Donnel Udina. That name has a significant entry in my files, easily within the top ten for sheer size … among my human records, anyway. He was one of my best selections, one of the many agents I'd acquired in my long banishment from the galaxy. Of course, as Serena loves to tease me, I am only human.

Udina was everything I needed at the time: hewas ambitious, cunning,and utterly devoted to the advancement of Humanity. He was well aware ofthepowers outside his influence,powers moving to manipulate his actions,but he managed to takeadvantage of them. Such brilliance can only be innate; learning the trait is possible, but such a performance always has less – panache – if I may say. That gift helped him know precisely how important he was, and how far he could push; albeit not without the occasional error. Udina learned from those mistakes, seldom repeating the same one twice, heightening his value. Of course, he knew it, and was careful with his demands, tailoring each concession to the debtor.That is both the benefit and the bane of a mercenary man: he always has a price. While beneficial, the trouble is that you never know if you are the most recent retainer of his services.

My little operation had grownby that point in time. What element zero I had on hand had been used to create drone vessels and cargo carriers that required minimal crew. I traded high-quality metals for things I could not produce myself, like seeds for the greenhouses, dirt for the same, and the occasional element zero shipment. Element Zero was the one mineral I could not manufacture on my own, so I sought reliable individuals to make purchases for me. Shepard was one of those chosen, Donnel Udina was another. Between the two of them, I had access to nearly any resource I desired. And I used it.

Of course, I was able to make more than just alloys. Research was my first love, and building things became a hobby for me. Because of that, I was able to make little trinkets that proved useful a time or two.

~Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer

ProjectRagnorak Files

SR-1 Normandy

Shepard ignored the questioning glances from the crewmen as he led the turian detective through the Normandy's decks. He's around here somewhere, Joker mentioned the XO cabin … ah. He tapped the entry announcer outside the cabin currently being used by the navigator.

A hoarse shout of acceptance prompted him to key the door seal. Holding up a hand to keep Garrus – when did I start using his first name?— out of view. "Mister Pressley, do you have a few moments?"

The older man appeared tired, if Shepard was reading his slumped posture correctly. The balding section of the Navigator's head reflected light dully, and his eyes were bloodshot as well. For a moment, Shepard had to focus on the fact that no one else would be in the room.

Pressley spoke first. "Commander? Certainly, what can I do for you?"

Shepard gave a sharp nod. "I found you some help on the project I asked you to work on. Any progress?"

The navigator backed deeper into the room. "I have a list of stock purchases made by Mr. Arterius, and a number of locations where he's been reported in public media … but not much more at the moment."

"Well then," Shepard gestured, a little bit of showmanship he couldn't resist. "I managed to find the detective in charge of the Council investigation . May I introduce Detective Garrus Vakarian?"

Pressley stiffened as the turian crossed the threshold. "Sir."

"Please, it's Garrus, none of that sir business. Every time I hear that I think my father is behind me." The turian held out a hand.

"Of course, Detective." Pressley gave a barely polite half-bow. "You have information on Saren?"

Shepard watched the turian quell a wince; it was in how the armored shoulders came back. He glanced at Pressley again. Just shy of parade rest, back is tense … what is his problem?

"Well, I had information. Unfortunately, C-Sec locked me out of the systems when they sent me on 'vacation.' But – " a small optical drive appeared in one tridactyl hand. "I did manage to acquire most of my files before leaving the building. Think you could use them?"

The Navigator turned towards the rooms' main terminal. "If it's good, yes."

Shepard gave the turian an apologetic shrug. No idea what's going on there.

"Of course it's good." Mandibles shifted in a cocky grin, pupils tightening happily. "I pulled it together myself."

The navigator mumbled to himself, but kept it below both of his guest's hearing.

"If you want to look over the data, I'll take Detective – ah – Garrus on a tour. All right, Pressley?" Shepard paused, waiting for a response.

"Very good, sir. Shall I notify Engineer Adams you will be coming?" Pressley kept his back to them, seemingly intent on the screen.

"Thank you, that will not be necessary," Shepard guided the turian back out the door. "I'll check back in an hour or so."

He paused a moment, looking back. That was out of character, Pressley's usually the very soul of efficiency, old school manners. He looked at his companion, then back at the balding man. Not the time for questions … better keep it in mind for later though. Shrugging internally, he resumed his steps towards the elevator, conscious of his companion. "I'll show you the armory first; we're loading up on what we should have had earlier, so it will be the busiest place.

The turian shrugged easily. "You're the Commander. I'm pretty much on vacation anyway; take all the time you need. Um, you're not going to get in trouble for this, are you?"

Shepard chuckled lightly, letting it expend itself as the elevator slowly opened. Inside, Ashley Williams was already waiting, a slight bounce to her step all but begging him to hurry. He resisted the urge to laugh again; have to admit, the enthusiasm is cute. Good to see her recovering … at least in part.

He hit the button with a flourish, turning back to the detective. "Since you're helping me with the investigation, I have a bit of leeway. If we're going to work together, you should know your way around here … unless you'd prefer to do your part on the Citadel?"

Garrus laughed, a whistling sound.

[break]

The Armory on the Normandy held a subtly prominent location inside the hangar slash loading bay. It was admirably placed for both supplying troops being deployed, and providing the sound baffle necessitated by shuttle and Mako drops. It also greatly simplified shipment distribution, rendering the hangar a prime location for the quartermaster.

The hangar itself hummed with activity, filled with well-organized, scurrying crewmen and delivery drones alike; a sight heartwarming to any responsible XO's soul. Shepard took a moment to savor the sight, one side of his mouth curving upwards. That's what I like to see.

On the port side of the hangar, a six-wheeled Mako transport was slowly being lowered into place, light reflecting dully off its armored sides. The floor panels creaked under its weight as they touched down, shock absorbers groaning as the vehicles' full mass rested on them for the first time. Shepard couldn't wait to see what enhancements would be in place; if he knew Anderson, there would be at least a few modifications already installed.

Mech suits, the larger and heavier variety, were already lining the port wall behind the Mako. Since it was only a frigate, there was space for a half-dozen of them, multiple copies of the 'small' Menelaus version. Spare parts rested in neat stacks, already waiting for the next loading phase. Excess armor plating, no quartermaster would leave port without it, supported multiple sets of the long barreled miniguns. Bright red warning stickers gave the entire assembly an almost carnival façade, especially when one took a step back and could see the violent orange-hued crates of grenades to the aft.

Shepard looked back, noticing Ashley staring at the sets, longing evident in every line of her body. He cleared his throat, making her eyes jump to his. He nodded at the armor. "Looks like you have your job cut out for you Chief. Think you can get your gear stowed away before the others take the best spot?"

Her teeth revealed themselves in a wide grin. "Sir, yes sir!"

He made a scooching motion with one hand. "Off you go then. I'll be inspecting it later, so make it count."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than she was off like a shot, making a beeline for a large crate. Two crewmen got out of her way as she barreled to it; apparently, experienced with mech-drivers.

"Sir?" Alenko's voice caught Shepard's attention. "There's a man to see you, says he has a package from Valhalla Industries? Ah, he says it's a confirmed delivery, won't give it to anyone but you."

Shepard's breath stuck in his throat. He sent it so soon? I found out my rifle was missing yesterday! "Show him in, Lieutenant." His voice remained calm, despite the way his heart was pounding against his chest.

The dark-haired biotic soon appeared, leading a taller man who carried a brown paper package, holding it protectively. Upon seeing Shepard, he stopped, saluting. "Captain Michael Todd Weathers, of the HMS Baldwide. Sign here please."

Shepard took the proffered stencil, adding his thumbprint to the signature confirmation. "A captain, just to deliver a package? That's a bit unusual."

"No, sir." The delivery man carefully lifted the oblong package higher, "I'm the captain and crew of the Baldwide. My son takes care of managing things at home, but he'll join me soon enough." A second smile, "When the time is right."

Puzzled slightly, Shepard gently lifted the package. "Thank you for taking the trip, I appreciate it."

"No trouble at all, glad to stretch my legs a bit." Captain Weathers winked, just as he left. "Take care of yourself."

Shepard waved a casual farewell, and then took the package over to the Armory gun-platform. It was where most of the weapons were repaired or modified, providing the perfect space for laying the long box on its flat surface. Almost forgetting his companions, he started opening it.

The case underneath the quaint brown wrapping paper was pure black, chrome detail work highlighting the edges. A tiny stylized N7 marking rested under the handle, on which Shepard placed his thumb. He felt a pinprick, as a blood sample was taken, then heard a faint whine as something powered down within the containers innards. The lock deactivated, clicking softly, allowing him to move the lid back on smooth hinges.

Inside, cushioned on dark velvet, was a rifle collapsed in a compact block. It was beautiful, an ebony rectangle approximately ten centimeters tall by a meter long. He slowly reached into the box to pull it out; long, deadly lines, sliding into place under his hands as prettily as a song. Unfolding the object released a longer view, midnight-black panels flipping into place across the sides. The balance, for its size, was nearly perfect; centering its weight just over the point a hand would naturally grasp it.

"Commander, there's a quarian admiral calling for Captain Anderson?" Joker's voice interrupted Shepard.

"The Captain is on the Citadel," glancing at the ceiling with annoyance. "I would assume he is with Ambassador Udina, can you reach him?"

While waiting, he flipped the rifle over, discovering a gold plate, faintly embossed with the single word Excalibur, stamped into the lustrous metal. It was inset flush with the metal, dark enough to avoid easy notice yet very simple to show off if desired.

He had to smirk. Emrys you sly old dog.

The rifle came back up, flexing into its compact travel position. Shepard clipped it to the mag-clamps on his armor, treating it as gently as if it were made of baked eggshells. It wasn't so fragile, of course, but the feeling he had while holding it ….

"Ah, Commander, the Captain isn't taking calls right now, and the Admiral is really, really insisting he talk with someone. Like something crawled into his suit and started chewing on something important." Jokers voice sounded more nervous this time, and no wonder. Technically, it was the task of a ship's Executive Officer to handle the calls, or the next highest rank at least. Leaving a Flight Lieutenant to take incoming calls from an admiral could be seen as a deliberate offence.

"I'll take it at the CIC, Joker." Shepard moved back, stepping around an officer trotting into the bay with a pair of landing markers in both arms. "Moving there now."

"Aye aye, Commander." Joker's relieved voice responded almost immediately, not that he could be blamed.

Moving quickly, Shepard gave the hangar bay a quick once over. "Garrus, with me, Alenko, stay on top of things here. Get Williams to help you when she's stowed away her gear." He didn't pause to check if his orders were followed. Alenko was experienced enough to handle cargo installation, and he could almost feel the turian's bulk at his side.

How tall is he, anyway? Shepard sneaked a peak. The detective didn't appear to have the same mass some of the marines possessed … but he's definitely no junior petite. Better make sure he doesn't make any height jokes around Lieutenant Jørgensen. She couldn't hit five ten with stilts.

The elevator wasn't present, and was apparently serving heavy-cargo capacity functions on a different level. Not surprising, given the current activity on the main cargo deck. Still, with an admiral waiting …

"Want to try a shortcut?" Shepard asked.

"In a frigate?" Garrus raised one of the miniature plates over one eye. It was a disconcerting sight for the uninitiated, but turians had highly expressive faces.

In response, Shepard led his taller companion to the transit tunnel, swinging it open with a practiced wrist. The darkness, illuminated solely by miniature panels, yawned invitingly.

"Um, no thanks. I'll wait for the elevator." Garrus stepped back, shaking his head.

"Your loss." Shepard slipped into the opening, squirming his bulk into the passage like an eel. The panel closed behind him, clicking shut.

[break]

Less than fifteen seconds later, he emerged from a floor panel just inside the stairs that curved around the elevator's CIC entrance. Shepard caught a glimpse of someone disappearing around the column. Satisfied, he slid the hatch shut, letting its near-silent click fade before moving on.

The CIC itself was bustling with activity. The panels surrounding the projection of the Normandy flashed alternating colors, changing hues as orders were entered. Like the cargo bay, it was a scene of barely organized chaos, personnel walking with quick steps to their next task.

Shepard tapped into the main communicator, keying the signal to be broadcast to his earpiece. While he could have directed the audio to be put through the general speaker system, he doubted an admiral would appreciate having his conversation heard by anyone in the vicinity.

He cleared his throat. "This is Commander Shepard of the Normandy. How may I assist?"

The faint buzz of double-transmitted microphones reverberated in his ear a moment before its meaning became clear. "I am Admiral Rael'Zorah. I wish to speak with Captain Anderson immediately, no more of this runaround!"

Shepard sighed, upgrading the annoyance factor. Great. Not just brass, but irritated, uptight alien brass.

He put as much of a genteel inflection to his voice as he could. "I understand that, sir, but he is locked in conference right now, and cannot be disturbed. Unless this is an emergency, the best that can be done is to leave a message that I will pass on at the Captain's earliest convenience."

A blast of static made Shepard wince. "I don't care if the Captain is performing brain surgery on one of the Councilors! One of my people is in trouble on the Citadel, and Captain Anderson is the only man I trust to reach her safely!"

"Ah." Shepard paused for a moment. Potential emergency, rescue mission apparently. Or just a search … quarians don't seem to be respected outside Alliance space. What to do ….

The sound of elevator doors opening behind him caught his attention. Wheeling, he saw the Garrus exit the cargo carrier, sending a questioning tilt his way.

Thoughts clicked, chasing through the pathways of his mind. As commanding officer, I am in charge while the Captain is out. For an away mission, again, Executive role. Blast it, my job either way. Nothing for it then.

"Admiral Zorah, as Commander of the Normandy, I hereby recognize your request for aid." His fingers caressed the input panel on his omni-tool, sending an audio link to the turian detective. "What information can you give me?"

"I trust Anderson, not you, Commander Shepard. If you can't reach him, I'll find someone who can!" The voice nearly blasted Shepard's eardrums. By the flinch, the turian must have risked hearing loss as well.

Shepard took a breath, lowering his shoulders. Like a rapidly-cooling ingot, this was going to take patience and a little finesse. "Admiral, I am one hundred percent certain that Captain Anderson is not able to be reached. He and the Ambassador are under Most Secret security, that is to say – they can be contacted only for a declaration of war, or a direct order from Minister. What I can tell you is that I have worked with Captain Anderson for over ten years, both in the N7 corps and as his First Officer; I trust him with my life." He took a breath, pushing his voice into a no-nonsense growl. "If you want your quarian to get help as soon as possible, tell me where to start looking. When I give the word, I can have two dozen of the Alliance's finest on the hop within ten minutes. That's twenty-four of the best soldiers in the Alliance, deployed on a sovereign territory based solely on the word of a single man I have never met, just because he claims to know the Captain."

Garrus started to speak, but Shepard held up one hand, stopping him. The pause grew, becoming awkward with only the faint static showing that the line hadn't been shut down.

"Very well, Commander," The quarian admiral admitted grudgingly. "But I warn you, if she dies, I will have your command."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Details, Admiral?" It was considered – improper – pushing an upper echelon in such a fashion, but the man had been fairly rude.

"Her name is Tali, a combat engineer. She was on Eden Prime during the attack, as was your vessel,I am told." The admiral's voice became more professional, far more so than Shepard would have given him credit for earlier. "I received a message that both she and her travelling partner had acquired data from a geth unit, and were attempting to reach the Council with that information."

"Why not the Alliance?" Shepard asked. "Since it was on an Alliance colony?"

A heavy sigh emanated from the earpiece. "From the message, they were attacked on Eden Prime by Saren's men, and escaped by stowing away on a freighter headed for the Citadel. Since it is their Pilgrimage, interference by the Admiralty is heavily frowned upon, and I let it go. Later, I received a second message, telling me that her partner had been killed, and she herself had suffered a suit puncture." The voice grew deeper, angrier, but mixed with something Shepard couldn't decipher. "I cannot allow this to continue."

There was a pause, and when the Admiral spoke, something Shepard couldn't interpret seemed to have crept into the quarian's voice. A nervous tone, almost deceptive in quality.

"Captain Anderson helped my people two years ago, and he is on the Citadel. You trust your Captain, and I will trust you."

"Yes sir." Shepard pulled up his omni-tool. "Please send me all relevant data on this engineer of yours. Assuming she is mobile, I presume she knows how to reach you?"

"She is stubborn." Admiral Zorah responded dryly. "But not stupid. I will send you her dossier, perhaps you will see something that I cannot. I have used up nearly every favor I have been owed on the Citadel trying to find her; she has to have hidden herself well."

The omni-tool lit up on Shepard's arm, glowing a bright orange. It chimed a moment later, message icon flashing. "Data received." Shepard checked the file, watching it expand into a full profile. An image hovered in the top left corner, of a female quarian in a dark purple environment suit. Lines scrolled past the picture, highlighting data points. "Going through it now."

"Thank you, Commander. If it is possible, could you refrain from telling her of my involvement? The Admiralty interfering with a Pilgrimage could be … detrimental to her career. And … I'm sorry. For everything."

"No apology necessary." Shepard slid one hand over to cut the omni-tool channel. "You look after your own; I can respect that. Anyone who wasn't concerned would not deserve the position."

There was a pause before the crackle returned. "Indeed." The admiral's voice hesitated. "Please, let me know as soon as you obtain results. Quietly."

"Will do." Shepard sketched a salute, despite the lack of a video feed. "Normandy, out."

The feed closed, leaving Shepard alone with his thoughts for a moment. Two years ago … I remember that mission, we were working on a pirate case in the Kepler Verge – when did Anderson go to the Flotilla? It would have had to have been something high priority, but also able to be done in only a week ….

"Pardon, Commander." Garrus's voice broke in on his thought. "Did I hear that correctly? You're looking for a quarian from Eden Prime?"

Shepard turned. "Yes. Besides apparently being a friend to the Captain, maybe she has something we can use. Suggestions?"

The turian looked thoughtful. "Well, it's never been confirmed, but Barla Von has a reputation for being a Shadow Broker agent, he's a stockbroker in the Financial District up in the Presidium. But – Fist, a human that runs Chora's Den, would be a better bet."

"A stockbroker is less likely than a bar owner?" Shepard started tapping orders on his omni-tool. "Why?"

Garrus gave a turian shrug, "Fist has a bad reputation. He'll do anything for anyone, but it's fairly well known he has a decent side business with the Shadow Broker. Besides that, quarians almost never visit the Presidium. What is it humans say? Two birds, one throne?"

"Close." Shepard sent an alert to Alpha squad. Sending the same team on consecutive assignments wore them out faster; at this rate, he'd be using Charlie and Delta squads before the day was through. "'It's: Killing two birds with one stone.'"

The turian nodded. "That does make a bit more sense."

Rushing footsteps came up the stairs, tripping twice. Shepard turned halfway, presenting a profile towards the opening, one hand hovering over the collapsed pistol on his hip. He relaxed, letting the shoulder plates settle when Navigator Pressley's uniform appeared around the corner, jacket askew.

"Pressley, is something wr—" Shepard was unable to get the words out before being interrupted by the rapidly approaching Navigator.

"SAIS just sent the reports! Saren – ExoGeni –" the old man gasped, waving an electronic tablet desperately.

Shepard took the flat bit of plastic, scanning its open page. His eyebrows rose as he read, steadily rising until they almost joined his military-cut hair. The tiny letters scrambled across the transparent material under his gaze, like a mass of highly organized insects.

"Are these true?"

The Navigator nodded vigorously, standing straight once more. "I got them thirty minutes ago and cross referenced them with Detective Vakarian's data ten minutes ago." He gave the turian an acknowledging wave, more polite than what he'd been demonstrating before. "Sir, they match up. Spectre Arterius is a majority share-holder in ExoGeni stock. Almost twelve percent total shares."

Shepard whistled softly, lowering the data pad. "Imagine that. Did you find anything that Saren's particularly interested in?"

"Not yet." Pressley took back the device. "I've only run a few searches through the SAIS data, looking for large shares or investments. Once I start using a fine-toothed comb, I will have a more definitive answer."

"Excellent." Shepard waved him off. "The loading bay probably needs you more right now though, I have to go ashore for a while. Keep everything ship-shape while I'm out."

The Navigator saluted before hurrying back into the bowels of the ship. Shepard watched him go, pondering the old man's tidings. Saren had to have started buying stock soon after ExoGeniwent public. Shares went past 400 credits apiece last year, no change in sight. Would they defend an investor, or throw him to the wolves? Bears thinking about.

"What is a – comb?" Garrus asked. "I understand what they are, but how is it relevant to data files?"

Startled by the odd question, Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Um, that's …" his eyes focused on the turian's durable and notably hairless fringe. "Oh, I see. Think of it a small grooming implement used to stylize or otherwise manipulate hair."

The turian still looked puzzled.

Shepard guided them back to the elevator, silently accepting the slower pace as a consequence of their goal. "It's more of a metaphor for organizing thoughts into a more coherent pattern. A comb is used to work knots or tangles out of hair, so Pressley is trying to get rid of any yseless data bits."

Garrus nodded appreciatively. "Got it. Thank you."

Twitching one shoulder in acknowledgement, Shepard checked the time. Less than fifteen hours. A lead in the first five hours? What are the odds?

[break]

The Presidium was as open as Shepard remembered it. Miniature hills rose and fell along the edges of the water supply, small groups of people settling in to picnics, or just meandering through the brilliantly false sunshine. The latter made Shepard uncomfortable; not necessarily because of the people, but the utter lack of true clouds was unsettling.

No rain. No strong winds. This place is supposed to be paradise, but it feels dead. He glanced at his companions thoughtfully. I don't think it's just me though. Maybe we'll be able to exchange a trick or two, if we're going to be working together long enough.

To his left, Alenko was looking around almost as much as Shepard had been, but not nearly as subtly. To most, it would appear as if he were gawking like a common tourist … but a knowledgeable observer would infer from the armor that such behavior was more due to pre-battle jitters.

On his other side, Ashley was nearly stomping with all the grace of an angered bison. She had not been happy when he called her away from unpacking the new Menelaus armor set. She hadn't refused to accompany them, no, she was too good a soldier to actually refuse … but he'd only requested her help, and her sense of honor had probably badgered her into leaving.

Shepard nodded to himself, and then barely avoided tripping over a low curb next to the sidewalk; no one caught his flailing arm. A suppressed snort came from somewhere behind him, confirming the hypothesis of an irritated Ashley. He stole a glance backward, then silently resolved to see if there were any extra goodies lying around in the near future, to enhance her armor set as an apology. Plus, keeping an angry Mech driver off his back was a good idea, if at all possible.

Something tickled the back of his mind, bringing his attention back to the path under their feet. The bridge, practically in front of C-Sec, led almost directly to the Financial District, a nearly straight route if contemplated from the right perspective. Suspiciously direct, but that was his paranoia, perhaps.

You're not paranoid if someone is actually out to get you. His father's words echoed in his mind. Shepard glanced at the bridge again. Straight lines, one dog's leg in the middle … almost a drawbridge if there weren't all those other bridges around.

"Commander," the flanged voice of their turian comrade spoke up from Shepard's back, "why are we going here first?"

Welcome back, Planet Garrus. Shepard hid an amused smile; he wasn't sure, but the gesture might have possessed a different meaning to turians. "I believe you mentioned Mister Von would be a primary information source?"

"Yes," Garrus moved up into Shepard's line of sight. He looked slightly uncomfortable, likely due to the potential of informants listening. "But I also said … other people … might be more likely to help."

"Very true." Shepard turned, casting a single curious glance into the depths of the waters below. Nothing moved in its depths, not even a tentacle. "However, I would like to know as much about … ah … the informant … as possible. Since Barla Von is reputable, and has an excellent working relationship with most of his clients, I would assume he would be more than willing to assist on a matter of some – urgency."

Plus, I'm putting off heading back to Chora's as long as possible. Am I risking a life this way? He paused, examining his motives for a moment. No, I really do need to talk to Mister Von first. If this Fist character is responsible for half of what I suspect goes on in the Den, I need every advantage possible.

He heard the detective exhale in exasperation.

"Relax, Vakarian," Shepard sensed Kaiden reach back to slap the turian's shoulder, an unexpected action, yet unsurprising. "Shepard knows what he's doing."

A good man. Shepard mused. He's very good at easing tension. Is it something he learned, or is it a natural gift? Whichever, it is a useful talent; no wonder he's assigned to the Normandy.

He glanced up, noting the ubiquitous paneling that seemed to run the full length of the Citadel. Small, tasteful signs appeared underneath the reflective plating, informing pedestrians of the great honor being bestowed upon them, just by their being in close proximity to the penultimate merchant district in the galaxy. In this particular case, the sign for Barla Von, Financial Advisor, was somewhat gaudier than others, following in true Volus fashion.

The thought coaxed an amused snort from Shepard. Volus were some of the most intellectually gifted beings in the galaxy – so long as finance was involved. Logistics, shipping costs, product advocacy … anything devoted to making a fortune was considered a worthy endeavor by the little people. Other things, like inventing a new impulse drive, or making a successful First Contact, was out of their frame of reference; probably why they were yet to be counted among the Council members.

"We're here." Ashley commented, bringing Shepard out of his reverie.

He blinked, thinking. Who to take, which would be better for this, mm? Ashley the warrior, or Kaiden the diplomat? Reality hit him with the force of sarcasm. Right. Leave the short-tempered soldier with a member of the biggest military force opposing her.

"Williams, you're with me. Garrus, Kaiden, keep an eye out here." Shepard unconsciously gave the shorthand advance finger-signal, prompting Ashley to reach his side in one stride.

The biotic and the detective drifted back to the protective walls next to the water course while he approached the door. Shepard refrained from giving them a final once-over; they were professionals and he would treat them as such.

The door hissed shut behind Shepard, the strangely transparent metal slats allowing light to cast a shadow at his feet. That was one other aspect of the Citadel that had annoyed him; the technology no one understood, but trusted. The years after his first introduction to the contradiction-that-was-the-Citadel had yet to change his mind.

"May I – sst – help you?" A mellow tenor, broken by the rasping breaths of ventilation emanated from behind a large desk.

Shepard stepped forward. "Barla Von?"

The yellow circles brightened, apparently reacting to a command from within the suit. The traditional black-on-white coloration of his exo-suit was overwhelmingly dominant against the beige coloring of the room.

As per the normal protocols required for exo-suits, the little alien's vocoder blinked as he spoke. Some obscure regulation referring to deaf beings … possibly the hanar, given their proclivity for legislation. "Commander Shepard – sst – it is an honor to meet you – sst – an honor indeed."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you know me on sight. Few non-humans take the time to memorize random human faces."

Hissed laughter met his words. "Hardly – sst – random, Commander. Your selection as a potential agent of the Council was – sst – and is – sst – a hotly debated topic – sst – among certain circles. I watch the markets – sst – it is my calling. To know the changing winds of the market – sst – I must know those who blocks the breeze."

Shepard snorted, amused. Then, his eyes froze on a small symbol emblazoned on the financial advisor's left arm. He knew that symbol. "In that case, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Bank-Master. May I introduce my comrade-in-arms, Chief Ashley Williams?" He ignored the surprised motion from Ashley's hands.

"But of course! – sst – Any companion of Shepard is a worthy acquaintance to make." The chubby stockbroker bowed in her direction. "Well met, Chief Williams."

"Um, thank you." Ashley responded. Her eyes caught Shepard's, confusion obvious.

He felt a grin tug at one side of his mouth, enjoying her discomfiture. "The Chief is one of our top heavy armor specialists, but has demonstrated a keen mind. I hope you do not mind my bringing her along for this session?"

Von waved one hand deprecatingly. "It is of no consequence – sst – I have been meaning to speak with you as well, Commander."

"Really." Shepard glanced at the tiny etching once more. "I have a wonder myself: why did a Bank-Master accept a position so far from a Volus Repository? If memory serves, the nearest authorized banking center is more than two systems away."

Even through the thick material of the ammonia-containing exo-suit, Von's pleasure was evident. "Likely the same reason you came to me – sst – instead of another investment specialist. – sst—"

Shepard nodded slowly, respectfully. "If you have a few minutes, I'd like to ask about a … businessman, if you will. He's the owner of The Chora's Den down in the Wards."

He received the impression of raised eyebrows from the small alien. "That is – sst – very interesting, Commander Shepard. – sst – very interesting indeed."

"Why?" Ashley blurted out. She had the decency to look embarrassed when both Shepard and Von looked at her. "I gotta stop doing that … um, I mean, why is that so interesting? Sir?"

The volus leaned back in the low chair behind his desk. "A good question Chief – sst – yes. You see, as you already have guessed," he gave Shepard a knowing look. "I also deal in information – sst – something that is always a valuable commodity. – sst – as it happens. I am good at my job."

Shepard didn't change his expression. "Then you know about Fist?"

Barla Von winced. "Bluntly put – sst – I can see why you chose Chief Williams to be here."

He shrugged, while Ashley seemed to fight down a reaction. "She speaks her mind. It's a refreshing change from the politics I have to deal with from time to time."

"A gift you are wise to appreciate." Von intoned. "Now. – sst – as you said, Fist is an … unusual problem."

"He's an agent of the Shadow Broker, is he not?" Shepard raised an eyebrow questioningly. "I'm looking for a quarian that may have gone to him for aid."

"Yes … in the past, you would have been right." Von agreed quickly, "but now – sst – Fist has decided to turn his resources to a new employer. Spectre Saren Arterius."

Shepard's hands clenched. The memory of soft fur, of a child's abandoned toy made phantom motions across his fingertips. This time, he had to make a conscious effort to quell the anger, disturbing in its intensity. "This is unusual, I take?"

"Most definitely." Von rose to his feet, rocking his rotund frame. "I would not be in the profession I am if I did not learn things from time to time. The Shadow Broker has never taken betrayal lightly – sst – but he takes care of his own. That is why the situation is so – sst – unusual."

"Why." Shepard leaned forward, focusing on the twin lenses of the volus's helmet. Something felt off, like he was being played once more, toyed with like a disposable implement. Unacceptable. My terms, or none.

The volus sighed. "Commander – sst – I believe that Mister Fist has had his fate decided. I have heard that – sst – one of the most dependable mercenaries in the galaxy has been – sst – employed to … ah … terminate the contract."

"Why are you telling us this?" Ashley's eyes were suspicious, glinting at the so-called financial expert. "What do you want in return?"

Shepard agreed silently, but kept his expression neutral. He didn't have to tell us that. Basics of exchange; professional courtesy is not necessary, but helps so much. I hate the game, but there is no denying its benefits.

"I believe the Broker is … impressed … with your people, Commander Shepard." Von admitted. "I know that, just when I took my place on this station, I purchased information from him. He – sst – sent out an observation order … before your people became generally known. – sst – I have my suspicions, but the evidence is plain. – sst – The Shadow Broker knew your people would be arriving on the galactic scene before you arrived. – sst – He plays for long term gains."

"Obviously." Shepard's mind was working on the new information furiously. "But what does that have to do with Fist?"

"At the moment? Nothing." Von spread his talons expressively. "I would – sst – advise you to hurry, if you wish to reach him first … but remember: you are being watched."

Ashley snorted quietly. "Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

"That," Barla Von looked at her cautiously, "Depends on how you – sst – look at it."

Now, blunt or careful? Shepard wondered, I hate to beat around the bush, but he never actually confirmed working for the Broker. Wait, no. Stupid brainless idiot. He just told you to hurry; speed is of the essence, and he appreciates that.

"Right." Shepard said aloud, flexing the larger muscles in his upper arms, unfolding them at the same time. "Last thing before we go; do you know whom Saren Arterius uses as his primary investment advisor? I would like to get as much information as possible."

The volus stiffened. "I'm afraid I cannot assist you in this matter – sst – although I do wish I could."

Shepard looked at him carefully. The easy, affable manner shown by the volus had become more subdued, making tiny circular motions with his talons. If the diminutive alien had been a member of a more aggressive race, the motions would've been hinting at a possible electronic attack.

"The Goyle Treaty allows me to request information on persons-of-interest to the Alliance." Shepard lowered his shoulders slightly. "Check the Volus Proctorate Inter-Species Listing; it should be under part three, Chapter nine."

The little volus bobbed his head thoughtfully, lenses flashing pensively. "You have that right – sst – that is true. But there would be fewer –sst – repercussions … if you were to have the authority of a Spectre behind your request."

Ashley rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and if we had a Councilor at our back, we could just ask Saren to ship himself to Eden Prime, wearing a big pink bow."

Shepard chuckled under his breath. The mental image she had conjured, was amusing to say the least. He shook his head, clearing the sight. "While I understand the easier process, Bank-Master, why would I solicit a Spectre when I can ask you right now?"

Barla Von's lenses brightened. "A good question, Commander. – sst – Why would it be better for a Spectre to ask?"

He's trying to tell me something. Shepard thought. Something quiet … but I have to hurry. Two questions and then we go. But why … security, obviously. Saren is very high security – he probably doesn't need to run his own security outside his own hardware, the Spectre position alone would insure confidentiality. Can I say that without getting in trouble?

"Well," he deliberated, "Would it be linked to how highly positioned Saren – ah – some people are placed?"

"Correct, Commander," the chubby alien almost bounced as his talons clicked together. "Telling people things is so much easier – sst – when asked by the right person."

Bingo. Realization struck Shepard. But better confirm it ….

"So then," he took care to frame the question as innocently as possible, "if the wrong person started asking questions about – say – one of the most important figures in your society, it could be considered a threat, yes?"

"Very good, Commander. Yes, that is a potential problem. –sst – Of course, this is all hypothetical, so there need be no consultation fee or report."

"Of course, of course." Shepard bowed respectfully. "No need to go through the trouble on my account, Bank-Master. However, should anything cross your desk you believe I might be interested in, please let me know. I am willing to pay handsomely."

Barla Von bowed in return. "My door is always open to you, Commander Shepard. – sst – If you should … hear anything interesting … I would appreciate a similar policy, if that is – sst – agreeable?"

"Eminently." Shepard headed for the door, motioning Ashley to precede him. As he paused, letting her pass, one hand fished near his belt slipping a small white square from a gold-hued container before flicking it into his mouth. The pungent spearmint flavor helped sharpen his awareness … except for noting the door frame was slightly further out than anticipated. He tripped, pitching forward almost on his knees when Ashley caught his shoulder, heaving him back on his feet.

She showed him her teeth, laughing quietly. "Careful Commander, or I'll be wishing you a nice trip, see you next fall."

"Ha." Shepard maintained an even expression. "Testing the gravity fluctuations is not a task for the weak-of-heart, Chief."

He pretended to ignore the strangely familiar sound she made, something high-pitched and repetitive in nature, like a snort but longer. It reminded him of the giggles Katrina had performed, whenever he'd played some particularly funny joke for her benefit.

Maybe, this time, it will be all right. The thought warmed him, like a fresh mug of cider on a cold evening. You can't replace the ones you've lost … but it's not fair to them, if you keep them at arm's reach forever. But … no. Commanders are the evil minion of the Captain; making friends isn't in the job list. Maybe I shouldn't have accepted Anderson's offer so quickly, if I'd known it was going to be this hard.

"Kaiden, Garrus, we need to move." Shepard shoved the ruminating depths of his mind deeper, shelving the thought until there was more time to dwell on it properly. The mental shift reverted him to business mode. "Alenko, get Alpha squad to hit the Wards. We're headed to Chora's Den."

"Again?" A quiet voice muttered behind him.

He ignored it. There were too many things happening, needing to happen. "Eyes open, there's a krogan with a contract probably ahead of us. Those bad boys don't wait around, so let's hustle!"

Shepard heard the vague acceptance behind him as he started jogging for the transit terminal. Eyes were beginning to angle his way, but the damage had been already done long before. Fist might have eyes up here, but if they were competent, they'd have let him know I entered Von's place long before I got out. No need to get sloppy … intentionally anyway.

He cued up the next available taxi, tapping one foot intentionally.

"Sir, Alpha Lead is on the line. He wants to know if mech armor is allowed." Kaiden had one hand held to his ear, the omni-tool link touching his earpiece to permit contact.

"No." Shepard didn't hesitate. "We don't roll the heavies in unless it's an absolute emergency."

"Understood, sir." Kaiden angled away from him, already speaking into his headset in a lower voice.

Shepard caught the irritated glance from Ashley. He maneuvered to her side, leaning slightly, the better to keep his voice down. "We're pushing the Council a lot right now, bringing a fully armed squad. I have the authority – barely – but power armor on the Citadel could be considered an act of war."

She frowned. "Got it. Don't like it, but I got it."

A thought struck his mind. "Actually … we might want to let C-Sec know we're coming, professional courtesy if nothing else."

"Bringing in the aliens?" Ashley's face twitched, arms stiffening, "Sir, it's our problem. We should be able to take care of it ourselves."

A taxi whirred next to the dock drowned out any response he was going to make, freezing as the magnetic clamps held it in place. Shepard held his peace as they entered the blood red vehicle, entering the new coordinates after the door closed.

As the taxi took off, Shepard turned sideways catching Garrus's eye. "Detective, I am about to commit a near-illegal operation. It's legal, but in order to keep from stroking feathers the wrong way, I am informing you of my intent."

The turian's pupils narrowed. "I understand the words 'near-illegal' and 'operation' Commander, but the feathers reference is escaping me."

Shepard sighed. "I'm going to hit Chora's Den, with the intent to shoot anyone and anything in my way. If C-Sec wants any control of the situation, tell them to either get there on the double, or stay out of my way. Politely."

The turian's mandibles dropped in what Shepard could only describe as a hungry lust. "Um, Commander … could you use another gun? After I tell the Executor, he might want someone to – keep an eye on you."

"Depends." Shepard looked him straight in the eye. "Can you shoot?"

Garrus laughed softly, a barking rasp that wouldn't have been out of place in a jackal pack. "I was the Sharpshooter for my platoon, my entire service. First place for the Menae competition, and the sniper on call for C-Sec operation." The facial plates re-oriented themselves confidently. "I'm a damn sight better than 'all right.'"

"Done." Shepard nodded. "Once we get there, keep an eye out for whomever the was sent after Fist. If we have to take him down, do it, but I'd rather talk first if possible. Von said he was one of the best in the galaxy, so he has to be smart."

Garrus shrugged. "If he's who I think you you're talking about, you have a chance. Urdnot Wrex was reported as coming aboard the Citadel yesterday; he just got out of questioning this morning. He's smart; smarter than most krogan. That makes him one of the most dangerous people in the galaxy."

Shepard's eyebrows went up. "Any chance I could hire him?"

The detective shook his head pensively. "Chance, yes. Good chance, no. He's got a kinda odd pattern for contracts, haven't been able to figure it out yet. Sometimes he seems downright honorable, then he goes and kills three asari in cold blood. Not that it could be proved, of course." He shivered slightly.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Shepard checked his omni-tool. The dull glow registered his gaze, brightening to show its screen. "I'm giving you an encryption channel, be careful with it."

While the turian opened a new channel, beginning what was sounding like an argument of – legendary – proportions, Shepard sat back, focusing on breathing quietly. The thought that a quarian was threatened, a species nominally under the Alliance's aegis, burned his soul like a lit coal. This didn't happen on Eden Prime, and I lost good men there. Ashley lost more, and I didn't feel this … what's happening to me?


A/N: Hello all, and glad to be back! Classes are going well, if taking a lot of my time. My apologies for the long wait, but priorities place my class work ahead of my writing :(

One note: The cameo of the HMS Baldwide and Captain Weathers is there in honor of an author colleague, whom's father passed away.

Next chapter is being written even as I type. My laptop is falling apart, but it's the fourth time I'm bringing it in, so I'm hoping Best Buy policy will be followed and I'll get a new one. Everything is backed up, and progress has been made.

Finally, shout out to the Dawn of Titans fic being written by Andotrota, F13D and myself. It's been a blast going through the stories of other authors, and actually having an impact on how they see a story. Thanks guys!

Until next time!