he went back to his old name. Maybe Aria knew that. On the off chance that she didn't, I saw no point in giving her free intel.

"Not surprising," she smirked. "He did attract a lot of hostility."

"Which would otherwise have been directed at you," I nodded, pulling out a datapad. "Found this lying around the staging grounds where the mercs were going after Archangel. They were gunning for you next."

"Let me see," Aria frowned. I passed the datapad and watched her read the message:

Tarak:

I've spoken to Garm, and he and his men are on board. Assuming this operation is successful, we can count on high morale and extensive buy-in from the men. From the losses we've already taken, possibility exists that we won't have the men needed to continue on to the next objective. It's clear, though that none of our organizations would be ready to move on Aria without the assistance of the other two.

Jaroth

"Interesting," she said mildly before throwing it at one of her stooges. "Would someone like to tell me how this information slipped the net?"

She never raised her voice or changed her tone, but everybody knew her calm veneer was nothing more than a facade. The poor batarian who'd apparently let this debacle occur on his watch gave an audible gulp. "I... I, uh, I'll look into it," he stammered before running away.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Shepard," Aria nodded. "Looks like I'll have to do a little cleaning in my organization."

"You're welcome," I replied. I could have left things like that, as Patriarch suggested. But I was curious about something that Aria had glossed over so far. In the end, my curiosity won out. "So... does that mean we're friendly enough to talk about who you were before Omega?" (4)

Aria raised an eyebrow. "You're reaching back centuries, Shepard. Long before anything that should matter to you."

Naturally, I ignored the hint. "So why keep it secret?" I asked.

"No reason, from your perspective," Aria said, getting to her feet. Guess sitting around all day looking bored gets tiring after a while. "But there are plenty of people out there with long memories. I've had a few careers, a few names. Commando training, mercenary contracts. I've kept what was valuable and dropped the baggage."

"And, what, you're worried that the people or baggage you left behind might pop up out of the past?"

"Maybe," Aria shrugged. "I might have nothing to fear on Omega, but that doesn't mean I want to broadcast my past to the galaxy. You'd be surprised how long some entities can hold a grudge. Remember that little exercise with Patriarch? Nothing more than a footnote in comparison. He's not the first krogan I've pissed off."

"You know, I would've thought you'd establish some alliances by now," I said. "Someone to back you up."

"I lean towards a particular type of work," Aria explained. "It tends to encourage professional rivalry. Sometimes you'd rather disappear than be forced to kill someone."

That last sentence almost sounded like regret, which must've been a rare admission for her. Interesting.

"No allies. At least, not reliable ones," I mused. "Then you couldn't have started out here with nothing. You must have been someone important."

"I've always been important, even if others didn't recognize it. So yes, I did have money to start this operation. I also had creditors who thought they were more entitled to it. I let them chase a ghost... or several. I had to: it's relatively easy to outlive a salarian. But not their record-keeping."

"'Records'?" I asked.

She gave me a look. Apparently, that wasn't something she was willing to divulge. Not to mention that she'd divulged more in the last few minutes than she probably had in the last several decades. "All right," I threw up my hands. "I'll drop it."

Satisfied that she'd put me in my place, she settled back down on her couch. "Better luck next time."

That triggered an old memory. Back on the old Normandy, in one of our few quiet moments, Wrex had told a story about one of his old contracts: to bump off a fellow asari merc and friend named Aleena. While a job was a job, they agreed to duel it out at a prearranged place and time due to their mutual respect for each other. Aleena managed to escape, leaving nothing behind but a simple message:

"Better luck next time."

Maybe it was a coincidence. Or maybe Aria had—intentionally or otherwise—let slip the most valuable nugget of intel I'd received so far. "Thanks for the chat," I said at last. "Maybe I'll come back later."

"Why don't you find a nice girl to keep you warm in the meantime?" Aria suggested. "You look like you need to loosen up a little."

...

Once again, I had nothing to say.

Before going to track down the latest murder, I thought I'd check in on Kenn, the quarian who was trying to scrape together enough creds to buy a ticket off of Omega. "Good to see you," he nodded when he saw me. "Thanks again for dealing with Harrot. I'm actually saving up now for the day when I can kiss this hellhole goodbye."

"No problem," I replied, skimming through his catalog. Nothing new, unfortunately. "Out of curiosity," I said idly, "how much do you need to get out of here?"

Kenn saw where I was going. "I still need 1000 credits to pay my way... but I couldn't let you do that. Getting stuck here was my mistake, on my Pilgrimage. It's my problem."

That's it? "I think you've struggled enough to satisfy this portion of the Pilgrimage," I decided, digging out the requisite number of creds. "Here you go. 1000 credits."

"What... I... Thank you. I'm going to buy my ticket right now."

He vaulted over the bench of his kiosk, took a couple steps, then backed up. "Thank you again!" he said gratefully, pumping my hand.

"A noble gesture," Samara complimented as Kenn departed.

"It's just a thousand credits," I replied before my brain caught up with my words. Since when was I so flush with cash that a thousand creds was a drop in the bucket? Guess my standards have changed after constantly swiping creds and buying high-end upgrades. Shaking my head, I led the team to the tenements of Omega. It took a few minutes, but I was eventually told to find a human woman named Diana by following the sounds of "her incessant bawling." Callousness aside, that description led us right to her. After a couple more minutes, she stopped crying long enough to notice us.

"Are you here about my daughter?" she asked dully. "My Nef died a week ago. No one seems to care. The medics said it was a brain hemorrhage, but that's not true. It was murder. Someone killed my Nef, my baby."

"I think she was murdered too," I told her, "and I'm looking for her killer."

"Oh, thank you," she sobbed in relief, getting off of the couch where she'd been sitting. "It's so hard when no one believes you. I'm all alone now." She paused for a moment, something penetrating her fog of grief. "Are you... are you one of Aria's people?"

I shook my head. "I'm here to help. Does it matter who sent me?"

"No one else on this hell-hole gives a damn that my Nef is dead. If you can do something about it, I'll help you however I can."

I wished Garrus was here. He'd know how to do this sort of thing. All I could do was be my usual nosy self and hope for the best. "What kind of a girl was your daughter?" I started.

"My Nef had a fire inside her," Diana replied, her voice raw with emotion. "She was shy, but she was creative and driven and... the best girl a mother could hope for."

"She was creative?" Samara repeated. "How so?"

"She was a sculptor," Diana said. "Several galleries were interested in her, said her work was 'fresh.'"

I made a note to keep that in mind—not the sculptor bit as much as the creativity. Somehow, that had snagged Samara's interest, which meant I should probably pay attention to it as well. "Did your daughter have a lot of friends?"

Diana shook her head. "Not a lot, no. She was shy. Spent most of her time off making her sculptures, not hanging out with friends." Then she paused. "Something did change in the last few weeks, though. She started talking about an asari. Morinth."

Bingo.

"I see," Samara said neutrally.

"I didn't like her," Diana said darkly. "She kept dragging Nef out to clubs... and I'm pretty sure she gave my daughter drugs."

"What kind of a person was this Morinth?" I asked.

"I never met her, but Nef talked about her like she was a queen. You'd swear there was no one else alive when she talked about Morinth."

"That sounds familiar," Samara murmured.

I looked over at her. "Is that typical for Morinth, Samara? Controlling victims through drugs?"

"She controls them through sheer will," Samara replied. "The drugs are just a lifestyle. She loves clubs: the music, the atmosphere and so forth. She's a hedonist."

Not surprisingly, Diana was paying close attention to our conversation. "So this Morinth did hurt my daughter? Is she the one that... that...?" She couldn't bring herself to finish.

"I will bring justice to the one that did this," Samara vowed.

"We swear to you: Nef will rest easy soon," I added. (5)

"I hope so. I hope so." Diana broke down in tears again. "Oh, my baby."

Samara shook her head in commiseration. I waited for a minute before continuing with my questions. "Did Nef hang out anywhere in particular?"

"She was always quiet, working here at home," Diana sniffed. "Then, a few weeks ago, she started going out all the time, to the VIP area of that club down the street."

"Afterlife," I said as much as asked.

Diana nodded. "I think you need a password or something to get in there. That's when she met Morinth and... the change was so sudden. She just seemed... tired and distracted when she wasn't around Morinth."

I took a deep breath before asking my next question: "Do you mind if we examine Nef's room? See if there's anything that might give us a lead?"

"I didn't want to disturb anything," Diana said, looking at a door off to the side. "Her clothes, her art, her sculptures. Everything is the way she left it," she sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "The way it will always be. My baby is gone. She's gone and nothing will fix that—"

My hand automatically reached out and squeezed her shoulder. Gently—the last thing I wanted was to crush her bones. (6) Diana's body shook in silence. "Thank you," she whispered at last. "I'm sorry. I just miss her so much."

"It's okay," I replied. "We've all suffered loss."

"I know what it means to lose a daughter," Samara said. "I will avenge her." Her voice was intense—and not just with the promise of vengeance.

"Thank you," Diana repeated. "Please, if it helps you find her killer, look through her things."

"We will be respectful," Samara reassured her.

We walked quietly to Nef's room, each of us deep in thought. At least, I was. There was no denying that my life sucked—and not just because I'd gotten spaced. But at least I'd never outlived my own kid. Shaking my head to get it back in gear, I entered the room and looked around. First thing I noticed was how cluttered it was. Lots of sculptures and statues were scattered around in various stages of completion. I looked at one that looked more or less finished.

"Nef made that." Turning around, I saw Diana peering in from the doorway. "A man from some gallery offered me four years' salary for it. But I'd never part with it. I couldn't. I..." She broke off and quickly turned away.

Thane coughed quietly. "There is not enough room for the four of us," he said. "I shall wait outside."

Nodding in agreement, I let him go and continued searching through the room—which, like I said, was pretty crammed. There was a notepad on the floor, next to her bed. I picked it up and thumbed it on. "Nef," a female voice said. "I'm sending you this hologram by the elcor artist Forta. His work is sublime—but don't stare at it too long. Or you may go mad. I don't want anything bad to happen to you, love. Can't wait to hear what you think of Forta."

Morinth, no doubt. I knew she was sex and death on legs, but her voice was so rich, bursting with passion and vivacity. No wonder she could lure people like Nef in so easily.

"Shepard," Zaeed said, calling me over. He was kneeling by the bed, next to a laptop that was partially covered by the sheets. Looking over his shoulder, I saw that Zaeed had pulled up a couple log entries from a holo-journal program. "Read the oldest entry," I called out, following a hunch.

Sure enough, the laptop was equipped with voice-command software. A young girl's face—obviously, Nef—popped up on the screen. "Hey, diary," she said. "Cycle 34, orbit 671. There's a lot to talk about!" She brushed a few bangs out of her eyes before continuing. "I dropped Jaruut's name and they let me into the VIP room at Afterlife. I was sure everyone was staring at me. Then, the most beautiful asari starts... dancing near me. She moves like water; form and volume, but shifting, changing. I was in a trance. Then I'm dancing with her. Later, we went for skewers. I'm supposed to see her again tomorrow."

Jaruut. Got it. "Read the middle entry."

Nef popped up again, an uncertain look on her face. "Cycle 36, orbit 671. Am I a freak? Morinth is a girl like me, and she's definitely not human. Just... when we dance, and the Hallex is flowing through me... the way she looks at me. With a hunger, a longing. No one's ever looked at me like that. We kissed tonight."

"Read the newest entry."

"Cycle 42, orbit 67." Nef was fidgety, constantly shifting back and forth, her eyes darting everywhere but the laptop's vidcam. Her voice was harder—no, not harder. Just more certain, more firm. "She's going to take me to her apartment tonight. Whatever happens, I want to be with her forever. She can sell my pieces. We can live somewhere glamorous. Like the women in Vaenia, that vid Morinth likes. How did this happen to me? I'm just dumb trash from Omega."

"Close the holo-journal." As the program obligingly shut down, Zaeed got to his feet. The two of us looked at Samara. "This is Morinth's work," she confirmed. "She is attracted to artists and creators. Someone with a spark, slightly isolated from their peers. She impresses with sophistication and sex appeal, speaking to her victims on many levels. Her body tells yours that she'll bring unimaginable ecstasy. Her scent evokes emotions long hidden. Her eyes promise you things you were always scared to ask of another. Her voice whispers to you after she is done speaking."

I tried not to drool.

"Then she strikes. The hunt interests her as much as the conquest."

My salivary glands abruptly dried up. "And she's been doing this for 400 years," I sighed as reality came crashing down once more. "Anyone who's successfully hunted sapient beings for that long warrants caution." I paused before adding "She sounds more like a highly evolved serial killer than a genetic defective."

"The condition has been present since my people huddled around fires at night," Samara admitted. "Perhaps it is symbiotic, rather than a defect."

"Chattin' about campfires ain't gonna catch this bitch," Zaeed spat. "We need a plan."

"Storming her den would be a mistake," Samara said. "She will have a hundred escape routes planned. Once she has eluded us, she will go to ground and disappear for fifty years or more. I cannot allow that to happen: this is the closest I've ever been."

"If we can't go to her, then she'll have to come to us." The back of my neck started tingling. I paused to try and figure out what my instincts were trying to tell me, gave up and continued. "We have to lure her out."

"Exactly," Samara beamed. "Shepard, you read my mind."

I did?

"Afterlife's VIP section seems to be her preferred hunting ground. You must go there alone and unarmed."

Aw, crap.

"You want me to waltz into this place with no gun and no backup?" I sputtered.

Samara shook her head. "I will be in the shadows watching, Shepard. You will never be alone—this I swear. But you cannot barge in with guns and allies. Morinth is far too cagey—she'd simply disappear. This is a subtle, delicate act. Trust me."

Right. 'Cause someone who calmly beats the crap out of mercs and casually threatens certain doom to anyone who gets in your way knows all about 'subtle' and 'delicate.' "What makes you think Morinth will come after me?"

"You can draw Morinth out. She'll certainly flee if she catches sight of me. But she won't be able to resist you."

I dunno. Women have been awfully good at resisting me in the past. Unless they're bimbos. Morinth didn't sound like a bimbo. (7)

"You are an artist on the battlefield. You have the vital spark that attracts her. Your charisma will draw her in."

That seemed a bit of a stretch. That was why I wracked my brain thinking of a Plan B, not because it meant walking into a deathtrap. Unfortunately, I came up with absolutely nothing. "All right," I sighed, giving up at last. "Let's get over there."

We left the room, picked up Thane—who had been distracting Diana with a discussion about the finer points of drell art—and headed off to catch a killer.

Boy, do I know how to have fun or what?

As I recalled, there were two entrances to Afterlife. There was the front entrance near the docks, where most people lined up. A back entrance—or exit, judging by all the passed-out or zoned-out civvies who were dumped outside—on the lower levels. This VIP entrance, which turned out to be next to the markets, made three.

If I was going to play the role of bait—which was rapidly approaching my usual role of 'hero'—and Samara was going to cover my six, then that left Thane and Zaeed to cover three entrances. We were one short. So I went back to the Normandy and asked Kasumi to join us.

I could have told her this over the comm, but I was already heading back to the Normandy to change, so I might as well give her the order in person. If I was going in incognito, I needed to wear something other than a suit of armour. Since my closet didn't have a ton of clothes, it didn't take long for me to find a suitable outfit. Black sleeveless shirt, made of leather. Nut-brown vest, also made of leather. Dark brown leather pants. And some armbands—one of which conveniently hid my omni-tool so I wouldn't actually be completely defenceless after all—made of, you guessed it, leather.

Somebody in the Cerberus Wardrobe Department clearly had a fetish.

Anyway, after I got everybody up to speed and assigned them entrances to watch, I walked to the VIP entrance. I put a little swagger in my step, like I was some idiotic civvie who thought he was the toughest thug in the galaxy. The bouncer, a gruff looking turian, wasn't impressed. "What do you want?" he sneered.

"Lookin' for a good time," I returned. "What's back there?"

"VIP section of the club," he said shortly. "For those with the right name. I'll ask you again, human: what do you want?"

"Someone told me the rest of Afterlife is nothing compared to this place," I replied.

"Sounds like a smart person. Who was it?"

"Someone with the right name."

The bouncer glared at me. "Spit it out, human."

"Jaruut."

The bouncer nodded when I gave the password. "Go on in." He leaned towards me just before I passed him. "Word to the wise: start a fight, we'll hurt you. Someone attacks you; it's okay to defend yourself."

"Thanks for the tip," I nodded. I entered the door and found myself in what looked like a storage space. Lots of boxes and crates, which I searched through. Unfortunately, I didn't really have a need for glasses, booze or mystery meat. I was just about to give up and enter the VIP section when I saw Samara motion to me from behind a stack of boxes. After looking around to make sure we were alone, I headed over to meet her.

"Morinth will be watching you when you go in," she told me. "Like any predator, she is cautious. You must pique her interest enough that she will approach you. When you are face-to-face, subtly encourage her to invite you to her apartment. I'll follow discreetly and, when you are alone, I'll spring the trap.

"Know this: until I get there, you are in great peril," she warned. "She will be planning to inflict horrors on you. If you are not careful, you will want her to."

"Then you better make sure you arrive in time," I told her.

"I will be near and I will come for you, Shepard," Samara promised. "Trust me as I trust and honour you."

I hoped so. This would be the first time in a while that I was waiting for someone to come to my rescue, and not in a luring mercs out to get shot kind of way. "How can I spark her interest when there are so many other people inside there?" I asked.

"She'll want you the moment she sees you. The trick is keeping her attention focused on you. Courage or suicidal bravery could attract her. Hurt someone in defence and she will be excited; but pick a fight, and she'll be bored. Show skill at working smoothly through a nightclub crowd—she will be intrigued. Once you accomplish that, the rest is just a matter of overpowering her caution."

"Okay," I said. "That'll get her attention. How do I convince her to take me home?"

"She admires strength, directness and vigour," Samara advised. "Modesty, chivalry or meekness frustrate and bore her. Violence excites her. You've killed, Shepard—she'll sense and like that."

I was suddenly reminded of Joker's comment when I first recruited Samara. Something about how even the asari I signed up were trained killers. So were the asari I went after, it seemed.

"Right," I said instead. "Plus, we know a few topics of conversation that will interest her, thanks to Nef's journal. Let's see now: Morinth likes dancing while on a drug called Hallex."

"Nef's journal also mentioned a vid called Vaenia," Samara added. "It seemed to have something to do with glamorous women."

"And she likes an elcor artist by the name of Forta," I finished. "That seems to be it. Time to get started."

"Shepard," Samara warned, "we only get one chance at this. Any mistake and Morinth will disappear. If you're the least bit unsure, come talk to me. I will wait here."

"Got it."

"And Shepard?"

I turned back towards her. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," Samara said. "I do not share this burden easily and you are the only soul I can imagine sharing it with."

That would be the second time I couldn't find anything to say. Was I on a roll or what?

"Hey, man, do you know where to get tickets for Expel 10?"

I had just entered the VIP section when some guy accosted me. He was dressed all in black leather like some kind of tough guy. I might have thought he was copying my style, were it not for the goofy grin on his face and the distracted, almost haunted look in his eyes. "This amazing asari says they're her favourite band. I want... I just want whatever she wants, you know? I gotta find tickets! Expel 10 is playing tomorrow!"

Asari. Music. Some schmuck wanting whatever she wants. Bingo. "What kind of music do they play?"

"They're a sensory band. Like, they crawl into you and make you feel things. And this asari digs them like you wouldn't believe. I could score way out of my league, you know? You gotta help me."

"I'd like to, but I don't have any tickets," I shrugged, injecting a note of faux-apology into my voice.

"If you score some, I got some creds for you," he offered eagerly.

"Deal," I lied. "See ya later." I walked a couple steps further into the VIP section and looked around. Central area where various people were dancing—or trying to dance, anyway. Couple lounging areas on the edges, all dimly lit. Bar over on the left. Loud music pumping away. Looked pretty similar to the rest of Afterlife.

"Um, excuse me?"

I turned to see a nervous looking human. "Hi," he said. "I, uh, I need help right now and I don't know who to ask. You're human and you don't look high, so you're it. Can you help me out?"

But... the mission... and trying to attract a crazy asari succubus vampire... and... you know what? Helping this guy out sounded like a great idea. "Sure," I nodded. "Just slow down and tell me what the problem is."

"Right. Slow down. Sorry, I just don't know what to do. My friend Moirall is doing a piece on Omega gangs. She's hanging with Florit—he's the worst of the worst."

Somehow, I highly doubted that, but I have a horribly unlucky perspective on the matter. "So she's a reporter?"

"Yeah, an investigative reporter. She's trying to do a vid piece profiling gang leaders." He pointed to a table occupied by a woman and a man. "But, the one she's interviewing? Florit? He's onto her. His gang is on the way here and they're going to make a mess of her! I have to get a message to her. Fast!"

"How do you know this?" I asked.

"I'm her tech," he replied. "I've been monitoring the gang's comm channels. The last transmission said Florit's going to splatter her. But when I tried to warn her, I got nothing. Everything's fine on my end, so maybe her comm is dead or something. I dunno, man. I'm just a tech junkie. I don't know how to handle this."

"It's okay," I soothed. "What do you want me to do?"

"We have a code," he replied. "If you go over and say two words, my friend will get the message and get out of there. The words are 'terminal' and 'eternity.' In that order. Please tell me you can do that. She's gonna die if you don't help her."

"Sure," I nodded. "No problem."

His shoulders sagged in relief. "Thanks. Remember, 'terminal' and 'eternity.' In that order. Just work them into a sentence or something."

I meandered over to the table, weaving around a seriously drunk woman and stopped in front of Florit. He glanced up at me with an annoyed look. "You need something, man?"

"Yeah, is there a public extranet terminal around here?" I asked.

"In a club?" he scoffed. "You don't have an omni-tool?"

Moirall looked at me cautiously. "That is a pretty strange question."

"I have one, not that it's been doing me much good," I grumbled. "Damn thing's been broken for an eternity. Stupid piece of crap."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of recognition and panic in Moirall's eyes. Florit didn't notice, too occupied with me and my idiotic request. "That's a tough break, pal," he said with mock sympathy. "Now beat it. I'm done talkin' to you."

"Fine," I replied. "Yeesh. Thanks for nothing."

As I turned away, I heard Moirall make her excuses and leave. Job done.

I walked onto the dance floor and briefly considered joining the patrons before squashing the idea. Hadn't danced since high school, after all, and that was just a week of square dancing. Why the teachers thought we'd want to learn how to do that was beyond me. Still is, come to think of it. I was about to leave when I heard someone squeal "Leave me alone!"

"Come on, baby. I can pay." Following the conversation, I turned to see a turian leering at an asari dancer. "I'm a good tipper, too."

"I told you to stay away from me."

"Playing hard to get?" the turian laughed. "Give it up, baby. I'm sold."

"I said beat it!"

"Don't be like that. I just want you to go back to my place. Don't worry—I got simple tastes."

The turian tried to cop a feel, only to get shoved back for his trouble. "Back off, asshole," the asari snapped. "I'm a dancer, not a hooker."

"You got a mouth on you," the turian laughed. "I'll enjoy watching you use it." He reached over to grab her again. This time, I was the one slapping his arm away. "The lady asked you to leave," I said.

"What the hell?" he blurted out. "I'm just looking for a good time. This isn't your business."

No, it wasn't. I suddenly had a horrible idea how this was going to turn out. And I suddenly remembered how much I sucked at close-quarters combat. But no one else was doing anything and I'd already signed up for a pounding. "Maybe I'm making it my business," I offered, giving a smile I wasn't exactly feeling.

The turian stormed at me, talons clenching into fists. I let him throw the first punch, swivelling so it glanced off my shoulder—a move that let me channel some extra power into an uppercut. He tried to punch me again, but I stepped towards him, intercepting the hit before it could do any real damage. I kneed him in the gut, grabbed his arm, swivelled and pulled. The turian obligingly flew over my shoulder, through the air and into one of the pillars.

"Good times are over," I said firmly. The turian just groaned.

"Thanks for that." She smiled at me before glaring at a pair of batarians who were running towards us. "Security was asleep."

Satisfied that the batarians would handle things from here, and pleased that my usual sub-par fighting skills were more than capable of dealing with an aggressive drunk, I left to wander mindlessly through the room. Eventually, I found myself at the bar. "Whisky," I ordered, dropping a couple credits.

"Comin' right up," the bartender replied.

One of the patrons there, a krogan, sneered at me. "I guess they'll let anybody in here now. No standards anymore."

"If that's how you feel, how 'bout we discuss that outside?" I challenged. "Right here. Right now.

"I know what you're thinking," I added before he could respond. "It's just a human, right? Well this human's gone up against scum from just about every goddamn race imaginable. Batarians? Killed them. Turians? Killed them. Krogan? Killed them. So you gotta ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, punk?" (8)

He got up to his feet, lumbered over and glared at me. I glared back. My eyes started to dry out.

Thankfully, the krogan blinked first. "I'm just trying to have a drink here," he complained defensively. "No need to get all excited. Damn humans."

The krogan stomped off. I'm sure that was what I was hearing. Or the loud music. Because it surely couldn't have been my knees shaking. Or my heart—

"Hi there."

Gah! Trying to calm my heartbeat down, I turned around and...

...

Huh.

I could've sworn I was staring at Samara. Sure looked like her. Only Samara wasn't wearing a tight neck-to-toe black leather catsuit. And she normally didn't look at me like she wanted to devour me. "My name is Morinth," she introduced herself. "And you are..."

"Drinking whisky," I replied, taking a sip from the drink I ordered.

"A man of mystery," she smiled. "And taste. I like that."

"Glad to hear it."

"I've been watching you. You're the most interesting person in this place. I've got a booth over there in the shadows. Why don't you come sit with me?"

"Why not?" I shrugged. "Lead the way."

"Some nights I come here and there's no one interesting to talk to," Morinth said as we sat down. "Some nights there's just one person. Tonight, it's you. Why is that?"

"Maybe you and I want the same things," I replied.

"Do we?"

"Let's find out," I grinned, leaning in. "I've traveled all over the galaxy. How about you?"

"Is that a twist on the human phrase 'What's a beautiful girl like you doing in a place like this?" Morinth teased.

"Now who's being mysterious?" I replied.

"I have done my share of travelling," she said, answering my question. "It changes you, doesn't it?"

"Not if you play it safe and stick to the tourist traps," I snorted. "Real travel means going to dangerous places."

"Where you can see and do things most people can't imagine," Morinth added.

"Exactly," I nodded.

"When I travel, I find myself drawn to dark places. Full of shadows and danger—"

"And violence?" I interrupted.

"Violence is the surest expression of power," she asserted.

"I've always thought violence was a means to an end," I shrugged. "Power is that end."

"Maybe," Morinth conceded. "But violence is such a charming way to reach that end."

"And fun," I grinned. "Speaking of fun, what do you think of the music here?"

"Dark rhythms, violent pulses. It stirs something primitive and primal in me. What about you?"

"It used to," I agreed, "but lately I've been wanting more. I'm curious about that sensory band? You know, Expel 10?"

She recognized the name, thanks to that lovestruck civvie I'd encountered earlier. "They get in my head and tear it to pieces. They're in concert soon; maybe we should go together."

"Why not?" I nodded. "They've got a lot of talent."

"You can really lose yourself in the music. There are ways to enhance that."

"Like Hallex?" I suggested.

I swear she shivered in pleasure. Or arousal. "It slithers through my soul." She leaned towards me, mouth slightly open. "Seems like we share some interests."

"Seems like." I took another sip before continuing. "You know anything about art."

Morinth nodded emphatically. "It resonates with my very core. It speaks to the darkest places in me. What about you?"

"Never used to pay much attention to it," I replied. "Then I ran into some work by an artist named Forta. You ever heard of him?"

Her smile widened in delight. "I didn't think anyone around here knew him. He's sublime. But you know, art comes in many varieties. I've seen vids that were more powerful than a sculpture sitting in a gallery."

"Have to agree with you there," I nodded. "Even a thirty-second trailer can really hit home. Like the ones for Vaenia."

"My favourite," she exclaimed. "The two actresses on it are so glamorous."

"I'll have to take your word for it. Never got around to watching the actual movie myself," I admitted.

"Maybe we could do that together," she suggested. "At my apartment. It's not far from here... and I want you alone."

It's amazing how you can manipulate your target if you have proper intel. Of course, I wasn't about to say that. "So do I," I said instead. "Lead the way."

Morinth's place didn't scream serial killer or crazed whackjob or anything. Standard open-concept place with various knick-knacks scattered around. I did the whole looking around/self-guided tour bit while Morinth watched me from the couch. She occasionally mentioned a tidbit or factoid whenever I lingered at some doodad or other. After the third or fourth time, I started to detect a trend. Some people collected or displayed things as a hobby. Others because they wanted to personalize the space with things that represented their interests. Everything I saw here definitely fell into the latter category, as each and every object, in their own unique way, had something to do with power, dominance and death.

The sword hung over the assault rifle—which I scanned for a future upgrade—was a relic from her duelling days, reminding her of the joy she felt when she looked into her opponent's eyes and saw the dawning realization that she was better, they had lost and they were about to die.

The statue of a krogan? A gift from an unimpressive suitor—and victim.

The chess set? Just another game that ultimately divided players into winners and losers. Of course, for Morinth, losing also meant understanding that they were royally screwed, just before they kicked the bucket.

At last, I walked back to join Morinth. "I love clubs," she told me as I sat down. "People, movement, heat. I can still hear the bass, like the drums of a great hunt, out for your blood. But here, it's muted—and you're safe. Is that what you want?"

Sure, but the universe has never been interested in what I want. "Safety's a joke," I said instead. "People always feel safest right before they die."

"It's true," she nodded. "We're never safe. I've never understood the fascination with safety. Some of us choose differently." She shuffled over to sit next to me as she continued. "Independence over submission. I think we share that, you and I."

"We've both killed many times, but that's where the similarities end."

Morinth frowned. "Why do you say that I've killed?"

Oops.

"What do you know?" she demanded. "Let's stop playing games." She leaned towards me, staring into my eyes as if she was trying to peer into my soul. Looking back, I saw darkness sweep across her eyes until they were as black as the void between the stars.

Aw, crap.

"Look into my eyes and tell me you want me," she commanded. "Tell me you'd kill for me. Anything I want."

A cool, numbing sensation swept over me, silencing the tingling that had spiked at the back of my neck, seeping through my skin. Cold tendrils slithered through my body and my mind. My hands, which had instinctively clenched up into fists, slackened and relaxed. All the lights gradually dimmed and faded away into darkness, like Morinth's eyes. The percussive beats of the music grew softer and softer, until all I could hear was my heartbeat—and even that seemed to slow down.

Somehow, this seemed unsettling, discomforting, wrong. I couldn't figure out why, though. Not here. Not in this emptiness, this nothingness, where the only thing that mattered was Morinth. The only thing that existed was Morinth. And yet, something kept nagging at me. Some reason why this wasn't right. Someone who—

Miranda!

I took a sharp, deep breath. The numbness rushed away, replaced by a sudden awareness of my heartbeat, the blood pumping through my veins and, well, everything. Lights and sounds suddenly came crashing back in, inundating my senses. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and gave Morinth a cold smile. "I don't think so." (9)

She jerked with shock, the darkness fading from her eyes to reveal the surprise in her irises. "But you... who are you? Oh, no—I see what's going on," she realized. "The bitch herself found a little helper."

How did she—oh, right. Weird sensation in my noggin. Morinth must've established enough of a meld to pick up one or two things.

As if on cue, Samara marched through the doors, biotic energy crackling and dancing over her body. "Morinth," she said, raising a hand. A biotic wave rippled from her palm, shoving furniture aside as it swept across the room and hit her daughter, crushing her against the window with enough force to create spider cracks in the pane.

"Mother," Morinth replied coldly.

"Do not call me that," Samara snapped, slamming her against the window with another blast of biotics.

Morinth gave her a bitter smile. "I can't choose to stop being your daughter, Mother," she taunted.

"You made your choice long ago."

Morinth's eyes flared before she tucked her body into a fetal position, gathering biotic energy into a tight blue ball. Then she tensed her body and whipped her arms and legs out, releasing all that energy in an expanding wave of force that negated Samara's attack. "What choice?" she yelled furiously. With a mere gesture, she levitated Samara and a chair up into the air. "My only crime was being born with the gifts you gave me." She sent the chair flying towards Samara, who countered with some sort of move that simultaneously deflected the chair and cancelled the levitation field, dropping her down on her butt.

"Enough, Morinth!" Samara cried, knocking her to the ground with the biotic equivalent of a punch. She stumbled to her feet, followed shortly by her daughter. The two of them thrust their arms outward, sending biotic energy coursing towards each other. The energies coalesced into a blue singularity, rotating and growing in size and power.

"I am the genetic destiny of the asari," Morinth snarled, as the furniture slowly lifted off the ground and began to spin around the two duelling asari. "But they are not ready to reveal this, so I must die."

"You are a disease to be purged," Samara countered, "nothing more."

"Look, pal," Morinth abruptly said, tilting her head towards me. "I'm as strong as she is, maybe more so—let me join you!"

"I am already sworn to help you, Shepard," Samara reminded me. "Let us finish this."

Help an asari justicar who viewed every problem as a nail to be smashed with a biotic hammer? Or aid a crazed asari seductress and serial killer who had tried to brainwash me once already? Hard choice. I reached out, grabbed Morinth's arm and yanked it away. As I'd hoped, my move disrupted her concentration. "End of the line, Morinth," I told her.

"You would sentence me to death?" Morinth spat at me. "And they call me a monster!"

Before I could reply, Samara sent another biotic wave into Morinth, knocking her onto her ass. I dodged out of the way as chairs fell back to the floor. Samara walked over to her daughter, slowly and inexorably advancing on her quarry as Morinth frantically backpedalled away. It was only a matter of seconds before Samara had cornered her. She crouched over her daughter, gripping her by the neck. They stared at each other.

"Find peace in the embrace of the goddess," Samara said, generating a blaze of biotic energy in the palm of her free hand.

Then she struck home. Hard. I winced, turning my head away slightly. I turned back, looked at what was left of Morinth, and regretted my decision. Instead, I looked at Samara, who was staring down at her handiwork. Her quarry.

Her daughter. "Samara?" I asked tentatively.

"It's done," she said softly. "I feel... how can I explain how I feel? I just killed the bravest and smartest of my daughters. There are no words for what I have done. Perhaps I will try another time." She glanced at me, a pleading look in her eye. "For now, show mercy on a broken old warrior and let us leave."

I nodded silently and gestured for us to go, leaving her daughter and 400 years of suffering behind.

I skipped Samara during the next couple rounds, so I didn't see her again until the following day. "Morinth haunted my dreams and waking hours equally," she told me when I finally arrived. "For the first time in 400 years, I am free. I am a ruined vessel of sorrow and regret, but I am free. It is not a feeling I can describe."

"You said Morinth was 'the bravest and smartest' of your daughters," I recalled.

"She was," Samara nodded. "She would not accept the injustice thrust upon her. She fought to the very end. I am so proud of her."

"And yet you killed her for being what she was. Who she was."

"I did," Samara conceded. "And I would again. But I also know what it means to leave everything behind and fight. Do you realize that she went on the run at the age of 40?" she asked, suddenly changing the topic. "I do not know human years well, but it is very young for asari."

Yeah, a human of a comparative age would still have trouble reaching the door panel, much less run away. "Was it worth all that sorrow and regret?" I asked.

"It was never a question of worth, but of need," Samara replied. "I had to take the action I did. As did she. This was never a tale that would have a happy outcome."

"I don't question that you did your duty," I said, "but what about your feelings?"

"One of my daughters is dead. My hopes, my dreams were all bound up in my children. Still, my duty has always come before my feelings. The same is true of you."

I would have agreed with her up until a week ago. Now... I dunno. "What will you do now that Morinth is gone?" I asked instead.

"Assuming I survive your mission?"

Yeah. That.

"I am a justicar. Injustice still exists... and perhaps even other Ardat-Yakshi."

"Do you mind if I ask what are the chances of finding other Ardat-Yakshi?"

"It is hard to say," Samara shrugged. "The condition is rare, only occurring in purebloods like myself. Perhaps that is the root of the stigma regarding asari-exclusive pairings. I do not know. As for finding them, asari have spread to many worlds. There are remote regions with no government oversight or knowledge of Ardat-Yakshi. If I travel to those worlds and they do exist, I will find them. And if they have not entered a monastery like my other children, I will kill them."

"You still want to hunt and kill, after all this time? You don't want to settle down?"

Samara offered a sad smile. "I did. I returned to my homeworld and tried to start a family. I will fight and struggle all my life. When I die, it will not be in bed. That is my fate. I am at peace with that."

This was getting rather depressing for me, which meant I couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like for her. So I did what I always did in these situations—change the topic. "You must have seen many things in your years of travel."

"As a maiden, I served as a mercenary. I fought tyrants and pirates. I experienced everything the galaxy has to offer. As a justicar, I saw parts of asari space few know above. I destroyed villages and saved cities. I even fought a Spectre."

Really? "Why did you fight a Spectre?"

"He was a turian named Nihlus. He may have been on Council business, but I witnessed him kill an unarmed civilian. Following the Code, I attacked."

"When we met, I witnessed you kill a merc who had no chance against you," I reminded her. "How is that any different?"

"That mercenary was armed," she rebutted. "And I offered her a way out. She chose to ignore it."

"You know, I met Nihlus shortly before I became a Spectre," I said. "He seemed like an honourable turian. And a good Spectre. I'm surprised that he would do something like that." (10)

"He may have been honourable and good. I do not know. However, killing unarmed civilians is wrong."

"How did the fight turn out?" I asked curiously.

"I had the advantage, but he was good," Samara replied. "He returned fire and tried to run. We played cat and mouse in the wilderness for two weeks. It was exhilarating."

That's one word for it.

"Finally, he created a situation in which my only options were to let an innocent die, or pursue him. The Code compelled me to save the innocent and he escaped. I admire how he adapted and used my Code against me."

"Have all your years as a justicar been that eventful?"

Samara shook her head. "It has been mostly tedium and hardship. Traveling on freighters, wandering through rural areas. Rooting out injustices, big and small. Putting down corrupt officials—when I arrive in a remote area, individuals often approach me with matters of justice. My judgement rarely turns out the way they hope."

Heh. Yeah, it's funny how manipulation and trickery can turn back to bite you on the ass. "How do you pay for transportation between worlds?" I asked curiously. If I hadn't had the Normandy, I'd have never been able to stop Saren two years ago, not to mention being light years behind the Collectors here and now.

"Asari captains often welcome justicars. We reduce pirate attacks. One raid was called off when the pirates were able to verify that I was aboard."

Yeah, after everything I'd seen, I could imagine a reaction like that.

"You mentioned that you had to destroy a village in your time as a justicar? Why?"

"I tracked Morinth to a remote colony world. She'd perverted an entire town, making them worship her and bring young asari as sacrifices. When I arrived, she fled, throwing her minions at me in waves. They bought her time with their lives. When it was done, only small children remained. I left them in the authorities' care and continued my pursuit."

Just another reason why I was glad I didn't pick Morinth instead. My job is to blithely walk into deathtraps, not help a cult spread throughout the galaxy. It was good to see that Samara was able to talk about her daughter without breaking down. At least, I hoped it was good—I'd like to think that she was coming to terms with bringing this whole tragic quest to an end, rather than suppressing it until it exploded at the worst possible time.

"What was being a mercenary like?" I asked impulsively, suddenly aware that neither of us had been talking for a good... well, a good minute.

"I was a young, impulsive maiden who discovered her talent for combat. I revelled in it... until the day my troop was hired to guard a mysterious shipment on its way to some clandestine drop-off area. I discovered the shipment was slaves, to be traded to the Collectors for advanced technology."

"So this isn't your first time going up against them," I realized.

"It is not."

"What did you do when you found out about the slaves?"

"I demanded that we turn around. My mates disagreed. After they were dead, I brought the ship around."

Of course. There was a disagreement. Samara won, the others died. Moving on.

"The Collector craft was just arriving, but they closed faster than I could flee. Fortunately, we were close to the mass relay. I got through and they did not pursue."

"What did you do with all the slaves?"

"I lectured them on the virtues of strength and defending oneself."

Oh yeah. 'Cuz that's the first thing you need after being freed from a lifetime of servitude and slavery.

"Then I distributed the armour, weapons and credits of my dead colleagues and released the captives on the Citadel."

That works.

"It is good to share these tales with another soul," Samara said, "and I thank you for being so patient. I am sure you have many other pressing matters to attend to."

Not really, but I could take a hint as well as the next guy. Besides, it was as good a time as any to wrap things up. "I'll let you resume your meditations," I replied, heading for the door.

Just before I left, I turned back to Samara. "You know, the future hasn't been written yet," I said. "You still control the direction of your life."

"And I have chosen that path," Samara returned serenely. "I truly am at peace. Due in no small part to you."

As I walked through the doors, the song I'd loaded into the PA system started to play. Something for Samara... and Morinth.

"Spend all your time waiting for that second chance.
For the break that will make it ok.
There's always some reason to feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day.

"I need some distraction, oh beautiful release.
Memories seep from my veins.
They may be empty and weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight.

"In the arms of an Angel, fly away from here.
From this dark, cold hotel room, and the endlessness that you fear.
You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie.
You're in the arms of an Angel; may you find some comfort here." (11)

(1): A sentiment apparently shared by most individuals who meet justicars, asari or otherwise.

(2): Asari go through three stages throughout their lives, each with its own biochemical and physical changes. The Maiden stage, beginning at birth, manifests as curiosity, restlessness and the urge to explore and experience. At age 350, or earlier if she melds frequently, the asari enters the Matron stage, a period marked by a desire to settle down and raise children. The Matriarch stage begins at the age of 700, though it can start later if the asari rarely melds. This stage prompts a desire to become active in the community as a sage, councillor or some other role that allows others to benefit from her centuries of experience. It is worth noting, however, that there are exceptions to each stage, depending on the choices each asari makes.

(3): I am fairly confident that Shepard is being sarcastic, though one must not discount his propensity for self-denial.

(4): I leave it up to the reader to decide whether Shepard's decision to cash in this favour for information was worth it.

(5): While Shepard might agree to 'look into' matters, he rarely gave promises. His decision to do so was likely motivated by the sheer pain this woman was experiencing.

(6): While he may have been exaggerating, it is true that Shepard's modifications—both upon enlistment and during his time with Cerberus—and the myofibril bundles in his hardsuit would amplify his strength considerably.

(7): Readers will undoubtedly recall several women of Shepard's acquaintance who were attracted to him and did not qualify as 'bimbos.'

(8): Shepard's challenge appears to be a variation of a famous line quoted by Dirty Harry, played by the actor Clint Eastwood, in the 1971 movie 'Dirty Harry.'

(9): The ability to resist Morinth's persuasion is an impressive feat, even by Shepard's high standards. It is a testament to Shepard's strength of will... and the strength of his newfound and still-unresolved feelings for Ms. Lawson.

(10): Nihlus Kryik was something of an outcast during his military service, infamous for following his instincts instead of orders—regardless of the fact that his hunches usually paid off. Saren Arterius was the Spectre who befriended and mentored him until he was asked to join the Spectres himself. Despite that dubious tutelage, Nihlus quickly made a name for himself. While he did not hesitate to eliminate anything or anyone that stood in his way, his methods were not as ruthless or brutal as his mentor. As readers may recall in his one and only conversation with Shepard, he also didn't share Saren's hatred for humanity, instead recognizing their potential.

(11): 'Angel,' released by Sarah McLachlan in 1997.