Chapter 5: The Angel's Got A Fiddle, The Devil's Got A Harp
1.
The merc's name was Ricky. That was all Garrus Vakarian got from him and, quite frankly, that was all he wanted as far as personal information went. Hell, the only real reason Garrus went fishing for a name at all was so that he had something to call the bastard during his interrogation.
"Ricky" was just another petty criminal with a hard-on for kicking little people, and if he wanted to hide behind Blue Suns armour while he got his jollies—if he wanted to ride on the backs of the Blue Sun's reputation to get things he was too pathetic to acquire otherwise—then he'd made his choice. Garrus would've happily obliged Ricky and treated him just like any other interchangeable Blue Suns parasite if it didn't make threatening the punk a hell of a lot harder.
The "someplace warm" that Garrus had dragged Ricky was a decrepit old medical clinic that'd been fire-bombed to hell by none other than the Blue Suns. Because they didn't want to play the protect-racket game, as was always the case. Garrus couldn't've cared less about irony (really it was just a strategically defensible position, in case anyone in the Suns cared enough about Ricky to come looking for him), but he thought about pointing this out, rubbing his nose in it so he could smell the ash from all the lives his people had ruined. Taking another pass at that idea, Garrus decided he'd do exactly that. Not a half bad way to scare the merc, with the added bonus that Garrus could pretend good things always punched back when something threatened them.
Ricky wasn't tied up, but he'd backed himself into a corner after he'd spilled his name. Garrus walked over to him, crunching old bits of burnt metal as he went, and holstered his pistol. He leaned down to face Ricky, making sure the merc could see his own reflection in the black visor of Garrus's helmet.
"Know what this place is, Ricky?"
"N-no."
"It used to be a clinic. Used to be. People got healed here until your guys blew the place up." Garrus leaned in closer. "Not enough to rip them off, is it? You have to take their hope, too."
"I-I didn't do this…"
"Not this one, maybe. But you've done your fair share. Who knows, Ricky. Maybe if I dig really deep, I'll find out you've been behind things that make firebombing a clinic look like jaywalking."
"N-no I-I…hey man listen I ain't never done a-anything so sick! Honest!"
"Are you calling this 'sick' because you think it's wrong? Or because you think that's what I want to hear?" One last time, Garrus leaned in closer. "You can't weasel out of this, Ricky. This's been a long time coming."
Ricky pushed himself as far into the corner as he possibly could. "H-hey wait a minute wait! I-I've got information! I-I'm useful, all right? I've got stuff that'll help!"
"Useful?" Garrus stood up. "Yeah, you're useful. I haven't used a body as a warning in a long, long time."
"Wait man WAIT I thought you wanted INTEL! That's what you SAID man you said you wanted INTEL!"
"That was the plan but, hearing you right now—hearing you think of your own ass first, even with everything I told you about this place—I'm wondering if I shouldn't just find another Sun and put you out of everyone else's misery."
"I DIDN'T DO THIS!"
Garrus's talons found their way to his pistol, yanked it out and pointed the barrel at Ricky's head. "Actions have consequences—all the way down the line. That credit-chit you snatch today turns into a bomb tomorrow, and then there's blood on your hands in more ways than one. Take some damn responsibility, Ricky. You owe your victims that much."
"I ALREADY SAID I'D TELL YOU EVERYTHING PLEASE—GOD PLEASE SOMEBODY HELP ME!"
Garrus gripped his pistol and felt the universe obey his will for just a small moment, a fleeting moment, and then Ricky's voice broke through. It broke through and mixed with all the other people who'd screamed that out in Omega's forever-nights and Garrus had to tell himself, no, you're not imagining it—they sounded identical, full of the same fear and helplessness.
Whatever you're doing, Garrus, it wasn't the plan. Shooting Ricky wasn't going to break the Blue Suns; it was just going to create another corpse. Maybe he deserved it…but actions had consequences. He had to play things smart now. He had to play things smarter than he'd done before.
"One of these days," Garrus said, "a bullet's gonna come out of this gun, and it'll be heading in your direction. I want you to think about that a bit when we're done here. Because believe me when I say, I'm not gonna lose any sleep over being one bullet short."
"Jesus…Jesus Christ s-somebody…"
"Keep it together." Garrus holstered his pistol. "You've got intel? Then let's have that intel."
"P-please…p-please…"
"Intel—now."
"I-I can't…I-I can't…"
Ricky was shaking uncontrollably; if he'd been lucid, he'd have heard his own teeth cracking together. The only thing he noticed, shaking there in the corner of that destroyed clinic, was that one second, Archangel was standing over him—and the next minute, he was alone with the shadows.
Ricky shook himself to the point of exhaustion and then didn't wake up for nearly twenty hours.
2.
The trip from Minuteman Station to Omega had been quiet and uneventful and neither Miranda nor Jacob could wait to get off the ship. Jacob felt completely in the dark and figured that the sooner they started seeing some action, the sooner he'd have answers as to what the hell was going on and why Cerberus hadn't pulled the plug on the Lazarus Cell. Miranda wanted off because she was coming dangerously close to killing Jeff Moreau (sorry, Joker, as in…Joker, she guessed), and, not to put too fine a point on it, the Lazarus Cell couldn't really afford to lose more personnel at this point.
It had been the name, that was the issue. Joker refused to leave until they came up with a name for the ship that wasn't Normandy and Jacob, damn him, had agreed.
"We could stick with Alliance regs," Jacob had said. "Just pick a different battle and call the ship that."
"Oh so we're Alliance now?" Joker said. "Hey did they let you keep the military pension? Even after you murdered an Admiral?"
"That wasn't the Lazar—" Miranda began.
"Fine," Jacob said. "What about…I don't know, something from pop culture? Pick a famous ship name, and we just look like some spacer's that're really excited about space travel."
"Oh yeah, good idea!" Joker said. "Hey, let's go with The Executor because you guys are fucking evil."
"And yet you were perfectly happy to join up with us when we offered you a chance to fly again," Miranda said.
Joker stared her down. "You really want me to say it? You really want me to say why I said yes?"
"Hey just—everyone hold up a second," Jacob said.
"There are plenty of names to choose from and little time before things spiral beyond our control," Miranda said. "Pick one so we can leave."
"Hey Company Man," Joker said to Jacob. "You wanna tell her why this can't be rushed?"
"I'm fully aware of the superstitions you have, Mr. Moreau," Miranda said.
"Joker," Joker said. "And cool. Then shut up."
Before Jacob could say anything, EDI appeared in her glowing blue mushroom form. "As we are a reconnaissance ship, we could make use of spying-related vocabulary."
"Isn't that just painting a target on our backs?" Jacob said.
"No no, let's hear the murder-machine out," Joker said. Then he turned to EDI's holographic avatar. "You understand sarcasm, right?"
"I do, Mr. Moreau."
"Good to know."
"Given that I have full executive control over this ship," Miranda said, crossing her arms, "I can make it whatever the hell I want. We're pressed for time, people. So either come up with a name or live with whatever I decide."
Jacob, Joker, and EDI all silently regarded each other.
"Allies," Joker said. "Just on this."
And through great effort, a consensus formed around the name Widowmaker. As Joker summarized, it (a) came from a film, so there was the pop culture angle; (b) involved a submarine, so there was the stealth angle; and (c) involved a series of horrible accidents that cumulatively killed off nearly a quarter of the subs crew.
"So it has a happy ending," Joker said.
"This is absolutely idiotic," Miranda said.
"Because I felt so safe before all this," Jacob said under his breath.
"Cerberus regulations—" EDI began.
"Cerberus regulations can go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut," Joker said.
And that was that. The newly christened ship Widowmaker left Minuteman Station and then docked in Omega, after which Miranda and Jacob disembarked and took in the terrible sight before them.
"I hate this place," Miranda said.
"Yeah…sure doesn't seem very welcoming," Jacob said.
Miranda nearly told him that he had no idea how right he was…and how much this place stunk of failure to her.
EDI informed the two Cerberus agents that there seemed to be a quarantine in effect on some part of the station, and that a Mordin Solus was running a clinic in the middle of the infected zone. This was the person they were looking for—a salarian with an extensive background in biochemistry and evolutionary biology (among several blacked-out files that were too well-guarded for even Cerberus's algorithms)—and the best person to consult with for information and potential passage into the plague zone would be Aria T'Loak, the defacto ruler of Omega. She could be found in the Afterlife Club, so that is where Miranda and Jacob should begin.
There was a massive line waiting to get into the club.
"This line looks like it hasn't moved in centuries," Miranda said.
"I think I see moss growing on some of the people," Jacob said.
They got in line, Miranda dreading just how long they'd have to be standing (no other routes in, no chance to bribe our way through…dammit we don't have time for this). And just as Jacob was turning to ask Miranda if she had a plan, a batarian guard came bounding down the clubs steps towards them.
"Aria wants to see you," he said.
"Aria?" Miranda said, playing just coy enough that, hopefully, the guard wouldn't suspect anything. "Why does she want to see us?"
"Because you just docked with a ship called Widowmaker," the guard said. "Why the fuck d'you think?"
The guard walked back to his post, leaving Miranda and Jacob surrounded by patrons who were trying their best not to stare at them.
"I'm going to kill that idiot," Miranda said eventually.
"Hey, looks like it's working out for us," Jacob said.
"Let's just move."
And into the club they went.
Not too far from them, Agent Cleo St. Pierre seriously considered radioing them for back-up, hoping that they'd somehow managed to get onto the station early and possibly throw protocol out the window to come save her ass.
3.
Garrus was on a rooftop, staring down an empty street through the scope of his M-97 Viper. It didn't have any thermal clips in it and besides that, his finger wasn't anywhere near the trigger. The plan was to use it as a set of binoculars—use it to find a Blues Sun patrol or something like it from a space where he couldn't be spotted—and get himself back on track. Tarak was up to something and by all accounts was running desperate; he needed intel, and Ricky…wasn't going to be any use anymore.
A group of vorcha shambled into scope; it looked like they'd just kicked the crap out of each other and decided that whatever argument they'd been having was effectively solved. Garrus had said on a few occasions—to himself, to his team…mostly to his team, when they needed a boost—that on Omega, if you wanted to find a criminal, all you had to do was point your gun and shoot. It was supposed to be a joke but…there was some truth to that, wasn't there? These vorcha were Blood Pack, a vicious krogan-led mercenary group that specialized in inflicting the kinds of violence that other mercenary groups thought was too risky (and maybe even crossed what little conscience they had), and if they'd been fighting, it'd probably been over some loot that they'd snatched from a newly created corpse. That was how they worked—that was how they always worked. He didn't have proof that these vorcha had done anything like that, but inaction had consequences too…
A couple of vorcha walking the streets tonight, a dead family in Blood Pack territory tomorrow; slap a thermal clip in the Viper and that'd be one less group of foot soldiers to send out when the next shipment of drugs needed hauling, or the next set of slaves needed pacifying, or the next whomever needed shaking down. It was extrajudicial—it was playing executioner, screw the jury and the judge outright—but with Omega…you got the feeling that if you weren't actively engaged in a gunfight with someone, then you were missing something and it'd come back to bite someone at some point in the future.
Garrus shook his head, pulled away from his scope, found himself looking back down on the vorcha the moment he pulled his rifle back up to his eyes.
He was having more and more of these thoughts lately and, more and more, they sounded so rational to him. Back in C-SEC, on the Citadel? He'd've checked himself into a psyche clinic if he started having those thoughts on duty. But on Omega they came in greater force every day, louder and louder and louder, and the gap between those thoughts rearing their ugly head and some quiet time to figure calm himself down got shorter and shorter too.
He'd come up to the roof to distract himself from how he'd nearly talked himself into killing Ricky just for being a Blue Sun and now, here he was, talking about a random group of vorcha with almost the same talking points. And the actual rational part of him was reminding him—was practically screaming at him—that at best, he'd spoke the entire neighborhood and cut off any chance of finding allies or establishing contacts, because people didn't like it when anyone, even Archangel, started randomly firing a high-powered weapon at people from the rooftops. He knew these sorts of thoughts were only going to lead him to failure again and again and again…
…and below that, a voice that was probably quieter than it should be was telling him, screw what worked, he knew these thoughts were wrong, plain and simple. He'd had these thoughts once before in his life and thought he'd beaten them—thought he'd replaced them with just a simple, general, easy-to-justify disdain for red-tape and empty words—but he'd been sliding backwards since…
…since Sidonis.
Garrus pulled back from his scope again and waited for the vorcha to leave his sight, just to make sure he didn't do anything that made the incident with Ricky seem like a minor blip on another very dark night. He looked skyward at the upside-down skyscrapers (they looked like teeth closing down on the bottom jaw that was the never-ending slum) and wondered if he'd been backsliding before Sidonis, even. This place seemed like it'd hollowed out more than a few people in the past—it probably brought the worst out of the most committed do-gooders all the time too.
Noise to the left—sudden, not an attack, equally surprised as Garrus was. He swung around and reached for his pistol and stopped his momentum, halfway, as he came face-to-face with another turian in grey armour. The other turian went from shocked to questioning and Garrus quickly pulled his hand away from his pistol, hoping nobody would have to go for their weapons.
"The hell are you doing up here?" the other turian said.
Garrus didn't say anything.
"Hey…wait a minute," the other turian said. "You…who I think you are?"
Garrus hesitated, then said, "Who do you think I am?"
"I think you're a guy called 'Archangel'," the turian said. "Blue and black armour, sneaking around on a rooftop—tell me if the shoe fits at all."
"If it does, what's it to you?" Garrus said.
The other turian backed up slightly. "Hey, not a damn thing. You an' I've got no beef, believe me."
Garrus hesitated again. "All right then," he said, "in that case—let me leave you to your roof."
"No no, you can stay." The other turian turned for the door. "You've got something going in—it's fine. I'm just looking for some vorcha that thought it'd be hilarious to piss all over the VIP door at Afterlife."
"You're looking for vorcha that did…that?" Garrus said. "And you'll do what with them?"
The other turian shrugged. "Not really up to me. Aria's orders. Honestly, I'd think it's funny if my job wasn't to keep them away from Afterlife. Not so funny if Aria thinks you're slacking off."
Garrus sighed inside his helmet. Aria reminded him of some of the worst of the worst political types back on the Citadel. One of the few metrics he used to make sure he was still sane was if he started thinking about taking Aria out. Did the people of Omega deserve a hell of a lot better than her? You know it. But would her death destroy the station? It would, and so long as Garrus recognized that, he figured he had enough of a grip on his trigger finger to know it was he who was shooting, and not some jumble of neuroses.
Besides that…well at least he could tell her crony that some Blood Pack were in the area. Maybe she'd give a damn and send some people to reinforce the area, since it wasn't all that far from her turf.
"Mmm, well, some Blood Pack vorcha went by just before you came up here," Garrus said. "Could always start with them…?" he motioned to the stranger to give a name.
"What? Oh, Gavorn. Head of the Vorcha Task Force. Or, you know, 'Pest Control' like we're sometimes called." Gavorn chuckled. "And pests the Blood Pack certainly ain't. That's more up your alley than mine, don't you think?"
"Hmm, thought I'd mention it, just in case," Garrus said. He pushed past and had his talons on the door when Gavorn tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, you're done up here? Looked like you were scouting for something."
"I wasn't."
"Oh, uh…okay." Gavorn looked at his own Viper that he'd been balancing in his hands. "You uh, need help with anything?"
"Not at all."
"Hey, jeez, I'm just askin' here."
Garrus spun around and nearly told Gavorn off for being one of Aria's flunkies, but he stopped himself. He had to wrestle with his impulse a good long while and that left Gavorn staring at his own reflection for far longer than was comfortable for either turian, but eventually the impulse surrendered and Garrus' rational side took over.
"Fine," Garrus said. "If you want to help, you can tell me where the nearest Blue Suns Lieutenant is." Right, get a big one—someone closer to the top. Ricky was too small…too uninvolved. A Lieutenant though, they'd have involved themselves in things. They'd know more and they wouldn't be afraid to admit it.
Gavor rubbed at his mandibles. "All right, uh…you gonna tell me what for?"
"No."
"Yeah, figured." He rubbed his mandibles again. "Uh…oh! There's a…what's his name, turian fella in this ward. Amulus! That's it! Amulus something-or-other. Last name's probably not so important—I think you've just gotta poke around Prathar's Pints, the bar. Err, bar and grill I should say. Heh," Gavorn said, "figures it'd be a bar, huh?"
Yeah, and figures it'd be another turian that Garrus was after.
"Any civilians in Prathar's?" Garrus said.
"Uh, yeah, usually a few. Food's pretty good."
"Right. Thanks." Play it safe, play it cool—talk. That's what Garrus would have to do.
Garrus started for the door again.
"Hey, hold up a second," Gavorn said.
"What?" Garrus said, turning around for what he hoped was the last time.
"You look…y'know, proper military type. So, why're you out in this dump? What's in it for you?"
"I don't work that way," Garrus said.
"Yeah yeah, sure, they all say that." Gavorn looked at Garrus again and, evidently, didn't want to push the issue. "I'm just askin' cause, y'know, I went through basic, same as everyone else. I had to unlearn a lot of what they taught me to function here, if you get what I mean."
"I do," Garrus said. "And if you want an answer…then part of why I'm here is that I like to know a criminal when I see one, instead of them hiding behind a nice suit and money."
"Wait," Gavorn said, "you came here for that? Buddy, I would've stayed in Hierarchy space." Gavorn crossed his arms. "Been here for most of my life and, gun to my head, I wouldn't be able to tell ya who's a criminal and who's just trying to survive. If there's a line then I ain't found it yet."
Garrus turned and left, leaving Gavorn to wonder what in the hell he'd said wrong.
4.
Miranda and Jacob left Afterlife a hell of a lot more on-edge than they'd been when they entered it.
Aria told them what they needed to know: the plague-infested area that Mordin was holed up in—trying, by all accounts, to fight back against it—was locked down by her people, the Blue Suns inside were being pushed back by the Blood Pack, and anyone who wanted to track Mordin down was an absolute moron. Especially if those people were humans, since out of the two species that didn't seem to be impacted by whatever plague was down there—humans and vorcha, hence the blood-pack making gains—only homo sapiens had the capabilities to manufacture a virus and distribute it. Residents were…on edge around humans, and if they had something sharp around they'd be happy to explain why in gory detail.
That was all more or less expected, notwithstanding people's impression that Omega's human population was trying to genocide everyone else. And Aria telling them that, if they could convince the district guard to let them through, she'd tell the rest of her people to stand down—that wasn't unexpected either, since she had a lot to gain from Miranda and Jacob sorting out the various problems brewing in that neighborhood.
What put them on edge was what Aria told them that they didn't need to know.
"The last group of you were a lot more subtle," Aria had said to them as her guards funneled them into her office. "Armour aside, they didn't fly in on a massive ship with a heavily conspicuous name."
"We have no idea what you're talking about," Miranda said, frowning.
"And that's not us just saying things," Jacob said. "We really don't know what the hell you're talking about."
Miranda flashed him a look and Jacob guessed that he shouldn't've made it seem like they were that out of the loop, but c'mon Miranda, now's not the time for games.
"I'm sure that's what you want me to believe," Aria said. "But two Alliance Marines were standing exactly where you're standing not one hour ago. What a very, very large coincidence that would be."
"Guess so," Jacob said.
"And what did these two 'Marines' claim to want from you?" Miranda said.
"No idea," Aria said. "I just wanted them the hell off my station. But all of this is making me think you've got an ulterior motive, trying to find Dr. Solus." Aria nodded at her guards; they moved in closer. "Maybe you should come clean."
"We're being perfectly transparent," Miranda said. "We want the doctor for a mission of high importance, and our employers are willing to compensate whoever needs compensating in order to bring him aboard." Miranda crossed her arms. "If this is extortion, you're wasting your time and our own. We'll pay whatever's needed."
Aria stared Miranda down, hesitated, then said: "And who might these employers be?"
"Private interests. We're not Alliance."
"I suppose you're both outside the dress code."
"And unless these Marines are after Dr. Solus, we don't particularly care why they're here or what the Alliance is interested in on your station. We're here for one reason; the sooner that's done, the better."
Aria kept staring and then, eventually, waved her guards off. "Then let's not waste any more time," she said, and that was it. Credits weren't exchanged; no further promises or deals were negotiated. The meeting ended swiftly and without ceremony.
But now Miranda and Jacob were completely on edge.
"They're after Shepard, aren't they?" Jacob said.
Miranda didn't say anything.
"Makes sense though, doesn't it? You said the Illusive Man got word they'd found out Shepard was alive—figures they'd send someone to investigate."
"It means Shepard's on this station," Miranda said. "That part wasn't discussed."
Jacob paused, rubbed the back of his neck. "Right," he said. "Yeah, guess it does mean that. Weird that she's here of all places."
"Whatever the reason, it's not our concern."
"Not saying it is—I'm just curious is all."
"Don't be. We've got a mission; we're going to stick to it."
"Yeah yeah—like space-glue, I get it. Still…"
There was a chirping in Miranda's ear and then EDI was speaking to her.
"Operative Lawson—I am receiving a request from a Cerberus agent to connect to your communications network. It is from an agent somewhere on Omega."
Miranda's finger went up to her ear quicker and harder than she anticipated. "What ID?"
"St. Pierre, Cleo," EDI said. "Codename: Argus. Intended to join Lazarus Cell upon your arrival on the Station."
Miranda wasn't aware of any of that, but dammit it all if she was going to show it. "Access granted. Monitor the channel for unusual activity."
"Affirmative, Operative Lawson."
Another chirping burst nearly took out her ear drum, followed by a voice that was trying its best to stay professional.
"It's Agent St. Pierre, I'm in serious trouble here and NEED backup, please! Alenko and Williams are—"
"We have your location," Miranda said. "Find cover and hold position."
"Please tell me that means you're coming!"
Miranda hesitated, looked over at Jacob. By the look on his face, he'd been able to hear most of what this Agent St. Pierre had said. She checked the agent's location again: it was in the Markets just a street below Afterlife's main entrance.
"Affirmative," Miranda said. Then she cut the call and started moving.
"Alenko and Williams are the Marines?" Jacob said, following behind. "Whatever's going on, I'm with Aria—can't be a coincidence."
"It's not our concern," Miranda said.
"Except we're going there anyways," Jacob said.
They'd reached the doors to the markets. Miranda wheeled around. "It's on the way to the quarantine zone." The look her face took on could've caused a varren to start whimpering. "Remember that."
They descended the steps four at a time and Jacob thought, yeah, read you loud and clear "Operative Lawson."
This St. Pierre was just more meat for history's meatgrinder.
5.
Civilians everywhere at Prathar's—an unbelievable amount. Families, couples, dockworkers who'd just gone off shift: the only difference between this place and a typical grill on the Citadel was the batarian name at the entrance. Gavorn either got his information wrong or deliberately underplayed just how busy this place really was.
So what the hell was Garrus going to do? He didn't even know what Amulus looked like but Amulus would almost certainly know Archangel, no question. Taking the armour off would be risky: sure, he'd get into the place just fine, but Amulus had to live through this long enough to give Garrus what he needed, and that risked other Blue Suns seeing his face. Any networking Garrus could do—his whole list of insiders and street-level spies, everything—that'd be gone the moment someone pointed at an unmasked Garrus and screamed "Archangel". If his team had been there…no. Nothing would've changed if his team was here, except that he could post two people at every door.
Focus Garrus—focus.
His legs were cramping: he'd been crouched on a roof (always the roof; scuttling around like an animal here, except animals on the station travelled in packs no stay focused Garrus stay focused) for Spirits-knew how long, trying to think of a way to thread a very complicated needle. The only option he'd kept around to mull over for a while longer was waiting to see if one of his contacts was around. Unlikely though that was, given that Prathar's was in practically in the shadow of Aria's Afterlife Club, it was about all Garrus could think of: find a contact, pay them to tell them which turian in a crowd of many was Amulus, then get the hell out and live the rest of your life in safety—Archangel didn't need to put you in danger anymore.
But the risks there were too damn high and besides that, Amulus might already be gone. Gavorn said Amulus hung around here—he didn't say for how long.
There. There we go—this is Archangel, this is everything Archangel represents. Someone who's useful so long as he has shadows and the drop on a hired gun, useless in every other way. Garrus gripped his rifle harder and harder as that thought repeated until he realized he no longer trusted himself, pointing his scope at the direction of the bar and grill. Ricky had been easy because the kid flaunted his Blue Suns connections like they were a new skycar, and Garrus had blown that. Amulus was a good start but the turian was smarter, or at least less stupid, and that was enough to leave Garrus stuck out on a roof with his talons squeezing the hell out of his rifle and—
A shot rang out somewhere in the distance. Garrus's head snapped towards the sound and in a fraction of that time, he was on his feet. A second shot—it was coming from the markets.
Amulus would have to wait.
As Garrus leapt from roof to roof, a small part of him realized that this was the calmest he'd felt since Sidonis sold his soul.
6.
Ashley and Kaidan hadn't gone far after they left Afterlife. They'd happened to stop by a quarian's stall—"Kenn's Salvage", owned by Kenn naturally enough—and found out that he was stuck on Omega. A trip to another merchant stall, owned by an elcor named Harrot, lead to a protracted discussion about business ethics that ended the way most arguments did when one party had a gun and the other didn't: Harrot would tear up the contract he forced Kenn to sign and, now, Kenn would be free to sell his goods at whatever price he wanted. When Kenn said he'd at least get the chance to raise a thousand credits and get off this damnable station, even if the chances were slim, Ashley pulled a thousand credits out of the funds Anderson had set up and told the quarian to get lost, this wasn't any place for someone who had a pilgrimage to get back to.
Kaidan didn't object and was more than happy to give Ashley a supportive smile, even if Ashley looked like she was doing everything in her power to ignore him.
"He reminds me a bit of Tali," Ashley said eventually, as they started walking back into the main market and away from the garbage bin that Kenn had converted into his stall.
"Uh, 'cause they're…both quarians?" Kaidan said.
"No, Alenko, not for that reason."
Kaidan held up his hands in surrender. "All right gotcha. Just…hard to see the connection is all."
"Two kids, stuck on a hostile station, way in over their heads—you really don't see a connection?"
"All right, now I see it," Kaidan said. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Though Tali had a shotgun."
"Probably would've done her more good here than on the Citadel," Ashley said.
"You say that and, yet, out of the two of 'em, I've only seen assassins on the Citadel."
"Nobody can afford them here, probably."
They continued on through the market. Ashley had said, back near Afterlife, that this was the first mission she'd been on since her promotion into the officer ranks, and Kaidan figured there were problems some nerves, even if Ashley was pretty damn good and hiding all that from the outside world. The thing was, all throughout their hunt for Saren, Ashley gave off the impression that she didn't even deserve to be an NCO (certainly people who know what "Williams" meant to the history of the Alliance thought that, sometimes vocally, but Ashley sometimes seemed like she believed that too...or that some force was keeping her there and maybe, in a twisted sense, it knew what was best). Hell just before the meeting with Anderson, Kaidan was remembering some of their conversations. The way she'd reacted after that thing with the batarian (T'aresh? That sounded right)...mmhm, things were starting to make sense.
Problem was, you couldn't just out and say something so personal to Ash. Somehow, Shepard managed to do that, but Kaidan wasn't Shepard.
"Hey, look." Kaidan stopped walking and, eventually, so did Ashley. "What you did back there—that was good."
"Do I get a medal yet?" Ashley said.
"Yeah, of course. A medal for every cat rescued from a tree—that's Alliance policy."
"I'm laughing right out of my boots."
"Look, Ash," Kaidan said. "You can feel good about doing good. You know that, right?"
"And I can feel bad about doing bad things?" Ashley glared at Kaidan, dared him to say otherwise.
"Yeah, you should," Kaidan said, taking the glare and refusing to wilt. "But both within reason, right? You don't need to beat yourself up over what happened back there with the batarian. T'aresh or whatever."
"This a shot at my pretty pink girly brain, Alenko?" Ashley's glare hardened.
"No, and you know it's not. It's about something that happened with a gun in your face and me making sure that—"
"Alenko," Ashley said. "Stop. Enough, all right? You're off-base."
"Sorry, Ash," Kaidan said. He realized his posture was tense and let it deflate a bit. "Sorry—I didn't mean to be out of line, but—"
"No," Ashley said. "You're off-base. Honest truth? I don't give a rats-ass about T'aresh or how bad I hurt his feelings. That's not it, so don't waste your energy."
Ashley started walking again. After a second, Kaidan followed.
"Now I'm confused," he said.
"Sorry, Commander," she said.
"Don't—no, just Kaidan. C'mon Ash."
"Then sorry, Kaidan. Don't mean to confuse you."
"I'm just trying to understand all that stuff before the club—that's it."
"That wasn't anything. Seriously, it wasn't anything. Barely lasted a minute!"
"Ash—"
"Hey." Ashley stopped, pointed at Kaidan, snarled a little bit. Kaidan took a step back. "You said—you just told me—not to call you Commander, right? Tell me I'm wrong, go ahead tell me: it's because of Shepard, right? That was her rank—right?"
"Fine, Ash," Kaidan said. "Yeah, you're not wrong."
"So if that's the case, stop trying to be her. I don't need you butting into my headspace trying to sort things out. Drop it, Alenko—it's nothing."
Ashley, again, started walking. And, again, after a second, Kaidan started following her.
"All right. Sorry, Ash," he said.
"You don't need to keep apologizing, all right? Just…drop it, that's all." Ashley's expression softened. "Just trust me when I say this: I really don't give a shit about that T'aresh clown."
"NOT ENOUGH TO HUMILIATE ME!" a batarian voice sounded out from behind them. "NOW YOU'VE GOTTA PRETEND LIKE I DON'T EXIST ANYMORE, HUH?"
Ashley and Kaidan whirled around and saw T'aresh—one eye closed and bruised—alongside what was probably ten or so other batarians. Pissed looking batarians, and some of them had decent looking weapons and armour to boot.
"Shit," Ashley said.
"Bit surprised he has friends, all things considered," Kaidan said.
"I HEARD THAT TOO YOU BASTARD!" T'aresh said. His group moved in closer, guns drawn. "YOU—you, you stupid assholes have no idea who you just fucked with. No way am I gonna let you come onto this station and shove a gun in my EYE like that."
The two Alliance officers readied their stance. It dawned on both of them at around the same time that, good Alliance armour or not, a couple of pistols would very quickly lose their effectiveness against that many automatic weapons.
People had more or less scattered, though, so that was good. Bit of room to improvise, bit more room to head for cover and hope Aria's guards really did hate T'aresh and weren't just saying that to get them into Afterlife.
"So uh…we get a chance to make peace with the universe first?" Kaidan said. His hand moved towards his pistol; Ashley's followed suit with her own.
"Not a FUCKING CHANCE," T'aresh said. And just as he was about to signal to his men to start opening fire…
…they heard someone saying "shit shit shit shit" under her breath until a woman in civilian clothes burst through the tiny crowd of onlookers that were either dumb enough or bored enough to stick around. With an awkward jerking motion, she yanked out a pistol of her own and pointed it directly at T'aresh.
"H-hey you, stand down asshole!" she said. "I mean it! Don't even think about doing anything! Except standing down I mean—think about doing that."
Everyone in the market was staring at her like she was naked. For a brief second, the woman looked like she wanted to check to make sure wasn't actually naked.
T'aresh was the first person to figure out how words worked. "Who the hell are you?" he said.
"Uhhhh…u-uh St. Pierre, yeah. Spectre. Yeah this is Spectre business, pal! You lay a hand on those two over there and we'll send a fleet in—you better fucking believe it!"
Kaidan and Ashley looked at each other like their universal translators had just died on them. T'aresh and his men had essentially the same look on their faces, too.
"You're a Spectre?" T'aresh said eventually.
"It's uh…always the ones you least expect," Cleo St. Pierre said. Buried under her civilian clothes, Cleo had a kinetic barrier ready and primed. T'aresh didn't look like he had anything of the sort. So if he was stupid enough to fire at her—
T'aresh fired a round directly into her chest. "I fucking doubt it," he said. Kaidan and Ashley yanked out their pistols just in time for the batarian to put another round into Cleo's shoulder. The kinetic barrier sputtered and died and Cleo rolled onto her side, a smear of red following her. "THAT'S WHY YOU DON'T FUCK WITH ME!" he said to nobody in particular. He and his men raised their guns in Kaidan and Ashley's direction just as they coiled their legs like springs, ready to slide into the nearest cover…
…and then a third shot rang out and T'aresh's gun was knocked clear out of his hands and towards where the crowd of onlookers had once been standing. It exploded a second later, drowning out T'aresh's garbled cursing and the sound of a heavily armoured figure in blue and black crashing to the ground, sniper rifle balanced in the talons of his right hand.
"O-oh shit, i-it's Archangel!" one of T'aresh's men said.
Archangel wasn't looking at them. He wasn't looking at Cleo either, who was grimacing and holding her shoulder. He was looking at Kaidan and Ashley, and even through the black-tinted visor they could tell his mandibles were clicking together excitedly.
"Kaidan?" he said. "Ashley?"
"Who the hell—?"
T'aresh interrupted Ashley before she could finish. "FINE! FINE YOU WANT A STAND-OFF? DOES EVERYONE HERE WANT A FUCKING STAND-OFF?"
T'aresh's head exploded. His men jumped. To the left of Kaidan and Ashley, Miranda stood with her gun pointed outwards, the barrel smoking.
"Not necessary," she said.
And after that, it became a simple game of trying to find cover before your kinetic barriers gave out.
Hey folks! That does it for Chapter 5 (jinkies, Scoob - I definitely didn't think I'd get five chapters into this. Not that I'm complaining!) Hope that it was fun to read!
The thing about AU fics is, they give you permission to radically change things if that's where it feels like the story's going - and for me at least, that's what it felt like as I was writing this. It seemed like the three groups of people (I guess four if you count Cleo) were going to converge, so I didn't fight it when that happened. It also meant that I got to have a bit of time with Garrus, which is always fun, though the parts of his thoughts that came out as I was writing weren't what I expected. I don't think the darker thoughts he's having are out of character given that he's clearly struggling through a lot in the games, albeit with a very snarky personality covering it up, but if you feel like I missed the mark on him, let me know.
Right, reference time. "The Widowmaker" (speaking of canon-divergence) is, of course, a reference to the Kathryn Bigelow movie K-19: The Widowmaker (which, yes, it should be pointed out that K-19 never had that nickname in real life: the crew called it "Hiroshima" instead, which says about all you need to know right there). I guess both that movie and Blade Runner are still popular in the 22nd century. I mean don't get me wrong, Blade Runner I totally get. I'm probably stretching credibility here by saying that K-19 will carry on like that (especially since it's not that good of a movie), but hey, some critics thought Charles Dickens was a hack too, so who knows.
The chapter title comes from the Leonard Cohen "What Happens to the Heart". If I managed to go five more chapters without naming something after a Cohen song, then you all should be dutifully impressed. I've probably had to exercise a ludicrous amount of self-control to do that.
And uhhh yeah, that's it! Next update will be at some point in the future!