Chapter 20: Evening Talks
It was late by the time I left the embassies. Tracking down indoctrinated hanar and persuading an old squadmate to help—without making her feel like she was being dragged kicking and screaming into another suicide mission—had taken longer than I'd planned. As I headed out, I spotted an elderly human woman talking to one of the embassy clerks. "Hello, dear," the former said. "Perhaps you can help me? I'm looking for my son."
The asari looked at her blankly. "But… we spoke about this already. I told you about his mission and—"
"Nonsense," the human insisted. "I just filled out the paperwork. He's very punctual when he's on the field. He checks in every week. Only… he hasn't checked in for a while now. A month? Anyway, I'd like to file an expedited contact request."
A mixture of sadness and patience appeared on the asari's face. "Yes… of course, ma'am, but the notes on his file state he's not under a contact ban."
"Oh, you already looked. How kind of you! I'm just so worried. It's not like him to go quiet for so long."
"As soon as I get news, ma'am… I'll let you know as soon as I get news."
"Thank you!" the woman said gratefully. "You're such a nice young woman. You know, you remind me of my daughter-in-law."
Confident that the lady was in good hands, I left the Embassies.
As I walked along, I was struck again by how peaceful it seemed. So tranquil. So orderly. You would never know that there were refugees fleeing a galaxy-wide conflict. That said conflict could spell the end of life as we knew it.
Of course, there were people who were painfully aware of those facts. Like the pair of turian C-Sec guards in front of me grousing about the con artist shamelessly taking advantage of gullible, desperate refugees. Apparently there wasn't much they could do because the guy was smart enough to cover his bases. Which really sucked considering one of the guards was worried about his family—they'd donated some funds to a charity on Earth rather than go on vacation… and now they were trapped on Palaven. You can imagine how overwhelmed he was when his partner offered to quit C-Sec and go to Palaven with him, both to contribute to the war effort and to help find his family.
The guards took a left at the next intersection. I took a right. It was time to go to Purgatory.
According to Avina, "the term 'purgatory' is present in many civilizations, with varying associated uses and meanings." One of those meanings was a bar that recently opened on the Citadel. Avina cheerfully told me that the Citadel Tourist and Visitor Board didn't have Purgatory on its list of 'approved nightlife entertainment facilities.' Needless to say, it was the place to go for drinks, dancing and other forms of recreational activities.
Well, assuming they could have a good time. Judging by the agitated conversation a human woman was having, that might not be easy to guarantee. "I know people are complaining. We're doing what we can with what we've got here, but… let me finish!" the woman snapped. "Our power grid can only handle so much before it shuts down. And we can't use the backups. No, the new regs apply to the whole Citadel. Management knows this is important for morale, but we can't go over-budget. Look, I'm not touching the backups. Get me a better power-grid; I'll give you a bigger light show." She turned off the comm and clenched her teeth. And jaw. Clear signs of being on the verge of exploding."
So the hottest club on the Citadel—which didn't exist, thank you, Avina—couldn't get any hotter without getting burned. Note to self: see if I could find something. Or maybe EDI or Miranda could whip up something. Also, stop coming up with these bad puns.
Purgatory turned out to be like most clubs I've visited. Loud techno-music blaring from the speakers. No illumination other than the neon strobe lights, which were predominately blue or purple. Lots of people were drinking and dancing from the various sub-levels of the club—mostly humans, asari, salarians and turians.
I spotted a certain asari on one of the raised sub-levels. She caught my eye and made a motioning gesture. I gave her a nod before turning aside and listening in on a bunch of Alliance soldiers doing their very best to get plastered. "Those Cerberus bastards had us," one of them slurred.
"Assholes," a second one added.
The third guy shook his head. "Shit, they just kept coming and coming. I wasn't even sure from where. Fucking hell!"
"And poor Bilal," the first guy said, tears welling up in his eyes. With a start, I realized that these guys must've been serving with Ambassador Osoba's son. I'd just returned Bilal's dog tags to his father a few hours ago. Osoba was right—they were determined to drown their sorrows. "They didn't have to take him out like that. Brutal, man. Brutal. Brutal."
"Didn't think I was gonna make it off Benning," the second guy said.
"Neither did I." The third guy stood up, swayed back and forth, then dropped back down. "Neither did I," he repeated.
"They had us," the first guy shook his head. "If he hadn't drawn their fire… well, we wouldn't have made it."
"Nope," the second guy said. "Not a goddamn chance. I couldn't have done that. What he did…"
"No, no, no," the third guy insisted. "I'm telling you, I saw the look in his eye before he started off across that street. It was like 'Come and get me, Death, you piece of shit!'"
"But you're not getting anyone else," the first guy added.
"Exactly!" the third guy said, waving his hands enthusiastically and almost spilling his beer. "You're not getting anyone else."
"Hey, everyone have a drink?" the second guy asked. "Yeah?"
"Raise a glass, boys," the first guy yelled. "Bilal Osoba! Only on account of him do I still draw breath."
"Bilal Osoba!" the second guy cried out. "One brave son of a bitch!"
"Hear, hear!"
The three of them proceeded to chug their beer. Then grab some more beer and chug that. I left after one of them dropped his bottle, dropped his head against the backrest of the couch and began snoring.
That certain asari caught my eye again. I waved cheekily before looking for James. He had mentioned that this was where he'd liked to crash. Sure enough, he was leaning against one of the tables on the lower sub-level—or the Lower Bar, as I would later find out it was called. "Hey, Commander," he grinned. "Nice to see you down here in the dirt with us grunts."
"You don't think I like getting dirty?" I asked, crossing my arms.
"Whoa, now," he laughed. "Come on! I didn't mean anything by it, Loco."
"Uh huh," I said dubiously. "What did you mean?"
James tilted his head to the side. "See those marines over there? None of them officers—just soldiers fighting the war."
And currently enjoying some much-needed R&R, it looked like. Though some of them seemed a little subdued. "Yeah?"
"They've been buying me drinks all night. You know why?"
"Your charming personality?"
"Nah. Here's a hint: it's the same reason they got all quiet and serious when you walked in."
Oh geez. Was this the whole NCO vs. officer thing again? "You don't seem intimidated by me in the least. In fact, you could use a little more deference. Just in case your next CO's a little less flexible." (1)
James laughed. "Okay, yeah, sure… but I've fought with you. I've seen you in action. Don't get me wrong. You're good. Probably one of the best."
"Probably?" I teased.
"But I know you're human," he said seriously, "just like me."
"But not them?" I sighed.
"Nope," he shook his head. "Hell, I still remember the day they made you the first human Spectre. I watched it on the vids, just like all of them. But to them, you're still larger than life."
I made a face. "This is the sorta thing I never got used to. Credit where it's due, sure. Laying on the praise and cheering with the speeches and parades and the goddamn statue… that's just too much. Look, I've seen a hell of a lot, but I'm still just a soldier. I'm still one of them."
"Sure, but they don't know you. They just know what they've been told from all those speeches or whatever. Listen… you want them to see you're one of us, right?"
"Maybe. What did you have in mind?"
"Buy them a round." (2)
"That could work," I admitted. After all, the fastest way to a grunt's heart was through his liver. "I like the way you think, Lieutenant."
James leaned over and raised a hand to his mouth. "Compadres! Hey! The commander would like you to have a drink. On him. So here's to us!"
The soldiers saluted. "Who's like us?" one of them called out.
It took a second, but I dredged up the lines to this particular routine. "Damn few!" I declared, saluting them back. James did the same. "And they're all dead."
That broke the ice. I stepped forward and shook their hands. "It's an honour meeting you, Commander," the first marine to speak said. "Thank you."
"I should thank you," I smiled. "It's been a while since anyone did that chant with me. Apparently, people think it's beneath me. Just because I got my officer's bars. Can you believe that?"
James came back with a pitcher of beer. He poured out drinks and handed them out with an efficiency borne of experience.
"True enough," one of the other marines said. "Cheers."
We all clinked glasses. "Cheers," I said. I watched them go back to their table. "Not bad, Loco," James approved. "I was hoping you'd know that one."
"Thanks for the warning," I said sarcastically. "But you were right: this was a good idea."
"Thanks for the drink," James replied. "So now what?"
I took a sip. Took a larger sip and swished it around experimentally. "Now we sit down with the marines and talk about beer."
James followed me to the table. The marines looked surprised that The Great Commander Shepard would condescend to join them, but they made room for us. "There was this microbrewery on Earth," I began. "In Vancouver—Canada, not the United States. Well, there are a lot of microbreweries, but one of them had what they called a 'dark chocolate stout.' One of the best things I ever drank. But now who knows if it's still standing."
We were quiet for a moment. God knows what would be left of Earth by the time we got back. If we got back.
"One thing's for sure: it'll be a while before I can go back there. So I'm in the market to try some other beers. Any suggestions?"
Naturally there was more than one.
That little chat boosted their morale. Didn't hurt mine either. Gotta keep your chin up in times like this. Just like cheerfully ignoring a certain asari.
Something that a couple turians were struggling with, judging by the conversation I overheard when I left James and the other marines and wandered through the Lower Bar. "Damn it, morale is pitiful," one of them spat. "The troops need something to bring back their fighting spirit."
"Yes, sir," one of his colleagues said dully.
"Remember the stories of the First Regiment on Castellus? Outnumbered, knowing they would die… but they fought for the Empire! (3) That's the spirit we need if we're going to hold Palaven."
"Yes, sir," another turian muttered, with a similar lack of enthusiasm.
Time to change that. "Hi there. Commander Shepard. Maybe I can help: the banner of the First Regiment is waiting for you at Bay D24."
To say the officer was gobsmacked would be an understatement. "The banner of—Commander Shepard. I owe you a drink. Thank you."
"Take back Palaven and help the Alliance to do the same for Earth," I told him. "We'll call it even."
"We'll hold that banner proudly as we take back our homeworld from those bastards," he vowed.
I think my job was done. As I walked away, I heard the officer crow "Hah! The banner of the First Regiment! That should put some steel in their spine!"
"Yes, sir!" This time his companions seemed a little more excited. (4)
Okay, so I'd been deliberately avoiding a certain asari all this time. But it was time to stop jerking her around. Time to—
"Chuck?"
Oh, who am I kidding? "Morgan?" I said, turning around, not quite believing my ears. But it was him. Morgan Grimes. An ol' buddy of mine from Basic. "Chuck!" he yelled, pulling me into a hug. Well, actually he jumped into my arms. He used to do that way back when. Some things never changed. I gently let him down. "Morgan, you're alive."
"Duh."
"Well… the last time I saw you, you were stationed at Arcturus. I thought…"
"Oh," he realized. "You thought I was still there when the Reapers hit. No. No, no, no, I was long gone. Actually, I was on my way to Earth."
"Earth?" Wow. I really had been locked up for a while. "Were you were visiting your mom? Oh God!" My face dropped. "Is she…"
"No. No, she's fine. And happy. And…" Morgan trailed off and quickly downed his beer. He looked at it and grimaced. "I knew I should've gone for something stronger. You got a sec?"
"For you, maybe even a minute," I grinned.
Ignoring a certain asari, I followed Morgan to a booth. "I heard about Earth," he said. "You have no idea how relieved I am to see you in one piece. What happened, anyway?"
I gave him the sitrep. What little I could, anyway.
"So you've been given diplomatic authority to run around and form a multi-species coalition to take back Earth—which includes curing the genophage of all things—and find people and tech to build some kind of Hail Mary that'll win the war."
"Pretty much," I sighed. "What about you? What happened to your mom?"
"She got into extranet dating."
"Which could be good or bad," I said slowly.
"She hooked up with my CO."
"Which could be good or bad," I repeated.
"They began a very active, loud and sexual relationship."
"Okay. That's definitely—"
"I was still living with my mom at the time."
"—bad," I finished. Let's face it, it was probably going to be bad anyway, but up until that last point there was still a remote chance for the alternative. Catching a nearby waitress's attention, I ordered two shots of Johnnie Walker. Morgan definitely needed something stronger than beer. "So you moved out?"
"Well, Mom and Big Mike wound up getting married. Had their honeymoon. Big Mike had been a silent partner in some sandwich shop on the Citadel. Given the big change in his life, he thought, hey, why not? Start a new life with the woman of his dreams and all that. And as horrifying as that thought was—" Morgan stopped as the waitress arrived with our Scotch. The gulp he took told me he was more interested in the alcohol than in appreciating the taste. Maybe I should've gone for vodka instead. "It made me think of making some changes in my life," he continued. "Things I always wanted to do."
"Don't tell me," I groaned. "You resigned from the Alliance and signed up to learn how to be a Benihana chef."
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"You mentioned it almost a decade ago," I told him. "Don't you remember? We'd just graduated from Basic. Celebrated with way too many drinks. Then you had the bright idea of trying to play N7 Code of Honour: Medal of Duty after getting plastered and puking all over the screen."
"Oh." Morgan considered that. "I was hoping I remembered that wrong."
"Nope. 'Fraid not."
"Too bad." He took a sip, choosing to savour what little booze there was left in his glass. "Well, I was actually on my way to Earth. Figured I'd try a class before resigning. But the Reapers attacked an hour after we left Arcturus. Man, it was chaos. No one knew what was going on. No one knew what to do. Well, except me, 'cuz I'd been talking to you about the Reapers."
Naturally, Morgan had believed me. Naturally no one else did.
"The transport re-routed to the Citadel. Since I was still technically with the Alliance, I reported in. They sent me to Logistics… and made me the boss."
"They… but you're—no offense, but unless you got a ton of promotions, you're still a gunnery chief."
"I prefer 'Gunny', myself," Morgan grinned. He quickly sobered up. "Yeah, just a gunny, but I was the most senior guy there. The CO had been vacationing on Earth and…well, no one's heard from her. The next guy had one too many drinks, got into a fight and got beaten into a coma. The guy after that eloped. And then there was the officer who's cooling her heels in lockup because she'd been trying to set up a drug smuggling ring. So… seniority-wise, that left me.
"It's been weird, you know. This doesn't feel real. Like it's a vid or a game or something. But it's actually happening. We're at war. The galaxy's at war. I never imagined I'd be doing my part as a logistics officer but…"
"But?" I prompted.
"But I'm actually good at it. Turns out years of learning the ins and outs of the system so I could do as little work as possible somehow prepared me to be the boss. Who would've thought it, right?"
"Morgan Grimes. Manager and supervisor." I shook my head and took a sip. "Well, stranger things have happened."
Sadly, I'd stalled long enough—both in visiting and talking to everyone other than a certain asari since I'd first stepped into Purgatory and the fact that I'd spent the rest of the day on other matters. I think I'd made my point. Time to chat with Aria T'Loak. (5)
Aria was lounging on a couch that had a nice view of the bar. She looked bored. Positively, totally bored. The fact that she was being harassed by an immigration officer might've had something to do with that. "So you admit you and your thugs are here illegally," the latter said.
"Yes," Aria replied baldly. "And it only took C-Sec three weeks to figure it out."
To be fair, C-Sec was kinda overwhelmed at the moment.
"I don't care who you are—you're required to go through processing like all the other refugees. Come with me."
Oh, this should be good.
"I don't think so." Aria looked at a nearby human. "Sheerk, get me the asari councillor," she ordered.
The C-Sec officer crossed her arms, her face clearly wondering what bullshit Aria was trying to pull. Imagine how quickly that expression changed when Councillor Tevos's hologram shimmered to life. "Greetings, Aria. Is there something you need?"
"I'm being asked to submit to immigration processing," Aria said clearly, enunciating every syllable to emphasize how… annoying she found the whole ordeal.
"Of course you are." Tevos entered a few commands on an unseen computer. "Done. What else can I do for you?"
"Nothing. Thank you."
"My pleasure," Tevos nodded. Once her hologram disappeared, Aria turned her gaze towards the C-Sec officer. "I think we're done here."
The C-Sec officer made an effort to close her mouth, shook her head and stalked off. Aria allowed a smirk to appear. Just for a moment. "Enjoy the show, Shepard?"
Rather than answer her right away, I made my way over, slowly clapping all the way, and plopped down beside her on the couch. "I guess there's one rule on the Citadel, huh?" (6)
"I guess so." Aria looked around her and sighed. "I hate this place. So sickeningly uptight."
"Then why are you here?" I asked. "Suddenly found a hankering for law and order?"
She suddenly got to her feet. She took a few steps forward and stared off into the distance. "Cerberus stole Omega from me."
"Say what now?"
"Cerberus stole Omega." I suddenly had a feeling that she'd stood up so I wouldn't be able to see her face—and the seething storm of emotion that must be rippling over it—when she made that undoubtedly painful admission. "The Illusive Man is now squarely at the top of my shit list. He will pay for every second I've spent in this bureaucratic hellhole."
"How did Cerberus defeat you?" I dared to ask.
"Deceit, distraction and a big fucking army."
That would do it.
"They lured me away from Omega and ambushed me," Aria scowled. "I escaped, but Cerberus had already laid siege. By the time I could launch an assault, they were too entrenched." (7)
"At least you escaped to fight another day," I pointed out.
"And that day is coming," she promised. She turned around and sat back down on the couch.
"How do you plan on taking Omega back?"
Aria pretended to think about it. "I think I'm going to employ violence. I'm going to slap Omega right out of the Illusive Man's greedy little hands, but I'll get to that in time. Meanwhile, you're here because I have a proposition."
"I'm flattered, but I don't think you're my type."
She didn't bother to deign that with an actual response. "The way I see it, if you don't defeat the Reapers, we're all dead. Won't matter where I'm sitting. It's in my interest to help you."
It's a sad state of affairs when a criminal kingpin makes more sense than the legitimate leaders of the galaxy. "I'm listening. What are you offering?"
"On Omega, I kept the Blood Pack, the Blue Suns and Eclipse in check," she said. Now they're running amok. Nobody wants that. Unite them under my rule, and you'll have a powerful and ruthless force for your war. I've laid the groundwork with all three groups. I just need you to close the deals."
"Some would say that if you give a criminal a gun, he'll shoot you in the back."
"They already have guns, Shepard," Aria said patiently. "I'll make sure they point them at the Reapers."
"And after this war is over?" I asked. "You're going to be that much stronger."
"Assuming we survive," she added. "Until then, you'll be that much stronger. Think about it. An army that's willing to fight dirty… to do the things your respectable militaries won't do. Mechs and vorcha as a vanguard for any ground offensive. I think a united force of professional mercs is worth it, wouldn't you agree? Or do you have some more moral protests to trot out?"
Oh, I knew that. I knew that if I went through with this and somehow survived, then I'd have directly contributed to strengthening Aria's position by merging the three strongest merc groups into a single unified force. However, I wasn't in any position to turn down help, much less help that was sometimes more organized, battle-hardened and ruthless than legitimate armies. They would be far more effective if they were organized under one leader. And, quite frankly, a criminal army was far less worrisome than the Reapers.
Aria knew that as well as I did, just as she was aware that I had to at least make the pretence of objecting. "No, I think that's about it. Where am I closing these deals, exactly?"
"Meet with Narl, my agent who's dealing with the Blood Pack. You'll find him in the Presidium Commons. Mega Nine Motel; Apartment 38. The Blue Suns leader is incongnito here on the Citadel—he'll be expecting you in one of the refugee camps. And I already have a deal with Jona Sederis, the Eclipse leader. You just have to get your friend Commander Bailey to let her out of jail."
"Jail? You obviously don't know Bailey very well."
"Bailey respects you," she shrugged. "Lean on him."
"Why do I have to lean on him at all?" I wanted to know. "Why don't you just go above his head?"
"I've already persuaded the Council to release her," she frowned. "Bailey is in direct defiance of their order. So talk to him, one Boy Scout to another. Chain of command and all that crap. Take him to dinner, talk dirty to him… whatever works."
"What's your angle on gaining control of the Blood Pack?" I asked, switching tracks.
"Narl will explain it." Aria gave me a look. "If we're going to work together, Shepard, you need to trust me."
Now it was my turn to give her a look. "At least a little," she amended.
"I generally like to get a little more intel any time someone asks me to help them out," I shrugged. "Nothing personal. Like the Blue Suns. How do we get them on our side? Who will I be meeting?"
"You'll be dealing with Darner Vosque. He's a twisted little criminal. When I approached him, I expected his demands to be unreasonable. But it turns out he's the biggest pushover of them all. Talk to him. I'll let you be the judge. Call me if you need to."
"Okay," I nodded slowly. Aria was being rather vague with the details, but that was par for the course. I'd just have to keep my eyes and ears open, use my wits and hope for the best. "So: what's new with you?"
If I wasn't so blindingly oblivious to danger, the look Aria levelled at me would have vaporized me on the spot. "That supposed to be funny? Let's see—I've lost Omega, I've got C-Sec eyes all over me and I'm holed up in this pathetic excuse for a nightclub. Can't even get Noverian Rum here." Her hands clenched, then slowly opened again. "In other words: I'm in hell."
Or Purgatory. Get it? Get it? I'm sure Aria would get it, but she clearly wasn't in the mood for my… unique brand of humour.
"Sounds like you have a lot to worry about. I'll get out of your hair."
"You're quite the comedian today," she observed. (8) "We'll be seeing each other soon, Shepard."
With what little I'd coaxed out of Aria, it seemed like getting Eclipse onboard would be more of a headache than the other merc groups. Being the good little masochist that I was, I decided to start with them first. That meant another trip to C-Sec. Naturally, Bailey was still there, because digital paperwork waits for no man. "Shepard," Bailey greeted me when I entered his office. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Not sure if you can call it pleasure," I admitted. "Two words: Jona Sederis."
"Damn, you too?" he groaned. "Somebody got the Council to order her release. I'm stalling and delaying as best I can. What's your stake in this?"
Um. Yeah. Somehow, I didn't relish the idea of telling the commander of a law enforcement organization that I wanted to spring a criminal loose so she could lead her old merc group under the direction of the Pirate Queen. (9) "Officially, it's classified."
"That's a fancy way of saying mind your own business," he said dryly. "Unofficially?"
"In this case, it's more 'the less you know, the better'," I replied. "Let's just say that I'm working on a way to help Eclipse make a more productive contribution to galactic society."
"Somehow, I'm pretty damn sure letting Sederis out won't help with that," Bailey said flatly. "Look, the Council's been pretty clear that they want her released, but there's no way I'm letting that psychopath out. The woman's unstable and a clear public threat."
Wonderful. "What makes you think she's crazy?"
"She was a ruthless sadist before she got caught. Her imprisonment cracked the shell right off the nut."
"It can't be that bad. Can it?"
"She rages day and night, Shepard, calling for the deaths of all Eclipse enemies. If you heard some of the things she had in mind…" He shuddered in dread. "No, freedom will only give her the chance to kill."
Great. There was no denying that having Eclipse on my side would be a win, but not if it meant having a crazy, homicidal leader calling the shots. "I'll like access to her to judge for myself," I requested.
Bailey seemed amenable to that. "Sure thing. I'm sure you'll agree. Then maybe the Council will listen to you and rescind the order. Go to the C-Sec outpost. My assistant will connect you to Sederis's cell from there. Then call me back."
To do that, I had to go back to the Presidium Commons. By this point, I was getting to know the ins and outs so well, it didn't take me long to find the C-Sec outpost. A friendly turian set up the connection, gave me some privacy and informed me where I could contact Bailey—no doubt he wanted to know whether I agreed with him or not.
Only one way to find out. Using my omni-tool, I opened the channel. Sederis's face appeared on one of the monitors. "Who's that spying on me, now? Ah, I see. Good. Aria's indentured servant has finally come to deliver me to freedom."
"First off, I'm no one's 'indentured servant.' Second, I want to talk with you before I secure your release."
"Bullshit. You have no choice. You have to let me out."
"Yeah, see, I don't 'have' to do anything."
That set Sederis into a boiling rage. "How dare you show me such disrespect! Release me! Now! My family needs me. And when I get out, heads will roll. There's been a lot of naughty boys and girls who've been disrespecting my babies. Oh, yes." She punctuated that with a high-pitched giggle. Then she glared at me, angry all over again. "You've killed a lot of my children! Don't think I've forgotten that! Did you know I have a list of enemies? It's true. And you're on it. Actually, you're on it several times, you naughty, naughty boy. Ooh, do you think you can die more than once?"
Personal experience had told me the answer was yes. Common sense told me not to say that aloud. Especially with that disturbing gleam in her eyes. "Sederis, you have to move on. The stakes are too high to hold on to the past."
"And I will move on," she said, suddenly calm. Eerily so, in fact. "Once all my enemies are dead. I have a list, you know. A list of everyone who hurt my boys and girls. They all need a good spanking, you know. They gotta learn: pull out a knife; we'll pull out a gun. They send one of my babies to the hospital, I'll space one of them out the goddamn airlock! That's the Eclipse way!"
Actually, I think that was the Chicago way. (10) But I didn't tell her that either.
"Oh, I love holding all the cards! Even in here, you must be deal with me. You and Bailey and the Council and Aria. Everyone's listening to Mommy, 'cuz I had all the power!"
"Is that right?" I asked slowly.
"Yes, that's right. All must bow before me and tremble! Fear's the only reliable tool in the end, you know. And everyone fears me. You and Bailey and the Council and Aria and Sayn." Her face twisted in a contemptuous sneer. "Ah, Sayn. My second-in-command. Such a good little son. Even if he is a weak-willed toady. If he had balls, he'd leave me to rot. But he won't defy me. Mommy raised him better than that. Yes, she did. Yes, she did!"
One thing about crazies: they tend to have no brain-to-mouth filter whatsoever. Which was good because sometimes they said things that they really shouldn't.
"Now, get me out of here, Shepard. Tell Bailey to release me. Mommy's got a big list to go through and she doesn't have all day!"
I smiled politely, closed the comm channel and opened another one to Bailey. "It's Shepard," I said when he replied. "Just talked to Mommy Sederis. That was… fun."
"So she's crazy, right? It would be ridiculous to let her out."
"She's definitely a menace," I agreed. "Let me work on it from my end. I'll see if I can make this problem go away."
"Sounds good," Bailey nodded. "I'll hold the line until I hear from you."
As I left the C-Sec outpost, I contacted Aria using the comm frequency she gave me. "Bailey's stonewalling Sederis's release on the grounds that she's crazy and would probably go on a killing spree if she's released. Having talked to her, I can't say I disagree. You're gonna have a lot of fun dealing with her, given all the urges she wants to indulge in. How badly do you want her in charge of Eclipse?"
"Sederis founded Eclipse. But I had a feeling that prison had made her… unpredictable. I needed a second opinion, and I had a feeling the real Sederis would come out if she talked to you. To answer your question, I don't care who's running Eclipse. I just want him or her to do as I say."
"Which brings me to my next question: can you tell me where I can find her second-in-command, Sayn?"
"Yes. Let me get back to you."
While Aria was doing that, I figured I'd see if I could have any better luck with the Blood Pack. Since this Narl fellow was in the area, you see. I went to the Mega Nine Motel.
Turned out Narl was a batarian. "Quick, hands behind your back," he hissed. "They'll be here any minute."
"Hi, I'm Commander Shepard," I replied. "You must be Narl. Pleased to meet you. Now then: what the hell are you talking about?"
I'll say this for him: he knew how to get to the point. "Kreete. Blood Pack's leader. Aria brings him the great Commander Shepard, Kreete pledges the gang to her."
"Yeah, see, I have a problem with that."
"We're just luring him into the open so we can take him out," Narl reassured me.
"Uh huh," I said doubtfully. "Not the best start to our friendship, Narl. Just saying."
He was about to say something when the door chime rang. His eyes—all four of them—widened. "He's coming! Put your hands behind your back and… uh… try to look like I beat you up or something."
Shaking my head, I turned around and raised my hands. "This better be on the up and up," I warned.
Narl shoved me. "Quiet!"
I clammed up just as Kreete and his colleague walked in the door. To my surprise, they were both vorcha. Yeah, the Blood Pack included vorcha amongst their members, but it was founded by a krogan. Most of its members were krogan. Still, taking out a vorcha was a hell of a lot easier than taking out a krogan.
Kreete gave me a toothy grin. "Aria T'Loak even more powerful than Kreete thought. Her instructions on boarding Citadel undetected were one thing. Now this! Commander Shepard. Want you to know: your head will be hood ornament on my personal shuttle."
He laughed as I flinched, mistaking my involuntary reaction for fear. Little did he realize I was reacting to his breath. Apparently, Kreete didn't believe in the concept of brushing his teeth.
"Keep your distance, Kreete," Narl warned, shoving him back. I felt him pass a pistol into my hands. "So… do you agree to Aria's terms?"
"Most definitely. Aria can use Blood Pack as she sees fit."
Now it was Narl's turn to offer a toothy grin. "Wasn't talking to you, Kreete. Gryll?"
Kreete looked at his companion in shock. "What?"
"You have my word," Gryll growled. "Now open fire!"
He didn't have to tell either of us twice. Kreete went down with a couple bullet holes in his torso and a comically surprised look on his face. For someone expecting to see his boss get gunned down, Gryll was sure jumpy. He even raised his hands in shock.
Though maybe that had something to do with the way I was covering him with my pistol, just in case he got any bright ideas. "Not him!" Narl said. "Gryll's next in line to take over. Aria's deal is with him."
"Yes, yes!" Gryll nodded frantically. "I'm Aria's mole, Shepard. You've scratched my back, now I'll scratch yours."
I loved how they felt the need to spell out the perfectly obvious. Time for me to do the same. "Word of advice: don't double-cross Aria. Or me."
Gryll snorted. "I may be ambitious, but I'm not crazy."
He also didn't speak in the third person. Which was a plus in my book. "If you say so," I said. I handed the pistol back to Narl. "Good work there. Thanks for the gun."
"Anytime, Shepard," Narl replied. "Gryll and I will let Aria know the light is green."
One down, two to go…
Aria got back to me shortly after Gryll and I left. Turns out Sayn was hiding in Cargo Hold A.
He was smart. Rather than turning himself into a walking advertisement for Eclipse, he was dressed in a more nondescript outfit consisting of various shades of grey. And he had a turian bodyguard,which would throw people off since everyone knew that Eclipse didn't include turians amongst their ranks. Finally, he knew when someone was on to him. "Men," he said quietly as he got to his feet, "get ready for trouble."
"Not here for that, Sayn," I reassured him as his bodyguards—the turian I mentioned and another salarian—closed in. "Just want to talk about Jona Sederis's release."
Sayn motioned for his men to stand down. "Oh, you're the one coordinating that, right? My idea, you know. Aria came to me looking to gain Eclipse support. I'm leveraging it to bust the boss out."
"Instead of using it as a stepping stone to run Eclipse permanently. I'm impressed by your loyalty, but I think you're making a big mistake."
"Huh?"
"You can do it. Be the boss. Leave Sederis locked up and make the deal with Aria yourself. It's not like you don't know how to lead: you've been running Eclipse in Sederis's absence. You know where things stand right now better than she does. Where you're strongest. Personnel assignments. Operations. Safe houses."
"Well now," he mused. "Aria would be a step up. And you think she'd let me run things?"
"I just talked to her," I replied. "As long as Eclipse follows her lead, she doesn't care who's in charge. And I just talked to Sederis: she's gone off the deep end. We're talking flat-out psycho crazy. Is that really the kind of person you want to report to?"
"No. No, not really." I could see Sayn's hamster wheels spinning as he processed the thought of being the boss for real, so I kept my mouth shut while it sunk in. "All right. Then that's the plan," he said at last. "Keep Sederis in jail. I'll call Aria right away."
"Good man," I approved. Psycho staying behind bars, Bailey out of hot water and Aria got what she wanted. Two down, one to go…
News travels really fast. I was on my way to meet the Blue Suns representative when Bailey contacted me over the comm. "Shepard, the Council just withdrew the release order for Sederis. Aria T'Loak, of all people, got 'em to do it. Crazy, huh?"
"You can say that again," I said.
"I'd ask you how you pulled it off, but I probably shouldn't do it over an open comm frequency. Probably shouldn't ask at all—more of that classified crap, right? Anyway, just wanted to say thanks for your help."
"You're welcome."
On the way to meet Vosque, I passed a blonde human kid. Probably a teenager minding her own business. Naturally the turian C-Sec guard thought she was loitering or something. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm waiting," she replied.
"Waiting. Waiting for who?"
"For my parents. They put me on the rescue transport and told me to wait for them here. They'll come find me as soon as they can."
Spoken with the confidence that only comes with innocence and naiveté. Oh, this wasn't going to end well. I wished it were otherwise, but somehow I just had this feeling. The C-Sec guard must've thought the same thing. Still, now that he knew that she was a potential orphan, rather than a loitering criminal, he could afford to be a little sympathetic. "Well… I guess this is a safe enough place. Look. If anyone bothers you, let me know. I'll take care of them, okay?"
"Sure thing, sir. Thanks."
Now that was nice. The guard didn't have to do that. She was just some kid. Not even of his own species. He probably had loads of work to do, especially with all the refugees. And there were probably dozens of other excuses he could've made. But he was still gonna make the extra effort of looking out for her. Simply because, right now, someone had to. That really made me feel all warm inside. Kinda like when I managed to get Eclipse on board without letting that psycho Sederis loose.
I really had to hold onto that nice, happy feeling when I met Darner Vosque. Bald human with a permanent sneer on his face and an ego the size of a Reaper. "Wow. Aria wasn't kidding—the great Commander Shepard on a leash."
What a charmer. "You need your eyes checked," I smiled thinly. "And your brain. No leash, and I'm here for my own reasons, Vosque."
"Sure you are," he scoffed. "Anyway, tell her I'm impressed, but to do business, I still need my little problem taken care of."
"Which is?"
"A turian general named Oraka has it out for the Blue Suns. He's raising a stink over our activity in this sector. I'll commit my gang to Aria as soon as Oraka's dead."
Interesting. I met a turian general by the name of Oraka back when I first became a Spectre. I wondered if it was the same guy. Also, the Blue Suns liked to call themselves a private security organization or a merc outfit. Vosque called them a gang. A sign of what they truly were or an indication of what depths they had sunk to under his leadership?
"Why exactly is Oraka being such a pain?" I asked.
"We're just making little raids along trading routes. With Aria's blessing, I might add. Oraka's just some military fossil who came out of retirement to relive the glory days and justify his existence." Vosque spat on the floor. "Losing him won't affect your war in the least, but gaining the Blue Suns… well, you know our work."
"You seriously think I'll assassinate a turian general?"
"Aria seems to think so," Vosque shrugged, "or else why would she send you? She knew the price. Now you do too. Why don't the two of you go work it out?"
He headed off without waiting for me to reply, deliberately bumping into me as he passed by. "Oh, I almost forgot…" He turned back with a lascivious leer on his face. "Tell Aria I still expect her tight blue ass in bed with me. And Shepard: I don't take sloppy seconds."
Charming. I got on the comm as soon as he was out of range. "Aria?"
"What is it, Shepard?"
"Just met Vosque. He's got some funny ideas, that guy."
"Can you be more specific?"
She wanted me to spell it out? Fine. "Darner Vosque expects me to kill General Oraka."
"Who care what Vosque wants? What he needs is for Oraka is to stop disrupting his operations. I figured you'd talk to Oraka, see if you can get him to lay off. One uptight military soldier to another. But if he won't listen to reason, call me and I'll take care of it."
"So you're okay with him staying alive as long as he backs off," I summarized. "Why didn't you say so to begin with? I could've just gone straight to Oraka."
"Vosque needed to see you. Needed to realize who he's dealing with. Needed to understand that his problem is being looked after and he should wait instead of doing something stupid."
Okay. That made sense. Again, I found it a little depressing that Aria was doing more to help me in the last hour or so than most legitimate governments did in the last month. Made the latest round of running around on random errands a hell of a lot different. Refreshing, even.
"Plus, if I have to suffer that scumbag staring at my tits one more time, I might have to kill him."
Oh. All right. Now the real story came out. "About that… he mentioned—"
"That I'm going to sleep with him?" Aria laughed derisively. "We all have our delusions."
I contacted the Normandy and had EDI search the Citadel for Oraka's whereabouts. While she searched, I quickly ran through everything I remembered about him. Assuming he was the same guy I was thinking about, I first met him back in 2183. Septimus Oraka had been a frequent client of the Consort for many years, due to her ability to help him forgot the more unsavoury aspects of his past, and was hoping to make their relationship a little more serious. When the Consort declined, he got angry, got drunk and began spreading lies. Being the nosy busybody that I was, I helped him patch things up with the Consort.
"Shepard," EDI broke in, "I have found General Oraka. Currently, he is sitting in the Presidium Commons." And because the Presidium Commons is a ridiculously big place, she also told me his exact location. Turned out it was the same General Oraka I met all those years ago.
"Commander Shepard," Oraka greeted me when I approached him.
"General Oraka," I returned. "It's been a while since… Chora's Den, wasn't it? You were pretty miserable, if I recall."
"Yes," he chuckled. "Miserable and neck-deep in drink just before I retired. I'm happy to say I'm clean now. Reinstated too."
"And taking on the Blue Suns," I added, sitting down beside him. "Or so I've heard."
"I need to do my part for the Citadel, Commander. The Blue Suns are raiding C-Sec weapon shipments. I'm putting a stop to that. Those mercs are seriously jeopardizing the Citadel's ability to defend itself if the war comes here. When the war comes here," he amended.
It was a relief to know that there was at least one person who knew the relative peace and tranquility the Citadel was enjoying wouldn't last, that sooner or later, the bubble would burst. (11)
"There are other ways to secure weapons, General."
"You don't think I've tried?" Oraka snapped, leaning forward and clenching his talons. "There's a black market dealer on the Citadel right now, but he won't sell his top-line arms. The Reapers are destroying everything in their path. They've destroyed colonies like Taetrus and taunted us with the proof. They run rampant across Palaven as we speak, slaughtering thousands, if not millions, of my people. And there's nothing I can do. Nothing.
"I can't stop the Reapers, Commander," he concluded, "but I can stop the Blue Suns."
So that's why he was being such a pain in the Blue Suns' collective ass. He knew damn well what was happening to Palaven and was trying his best to make sure the Citadel didn't suffer the same fate. Because there was nothing he could do for his homeworld. As stressful and perilous as my situation was, I was reminded that it allowed me to do something about the war. Oraka couldn't. Not directly, anyway. If I was in his shoes, and there was nothing I could do for Earth, I might be doing the same thing. "Let me see what I can do for you," I said, getting to my feet.
"I'd appreciate your help," Oraka nodded, "and I'll have a plan of action ready if things fall through. The dealer is a salarian named Kannik. He's working out of one of the shops behind the grove of trees over there."
"Look, Commander, I don't want any trouble. I'm authorized to sell here. And all my arms are legal, see?"
That was my introduction to Kannik. Who obviously had nothing to hide.
"These are lightweight weapons," I sniffed. "Cheap crap. Where's your top-end inventory?"
Sadly, Kannik was just as sharp as any other salarian I'd met. "Shit, you slumming for C-Sec too? I already got harassed by the old turian with the bad attitude. Yeah, I got much better stuff, but it's off the market. Galaxy's going belly-up—credit won't mean anything once the Reapers rip through."
"So what exactly are you saying?"
"Whatever happens, I figure there'll be survivors—but it'll be chaos. I'm betting things will run on a barter system. So I'm getting a jump. My best stock only trades for hard goods and artifacts with real value."
Great. A war profiteer. Guess it was only a matter of time before this damn war brought out the worst, as well as the best, in people. I guess I was more surprised that I hadn't come across examples of this selfish, short-sighted behaviour earlier. "You realize that, by holding your best weapons back, you're hampering C-Sec's ability to defend the Citadel?" I asked bluntly. "Which means that if the Reapers or someone else attacks, and C-Sec is unable to repel them, that you'll have contributed to their defeat?"
"As long as I'm still standing when the dust clears," he said smugly.
Oh for crying out loud! It was all I could do to resist lunging across the desk and throttling his scrawny little neck. "So what gets me access to your top shelf?" I asked.
"Ah, there we go," he beamed. "The turian just waved credits in my face and then spat on it. Nice to see you have flexibility. If you find any rare pieces when you're out saving the galaxy, bring them back. Then I'm happy to share my top stock with C-Sec, no problem. Outside of that, I gotta stick to my guns. You understand, right? It's nothing personal."
This was the dumbest, stupidest thing I had ever heard. This… this… scumbag actually thought I had time to go searching for artifacts? What did he think I was doing while I was 'out saving the galaxy,' twiddling my thumbs? I took a deep breath.
"Okay," I nodded. "Yeah. I get it. Here's what we're going to do. I'll try to dig up these artifacts. In the meantime, you're going to open up your top stock to C-Sec. Why, you ask? Because I'm going to let people know that you've been refusing to sell your best weapons to the brave men and women who're risking their lives to defend the place you call home. So if the Reapers do come, it won't matter if you survive once the dust settles or not, because there'll be a lot of angry folks looking for you. And even if you don't get lynched by them, you'll still have me to deal with. And most people I have a problem with… well, let's just say they wind up having a problem with little things like breathing. You understand, right? It's nothing personal."
Kannik gulped.
Leaving him to ponder his fate, I went back to Oraka. "Commander, unless you can find a new source of weapons for C-Sec, I'm putting together a task force to stop the Blue Suns myself," he said.
"I've made a deal with Kannik," I told him. "He's willing to sell his best weapons to you if I can get some artifacts for him."
"Unless you're planning on leaving the Citadel, finding those artifacts and coming straight back, that doesn't really help," he said.
"Right there with you," I agreed. "Which is why I want to try another tack." I opened a comm channel and got in touch with Morgan. Surely the manager of the local Alliance Logistics department on the Citadel could help me out.
"Sorry, Chuck," he apologized when he heard my story. "Every last weapon's already been issued to the Alliance ships—the ones that have been docked since yesterday. Anyone who docked today's outta luck."
"Damn it," I cursed.
"Hang on," he said. "You may be in luck. I happen to know Kannik. Hell, I gotta know all the store owners on the Citadel. Their full names, whether they're married or have kids, favourite foods and drinks, that sort of thing. Establish a rapport, you know?"
"Yes," I said slowly. "And?"
"And I happen to know he's been expressing a lot of interest in Kite's Nest."
"Kite's Nest," I frowned. "The batarian home cluster?"
"That's the one. Since the Reapers overran it and turned the batarians into the next quarians, anything from that area of space has been fetching premium prices. Kannik knows that all too well."
"Great. So how does that help us?"
"A freighter—the MSV Galen—just docked the other day. According to their records, they came from the Vular system, deep inside Kite's Nest. The captain's husband just happens to be a disgraced archaeologist who's been known to sell relics on the black market. He might have what you need. I can make a few inquiries, but…"
"But?" I prompted.
"I'm going to need your diplomatic access codes."
He's gonna need my what now? "What for?"
"Look, you said Admiral Hackett granted you diplomatic authority to make deals on behalf of the Alliance. That means you have diplomatic-level access codes. I need them."
"Why?"
"Because I don't think you'll give up your Spectre codes."
"No, I mean why do you need my access codes at all?"
"Because I may have to make a few deals and trades along the way and my gunnery sergeant authorization codes won't cut it. Neither will yours, even though you're a commander."
"Can't you just run them by me and let me authorize them?"
"Chuck. We're talking about the Reapers. The end of the galaxy as we know it. How urgently do you need these weapons again?"
I looked at Oraka. He was rather antsy. Kept running his talons back and forth. If I didn't do something soon, he might do something rash. "Fine," I sighed, activating my omni-tool and transmitting the codes. "I better not regret this."
"You won't. Don't worry: I've got this all under control."
He said that with complete confidence. I had a bad feeling about this…
My concerns were well-founded. I was finishing my dinner at some restaurant on the Presidium when Bailey sat down heavily beside me. "Shepard."
"Bailey."
"Why is it that for every headache you make go away, you give me another one?" he groaned.
Because I have an insatiable desire for balance. Somehow, I didn't think that was the answer he wanted to hear. "What headache might this be?"
In answer, Bailey spun my chair around and pointed. "You mind explaining this?"
It only took a second to realize what he was talking about. "What happened to the Krogan Monument?"
"Oh, like you don't know!" Bailey snorted.
"What are you talking about?" I asked in confusion.
"Some short guy moved it an hour ago on your orders. When C-Sec tried to stop him, he handed over a request form tagged with your diplomatic codes."
Diplomatic codes assigned to… oh no. "Morgan," I breathed.
"Who?"
"I'm not sure what's going on, Bailey, but it might have been… traded."
"Excuse me?!" he gasped.
"Don't worry, Bailey. I'll get the Monument back," I promised.
"You better," Bailey warned. "A lot of people have noticed it's gone missing. I had to tell them it needed cleaning after the pigeons crapped all over it."
"There are pigeons on the Citadel?" I asked.
"No, there aren't. So that lie won't hold for very long. Neither will the replacement I installed in its place."
"You have a replacement?" I asked.
"Sort of. It's over there," he replied, pointing a little lower. I followed his finger until I saw the Krogan Monument's replacement. "It's white," I observed.
"It's made of plaster. We'll paint it if we don't get it back. And we'd better get it back."
"It's also the wrong shape. The wrong height. And the wrong width. Other than that, it's perfect. No one will ever know it's not the original, Bailey."
"Are you gonna help me by cleaning up your mess or are you gonna stand there and be sarcastic?"
Actually, I could be both. But I don't think that was the answer he was looking for. "I'm going, I'm going," I reassured him, quickly getting to my feet and dropping what was probably way too many credits for an already over-priced meal.
With EDI's help, I found Morgan. "I just found out you stole the Krogan Monument," I said.
"Don't worry, Chuck," he reassured me. "I didn't steal it."
"Well that's a relief."
"I just borrowed it."
"That—not so much," I amended. "Why?"
"There are some people who really want to take a picture next to it."
"Such as?"
"The crew of the Durak's Fist."
"Again: why?"
"That statue celebrates the pivotal role the krogan played in ending the Rachni Wars. And the crew of the Durak's Fist are krogan." Morgan made it sound as it if was simple.
"And they couldn't they go up to the Presidium themselves because…" I prompted.
"They might be known to C-Sec," Morgan admitted.
"Might?"
"Are."
"Morgan! This—" I broke off and tried to get a hold of myself. "Okay," I said once I'd calmed down somewhat. "Fine. So once they take their picture, they'll return the statue?"
"Yep."
"I don't suppose they have some artifacts to give as payment for the photo op?"
"No. They're sending us a primary buffer panel."
"But we don't need a primary buffer panel."
"But the Nefrane does. She was one of the asari cruisers that fought at the Battle of the Citadel. Still sports lots of scars from the scores of geth fighters it took on. Apparently, the crew refused to remove them, considering them marks of honour and a reminder of how close they came to dying. Anyway, their primary buffer panel fell off."
"Ah." I pretended to nod in understanding. "And in return for giving them a replacement, the Nefrane's going to give us the artifacts?"
"No, they're giving us their stash of self-sealing stem bolts."
"But we don't need self-sealing stem bolts!" I exploded.
Morgan held his hands up in a placating gesture. "I know," he said soothingly. "But the PFS Havincaw does. She's—"
"A turian frigate," I interrupted. "I know. I saw her dock earlier this morning. Just saw a lot of combat. Guess those stem bolts will come in handy. Don't tell me they somehow had time to go hunting for artifacts in the midst of all that fighting."
"No, they didn't. But they do have twenty tonnes of dextro-grade military rations, rations they won't need while they're repairing the ship."
"What does that have to do with the artifacts?" I cried out.
"Scuttlebutt has it that the captain of the MSV Galen would like to make a supply run to Palaven. There's good money for freighter crews that are willing to transport goods in and out of war zones, you know. But there's no point unless they actually have something to deliver."
"Like, say, dextro-grade rations," I realized. "And in return for them, they're willing to hand over whatever artifacts they found in the Vular system?"
"Yep."
"So let me get this straight," I said, rubbing my eyes again. "You used my diplomatic codes to sign out the Krogan Monument—which you better put back, by the way—so a bunch of krogan can take a picture of it. Then they'll give us a primary buffer panel, which you'll trade to the Nefrane for self-sealing stem bolts. You'll trade the stem bolts to the PFS Havincaw for their rations. And then you'll trade the rations to the Galen for their artifacts."
"Pretty much."
"All this—based on nothing more than scuttlebutt?"
"From a very reliable source," Morgan insisted. "Trust me."
I threw up my hands. "Are there any other deals I need to know about?"
"Well—"
We were interrupted by Commander Bailey. I took one look at his rather rumpled attire before turning my attention to the large, scowling krogan behind him. "Can I help you, gentlemen?"
"This is Captain Tamrok of the Durak's Fist," Bailey said heavily. "He would like a word with you, Commander Shepard."
"So you're the pyjak who stole my ryncol!" Tamrok snarled.
"What ryncol?" I asked.
"Don't pretend you don't know!" he roared. "I ordered sixteen barrels of ryncol to be picked up here! On the Citadel! Now where are they?!"
"How should I know?" I asked.
Bailey sighed and handed over a datapad. "You, or someone working on your behalf, authorized their removal. These are your diplomatic codes, aren't they, Shepard?"
I reached out and grabbed Morgan, who was trying to sneak out of the room. "Do you know something about this?" I asked casually.
Tamrok stalked over towards us. "I don't care which one of you took my ryncol," he hissed. "I just want it back here. By tomorrow. Understood?"
You don't want to know the crazy string of deals that came out of that ryncol. Other than the fact that everything did get resolved within a few hours and everyone wound up very satisfied. Including the crew of the Durak's Fist—not only did they get their group shot next to the Krogan Monument, they also got sixteen barrels of 2109 ryncol, which apparently was a better year than the one they originally had. And Commander Bailey, who walked away with several pounds of sockeye salmon—half smoked, half fresh out of stasis.
What really mattered, though, was the call Oraka received. "Hello? Yes, this is General Oraka," he said after a pause. "Really?" after another pause. "Well, C-Sec appreciates your generous donation. Yes, you can drop them off anonymously. Yes, that C-Sec precinct will be fine. Yes, I'll let him know. Thank you very much."
"Good news?" I asked.
"I was just contacted by a black market dealer who's donating high-end weapons to C-Sec," he replied. "He wanted you to know 'before you got around talking to people.' The voice was scrambled, but I suspect it's Kannik."
Heh.
"Between this 'anonymous donation' and your friend here, we'll be able to focus on Citadel defence. It won't bring Palaven back, but it's something."
"Palaven's not gone yet," I reminded him. "Just remember that while you're beefing up security on the Citadel."
"It will be easier to remember that, now that the B—"
"Certain juvenile delinquents," I interrupted.
Oraka stared at me for a moment before nodding. "Indeed. "With certain juvenile delinquents finding a better use for their time. Well, if you'll excuse me, I have some security plans to draft. Good day, Commander."
As Oraka left, I turned to Morgan. "Thanks," I said.
"You're welcome," he said, handing me a datapad. "Your diplomatic codes," he explained. "As useful as they were, I don't think I can justify keeping them anymore."
He could've copied them, but somehow I doubted that. This was Morgan we were talking about. "Thanks again," I nodded, making a mental note to drop by the human embassy and change my codes. I trusted Morgan, but I had enough headaches to deal with.
Still, the little bearded man had come through for me in the end. "By the way…"
"Yeah?"
"You wouldn't happen to know anyone who has some Noverian Rum, would you?"
"Actually, my cousin happens to run a liquor store," Morgan replied. "He's got ten cases."
"Really? What does he want for them?"
After hearing the complicated series of trades that would be needed to set that up, I left Morgan and headed off to the shops. I had some shopping to do.
No, I didn't empty them out. Couldn't afford to. I only had 264,550 credits. But I did buy plenty of weapon mods and hardsuit upgrades from Kanala Exports, Elkoss Combine Arsenal Supplies, Kassa Fabrications, Nos Astra Sporting Goods, Aegohr Munitions, Cipritine Armoury, Batarian State Arms and the Spectre Requisitions Office. (12)
I also bought some fish for my aquarium because, for whatever reason, Cerberus had decided it was vital that I have an aquarium in my quarters. During my preparation for the assault on the Collector base, I spent some time—and credits—finding fish to put in said aquarium. And then some more time and credits after I forgot to feed them one too many times. Sadly, I hadn't found a single fish since I'd come back. Guess the Alliance retrofit teams forgot to feed them too.
This time, I thought ahead. Elkoss Combine had a VI system that could automatically dispense food. It could adjust the temperature, pH and algae content of the water. Hell, it could even talk to them. For the low, low price of 25,000 credits, I could run around the galaxy and risk my life, safe and secure in the knowledge that I wouldn't kill my newfound fishy friends. (13)
I also bought some more model ships. Because Cerberus had also deemed it necessary to put a model display case in my quarters and there were still a few empty spots left.
Finally, while I was at the Spectre Requisitions office, I went over to the Spectre terminal. There were a number of things I spotted while helping Bau look for indoctrinated hanar. Things only a Spectre like, say, me, could authorize.
For instance, some of the students I'd rescued from Grissom Academy had wound up here, as they were too young to fight and apparently hadn't had enough technical skills to help with the Crucible. Surviving Grissom Academy instructors had put in a request for Citadel authorities to assign them some space to continue their training. Naturally that request had been bogged down in bureaucracy. Naturally I cleared up the backlog.
Turned out Bailey was well aware of the con man that the turian guards I'd passed by were complaining about. He'd already put in a deportation order, but the scumbag had stalled it with bureaucratic loopholes. Unfortunately for him, a Spectre could grant C-Sec the authority to toss his sorry ass out the airlock. Well, maybe not, 'cause that would be murder and only Spectres could do that and get away with it. But I could grant C-Sec the authority to immediately deport him, which was the next best thing.
Apparently, I could also play amateur shrink. Earlier in the day, I'd run across an asari huntress who was suffering from serious PTSD, primarily for killing a human civilian who might've drawn some unwanted attention from the Reaper forces on Tiptree. That asari, Aeian T'Goni, had requested a permit to carry weapons on the Citadel. Oddly enough, that request had been denied because of her obvious paranoia and the high likelihood that she'd turn that gun on herself. No, I didn't override those security measures. I haven't completely lost my common sense.
With that done, it was time to return to the Normandy. It was getting late, but I could still squeeze one round of the ship in before calling it a night. It wound up being an abbreviated tour, as most of the crew were still on shore leave. The main excitement came from Engineering. "Commander," Gabby greeted me. "Thank you."
"It's great to be back," Ken said sincerely.
"Feels great to be in an Alliance uniform again," Gabby added.
"Good to have the two of you back," I told them. As I headed over to Adams, I overheard them whispering to each other. "I'm glad the Commander didn't forget about us down here," Ken said.
"Told you Shepard would come visit," Gabby replied.
That was when Adams saw me, so I had to focus on him. "Need anything, Commander?" he asked.
"Just wondering how Donnelly and Daniels are fitting in," I replied.
"Donnelly's got talent. Now if he could just learn to… er, never mind."
"Problems?"
Adams shook his head. "Sorry, Commander. Donnelly is dedicated, knowledgeable and thinks on his feet. I'm glad to have him on my team. Could use a lesson or two about respecting the chain of command, but he hasn't even finished his first shift yet. Hopefully that'll come in time. Besides, I've handled the likes of him before. No need for concern."
Ah. Okay. Donnelly probably wasn't being malicious or making any deliberate attempt to circumvent Adams' authority. But he did have a bad habit of being so overenthusiastic about things that he said things and did things without thinking. If I had to guess, that's why Adams was so annoyed. "What about Daniels? How's she working out?"
The reaction was so starkly different, it was like night and day. "Her, I like," he smiled. "She's sharp, and knows propulsion theory better than most physicists I've met. And she's easy to work with, too. I always said you had an eye for talent. Good job bringing her back to the Alliance.
"That goes for Ms. Lawson as well," he added. "Never got a chance to mention it, but she offered to share a few tips on the administrative aspects of being an XO."
That's right. While Adams was an excellent engineer and a great supervisor, he had limited experience in running an entire ship. "Yeah?"
"We sat down one afternoon. Just a few hours, but the ideas and tips she had… probably learned more in those hours than I could've picked up in a few months.
And I hear she's working with Liara—who would've thought she'd have become an information broker—as well as crunching numbers in the War Room. And she's going with you on combat missions? No wonder you brought her along. Must be good to have someone who you can rely on and knows you so well."
The way he said that last part he knew—or suspected—about Miranda and I. Which didn't really surprise me. Scuttlebutt had a way of making its way through the ship, after all.
"Oh, Commander, while you're here. Remember the safety problem I mentioned earlier?"
I had to sift through my memories. "You mean a core overload possibly venting into the engineering compartment?"
"That would only happen during extreme conditions," Adams nodded. "Like heavy bombardment to the kinetic barriers while traveling at peak speeds. Plasma would vent out into this compartment."
"That sounds a little more serious than 'just a safety problem'," I frowned. "As I recall, we were concerned that everyone in this room would get vaporized."
"Well… under those conditions, odds are you're about to lose the entire ship, anyway," Adams shrugged.
I blinked in shock. "Yeah, I'd like to avoid that. Been there, done that."
"So would I," he nodded. "Daniels, Donnelly, EDI and I were brainstorming and comparing notes."
By this point, Ken and Gabby had overheard our conversation and joined us. "You see," Ken explained, "the venting occurs when the IES sinks are in a back cycle at the same moment the main core is at peak draw, such as from sustained kinetic—"
Gabby interrupted before my eyes could start glazing over. "What Kenneth means to say is that we're pretty sure we can make the system safer. And, you know, avoid blowing up the ship."
"Most of the supplies we have or can manufacture," Adams explained. "The only component we're missing is a GX12 thermal pipe. Unfortunately, we didn't have a chance to get a complete list of schematics downloaded to our computers—and the GX12 is amongst them."
"So where can we find one?" I asked. "Have you talked to Cortez? He's handling requisitions."
Adams shook his head. "He's still on shore leave. But I talked to him about some other inventory matters a while back. Seems we're cut off from Alliance supply chains. Our best bet would be to try some of the repair shops."
"Like on the Citadel?" I asked. "Yeah, I can look for one."
"Good," Adams smiled. "I'll send you what little info we have so you know what you're looking for."
I had EDI do a search after Adams sent me the files. She managed to find a store that carried one of those GX12 pipes. Rather than order it online and pay the shipping fees, I got in touch with Cortez and asked him to drop by the store and pick it up.
While we were talking, Cortez gave me some good news: during humanity's expansion, experienced pilots were needed to establish colonies. Many of those men and women were now homeless, driven out by the Reapers. Cortez had started reaching out to them. Many of them were very eager to fly again and strike a couple blows against the armada that had wiped out their homes.
Then I resumed my rounds. Liara didn't have any new intel, but while I was there, I checked to see what kind of upgrades I'd made and maybe poke around other people's e-mail. Kahlee sent a message to Anderson:
David:
You won't get this for a while, unless you find an extranet connection working on Earth. I've made it out to this weapon we're building. The device isn't even halfway complete and it's the most breathtakingly complicated piece of technology I've ever seen.
I wish you could see this thing we're creating. It gives me hope. Take care, for my sake.
Love,
Kahlee
I wished I could see the Crucible too. Hell, I wish everyone could see it. There were a lot of people out there who could use some of that hope.
Kahlee sent one to me too, which I discovered when I checked my private terminal for e-mails:
From: Steven Hackett
-Forwarded message-
From: Kahlee Sanders
Subject: Thank you
To: Steven Hackett
Hi, Commander:
I didn't have time to thank you properly after you got us out of Grissom Academy, and Admiral Hackett agreed to send this your way.
While my students are out on duty, I'm doing what I can to help with the Crucible. It's an amazing project, more advanced than anything I've ever seen before. Some of my more tech-minded kids are staying back to help out too, and watching them work… it's the future, Commander. This project will inform human progress for generations.
And they'll have you to thank for it.
All my best,
Kahlee Sanders
While I knew most of this, it was good to get confirmation that Kahlee had made it to the Crucible safe and sound. Reading her initial impressions… she really did seem optimistic about our chances. I had to say, we were making progress. Agonizingly slow progress, but progress nonetheless.
My thoughts were interrupted by a gentle chime. "Commander," EDI said, "Primarch Victus would like to speak with you in the War Room at your earliest convenience."
Now was as good a time as any. "Tell him I'm on the way."
"There's a small matter concerning a… ship we've lost contact with," Victus admitted.
"'Lost'?" I repeated.
"Crashed, actually," Victus admitted. "I couldn't speak in front of the krogan. Especially since our ship went down on Tuchanka."
"Need I remind you that the krogan has a nam—wait a sec?" I stared at Victus. "Did you say Tuchanka?"
"Now they're pinned by an advance guard of Reapers scouting the planet."
Of course. Because the universe loves seeing me suffer. And then I felt bad for being so self-centred that I thought my plight outweighed those of the turians who had the incredibly bad luck to get stuck on Tuchanka. "What are your men doing there?" I asked.
Victus winced. "I'm sorry. That's classified. But it's vital they be rescued. They must complete their original mission. It's a matter of… galactic peace."
"You mean like this treaty I'm trying to set up?" I asked. "Or my efforts to coordinate our efforts against the Reapers? That kind of galactic peace?"
"Exactly."
"How many men and women are aboard?"
"A platoon."
Hoo boy. "That's… a lot of turians milling around on krogan soil," I managed. "Why is their mission so important?"
"I'm sorry, Commander," Victus apologized. "As I said, it's highly classified." He started to turn away.
I reached out, grabbed his shoulder and turned him back. "Look," I hissed. "I'm trying to be open-minded and sympathetic here. But if you want me to put my ass on the line, I need answers."
"I can't tell you," Victus winced. "Please understand."
"Oh I understand all right," I muttered, walking past him. "I get this kind of crap all the time from my superiors. Don't mind me, I'll go ahead and investigate like you want. If only because, with my luck, things'll get even worse if I don't. Story of my life."
"Wait."
I waited.
"The platoon commander is Lieutenant Tarquin Victus. He'll be your contact."
"Victus. As in…"
"My son," Victus admitted. "I needed someone I could trust completely."
Well. That answered one question at least. "All right, then. We'll meet your son and all those other turians. On krogan soil. For some random mission with an unknown set of objectives that may or may not have some kind of impact on galactic peace."
"I wouldn't have put it that way, precisely, but you're correct."
"Can't wait to hear what Wrex has to say about it," I sighed.
"Yes, I—wait. What?"
(1): NCO is a human acronym for non-commissioned officer, whereas CO means commanding officer. Sometimes, I think organizations like making up names and acronyms to solidify a group identity and thoroughly bewilder outsiders.
(2): During his first year as a Spectre, Shepard instituted the following challenge: whenever the Normandy docked, a bonus would be given to the watch or watches that had the best performance ratings. That bonus was inevitably used to buy a round of drinks, which quickly became known as 'Shepard's Round. The experience Shepard describes here is fairly similar.
(3): Although it is officially known as the Hierarchy, it is not uncommon to refer to the official state of the turian people as the Empire.
(4): The return of the banner would provide a significant morale boost to the men and women of the Turian Seventh Fleet.
(5): Shepard made the same point on his first visit to Omega after Aria made a similar request.
(6): Aria's one rule on Omega was 'Don't fuck with Aria.'
(7): It was a little more involved than that, but the basic summary was accurate enough.
(8): A human figure of speech meaning to stop bothering or annoying someone, one that cannot be applied literally to asari as they don't have hair. When I asked Shepard whether he'd used that idiom accidentally or whether it was a deliberate effort to annoy Aria, he simply smiled and changed the subject.
(9): One of Aria's unofficial titles.
(10): A reference to the 1987 human crime drama vid 'The Untouchables.'
(11): Shepard and Oraka would be proven correct, sooner than either of them expected. Though the initial attack would come from another source.
(12): Shepard was unable to obtain a discount at any of these establishments. One store owner told him that 'they' were on to his scheme of claiming that every store was his 'favourite store on the Citadel.'
(13): I never did find out the dietary requirements of the space hamster.