MASS EFFECT: INTERCEPTOR 2

*Episode Seven*

Lang slipped through the steady stream of civilians, his steps faltering nervously as he was forced to divert around a pair of lumbering elcor. Down near the Foundations of Zakera Ward lived the poor and destitute, living off the free nutrient paste provided by the Citadel's own built-in dispensers and tapping into water pipes and heating ducts to sustain themselves in ramshackle housing. It was not a place often frequented by C-Sec and Lang was fully aware of the fact as he pressed through the narrow streets.

It was a shantytown of sorts, the steam of open-fronted kitchens cooking cheap ethnic foods filling the air. The smells were utterly alien to Lang, spices and sauces the likes of which he'd never come across even in the diverse markets of Zakera. Huddles of various species were cloistered in alcoves and on junctions, making the simple act of walking in a straight line impossible. Even with gaudy, brightly coloured signs to light the way, the shadowy recesses were so dark they could hide anything, whether some poor soul who'd lost everything they owned or the mugger who'd just robbed them.

Lang's earpiece buzzed as Lina spoke, the quarian's voice doubly distorted by the poor audio signal and her own suit's amplifiers.

'You're getting close. Our surveillance shows two guards at the entrance. The forensic officers arrived less than an hour ago, so hopefully whatever evidence they've found will still be on the scene. You know what to say?'

'Yeah,' Lang half-whispered, needing to raise his voice slightly to be heard over the throng. 'I just hope they don't get suspicious.'

'Don't worry about it. Just stick to what we discussed and everything will be fine.'

Lang smiled anxiously. 'Sorry, this is all a little new to me.'

'I daresay it is. Pretty different to the vids, wouldn't you say?'

'I knew it would be but still…' Lang trailed off. The favour Lina asked of him had seemed exciting at the time, a chance to get involved with something that really mattered. That feeling was distant now, replaced instead with the crushing weight of fear of what would happen if he was caught.

His destination was innocuous, so much that he would've missed it were it not for the pair of turian C-Sec guards at the entrance. It was a small doorway nestled between two shops selling all manner of native knick-knacks. Molach had clearly rented an apartment above one of the shops, and while Lang couldn't imagine wanting to live in that claustrophobic mass of heat and stench, he guessed the local residents had little choice in the matter.

As he approached the guards, both turians straightened immediately. They carried Avenger assault rifles, heavy firepower for a simple crime scene. Lang had seen enough to know that only one guard was necessary for the task and they never had their weapons drawn. Still, his C-Sec colours kept them relaxed and their fingers off the triggers.

'This area's restricted,' one of them snapped.

'Take it easy,' Lang replied, raising his hands defensively. 'I'm from Enforcement, here to speak to the controller. We need an update to complete the transfer of the Silver Coast heist files to Investigation.'

The other turian brought up his omni-tool. 'Name?'

'Officer Edward Lang, Tayseri.'

'Tayseri Ward? You're a long way from home, Lang.'

Lang shrugged as naturally as he could. 'I was in the neighbourhood and owed somebody a favour. If it's a problem I can go back and drag them down here.'

His heart pounded in his chest. He was pretty sure he came across as casual but with every moment came the nagging worry that some sort of verbal slip or inconsistency had given him away. He could have whooped for joy when the turian nodded.

'He's not one of them,' the guard told his counterpart before looking back at Lang. 'Okay, you're clear. Just don't be long. Talk to the crime scene controller and get out. You're looking for an asari, Sergeant Alna.'

'Thanks,' said Lang, remarking as he pushed past, 'Don't work too hard out here.'

That appeared to go down well, the turians giving a quiet chuckle as Lang immediately entered a dark staircase leading up into the building. "Building" was a generous term. It was just a particularly thick Citadel bulkhead and Lang could see reams of heating pipes and electrical conduits overheard covering nearly the entire wall and ceiling. Dozens of small lights blinked, signifying what Lang could not fathom.

Lina spoke again, startling him a little. 'This is interesting. Sergeant Alna works directly under Detective Chellick. Not unexpected but interesting all the same. Speak with her, say exactly what we rehearsed.'

Lang knew better than to respond and draw attention to himself. Another doorway lay open at the top of the stairs, a golden strip in the gloom. As he neared it, he could hear the scuffling of feet and a rushed conversation from the next room.

He squinted as he looked through the doorway. The apartment was tiny, barely even a room at all. It was a confining box with a scruffy bed and a makeshift kitchen that equated to a portable stove on a shelf set next to a nutrient paste dispenser and water outlet. There didn't even appear to be a bathroom. Lang hoped the door was just concealed behind the many tattered movie and music posters plastering the walls because the alternative was too depressing to consider.

There was only one asari in the room, who stood over three forensic officers as they tried their best not to get in one another's way in that tiny space. It was so bad that Lang had to shuffle sideways between them just to approach Alna.

The controller gave him a sharp look as he neared, visibly annoyed at having another body in such tight quarters. 'Enforcement, huh? You boys really had to come all the way down here instead of getting me on the comm?'

'We tried,' Lang lied, pointing upwards, 'but there was too much interference.'

The answer seemed to satisfy Alna, who turned her eyes to the heavens in frustration. 'And this is why we don't touch the Foundations. Plays hell with all our gear. I'm guessing you don't wanna be here any more than we do, so let's get this over with. What do you need?'

'The batarian who used this apartment was involved in that casino hold up a few hours ago, I'm sure you heard. We know Investigation's taking over so my captain wants to make sure all evidence is going to the same precinct, save you guys a headache trying to consolidate it later.'

Sergeant Alna smiled gratefully. 'Tell your captain thanks from me. Isn't all that often you get that kind of consideration these days.' She gestured around the apartment. 'We didn't find much but there was that set of OSDs over there.'

She nodded to a pair of silvery disks on a small dresser just beside Lang. 'Don't bother trying to load them up, they're heavily encrypted. Looks like that batarian intended to come back here after the casino, because he sure as hell didn't want anyone getting into those disks.'

Again, Lina's voice sounded in Lang's ear, her triumph clear. 'That's it! Ask her where they're sending them, hopefully we can intercept them on the way.'

Lang scratched the back of his neck. 'Okay, cool. So where should I tell my guys to forward the casino evidence?'

He felt a stab of nerves as a slight frown came over Alna. She looked aside, pausing long enough to make the silence awkward. Lang waited patiently, pretending not to notice as he placed a hand on the dresser, leaning on it casually.

'I know this is gonna sound unusual,' said Alna, 'but could you send it all over to Detective Chellick? His office is listed. He said he wants to look over everything personally before sending it down to lockup.'

Lang shrugged. 'Is that unusual? I'm not really familiar with Investigation procedures.'

'Oh,' Alna said in surprise, a tense smile drawing her mouth tight. 'Don't worry about it. Your captain might just be a little confused, but then again if he knows Chellick he probably won't be too surprised. My boss is like that, always has to have control over everything he's involved with.'

Lina muttered in Lang's ear, 'Damn right he does, the bosh'tet.'

Lang tried his best to ignore her as he gave Alna a courteous grin. He nodded to her politely. 'Thanks a lot, Sergeant. Hopefully the captain doesn't want anything else, this was a hell of a trip down.'

Alna laughed and waved him off. 'Yeah, spare a thought for me, huh? I don't clock off till morning.'

Lang waved back and made his exit, his pace picking up as he came out of the stairwell and out into the street. The guards let him pass without a word and the painful tension that had held Lang's body until that moment released it, filling him with an odd euphoria. He grinned from ear to ear as he realised the whole episode had left him feeling exhilarated.

When he was certain he was out of earshot, he touched a finger to his earpiece.

'There you have it. Not bad for my first JSTF assignment, huh?'

The amusement in Lina's voice was impossible to miss. 'Indeed, you performed admirably, Officer Lang. Return to the command centre for debriefing. We might need you again, if you're willing to stick around a while?'

His willingness was not in question, that much Lang knew as he pushed through the ever-increasing scores of pedestrians clogging the streets, his stride confident as he took the batarian OSDs out of his pocket to check them over. In a moment of inspiration, he decided to keep the fact he'd taken them to himself, wanting to see the look on JSTF's faces when he revealed his prize.

~~~ME-I2~~~

The wind howled and screamed. The dust it brought choked out the sun and turned the sky into a flat brown haze. The filthy outbuildings were cheap constructions of corroded metal patched onto concrete frames and they shuddered and groaned under the assault, loose panels flapping as the wind battered them.

Three figures emerged from one of the smaller structures, fully covered in common, cheap armour suits and their hands raised instinctively against the gale, even though all of them wore helmets. The man in the middle led the other two across a wide space littered with dust-caked shipping crates and heavy vehicles, all things that would have to be dug out again after the storm had passed.

They came to the largest building in the compound, a dour two-storey block of stone and rusted metal festooned with antennae that jerked and buffeted under the storm's weight. They entered a large freight entrance and when the doors closed behind the group, the sudden silence was oppressive.

Dust fell in sheets from the lead man's helmet as he slipped it off and the batarian narrowed both pairs of eyes at the guard who greeted him.

'Sarn, we're glad you're here,' his fellow batarian said with concern. 'We've been stalling her as best as we can.'

Kurak Sarn growled, a soft but angry noise in the depths of his throat. He was a large man, tall enough to look down on all those he commanded. His wide, muscular shoulders almost made his head seem smaller than it was even without the heavy armour, though his ruddy yellow skin striped with brown was distinctive enough to make him stand out for reasons other than his size. He had touched the edges of his stripes with bright red paint, a suitably intimidating visage for the leader of Crimson Fist.

Sarn pushed past his subordinate and his bodyguards followed without a word. The man who'd met them was forced into a run to catch up.

'I knew something had gone wrong,' Sarn said. His voice was as coarse as the Aratoht dust that swallowed his camp. 'Molach missed his scheduled report and now this. I assume you haven't told her he didn't check in?'

'Of course not,' the other batarian replied. 'Our problems are not for outside ears to hear.'

Sarn said nothing further and that was approval enough. The group clattered through a haphazard corridor of pipes, cables and grated metal flooring, all of which looked like it had been assembled decades ago and barely maintained since. The sound of struggling air ventilation units filled their ears, intakes clogged so full of dirt they could barely function.

Sarn led them into a communication hub, a small room stuffed with archaic consoles and humming junction boxes. A small comm terminal stood at the far wall and Sarn approached it, taking a moment to ensure his men were nearby and fully armed. It was a subtle message of strength that Sarn never forgot to send.

He pressed the receive button and a red-hued projection emerged from the terminal. It had no real form, just a random assortment of constantly shifting contours but it was what Sarn had come to expect. Whoever this woman was, she used state of the art scrambling and encryption tech, as well as the means to force top-level priority on the comm buoy network. It was enough to make Sarn respect her power - and the danger that came with it.

'Furia,' he said without emotion.

Furia's voice was slightly garbled and warped, but her smooth, somewhat mechanical tones were clear enough.

'Sarn. A situation has arisen.'

'And what situation might that be?' Sarn asked.

'Your man on the Citadel has been compromised. He is dead.'

At that, Sarn frowned, his calm mask broken in an instant. 'Molach? How?'

'A most unfortunate set of circumstances indeed, though that is not the worst of it. The Titus-Seven is missing. Citadel Security is searching for it, but its location may be impossible to find.'

Sarn grimaced bitterly, the expression showing little of the rage and confusion he felt. Everything had gone well until that point. His courageous soldiers had struck out at the oppressors in the Council with skill and fury, but their most devastating attack had erred at the last. He used that frustration, as the prophets preached, crushing it into an iron-hard fist he could use to strike at his enemies even harder.

'This is unacceptable,' he snapped. 'We have to find that bomb. We still have contacts on the station, among the lost of the Foundations. They must find it before C-Sec.'

The comm terminal was installed with small software upgrades, ones that measured in real time a caller's inflections and mannerisms, translating them into colourations and distortions in the projected image. In effect, this made it possible for Sarn to read people's emotions through their voices. Their image would spike and redden when angry, or waver with cold blue lines when displaying fear, but there was none of that with Furia. He didn't know what species she belonged to. She could have been asari, turian or even human. And yet, so bereft were her communications of emotion and so clinical were her words that Sarn wondered if he were speaking to an AI at times.

'The risk is too great,' Furia countered, 'and whatever meagre search party you can muster will pale in comparison to the many thousands C-Sec will have combing the Ward. You will only draw their attention. I am already taking steps to remove the evidence your man left behind. In the meantime, your efforts may be better turned towards the black market.'

Sarn furrowed his brows, puzzled. 'What do you mean?'

'Your man did not simply lose the T-Seven. It was stolen. That the thief did not activate it would imply they know of its nature. If it is recovered, they will likely try to sell it to illegal arms dealers. I can supply the funds for such a purchase, if the opportunity arises. There is no price too great.'

Sarn narrowed his eyes in suspicion. 'How generous. Is the target truly worth that much to you?'

'As much as it is to you, I am sure.'

His sharp, needle-like teeth now bared, Sarn barked, 'Don't presume to think you know me, or Crimson Fist! It is not worth the loss of so many of my warriors. With each one gone, the greater the danger we will be discovered and the less effective our army becomes. I think nothing of the wretches we hire on the Citadel, their existences are meaningless enough already, but batarian lives will only be spent for adequate blood in return!'

The comm centre was dark and yet it seemed to grow darker still. Sarn didn't know if Furia could see him but he stared into her chaotic projection of swirling polygonal shapes as severely as he would have if she were standing there in person.

'Very well,' Furia conceded at last.

Her next words were the only ones Sarn had ever known from her to betray any feeling, though they were still delivered in her sterile tone, without the slightest deviation.

'But know that whatever your anger towards the Council and the humans, whatever hatred you hold in your batarian heart, my vengeance is incalculable. We have come too far for me to abandon my goal. I will move stars, uproot galaxies, whatever is required to retrieve the T-Seven and set our final plans in motion. When we are successful, Crimson Fist will be known throughout batarian space as the Hegemony's greatest weapon - enough for you to stake a claim for rulership, if you so choose.'

The reiteration of Sarn's greatest prize made him smile and clench his fists by his side.

Furia continued, her voice quietening solemnly. 'For us both, the future lies with recovering the device and resuming our operation. With the destruction of the Destiny Ascension will come the ascension of our own destinies.'

Sarn's spirits were lifted further by the thought of the legendary asari flagship disappearing in a single vengeful flash, its insulting existence guttering out like a weak flame in Aratoht's winds. Furia was right. They were too close to give up now.

'I will do as you say,' he said, dipping his head very slightly. 'We will put the word out through the black markets, and through the Shadow Broker. No price too great, as you say.'

'Good. I will contact you again if there are further developments.'

The projection fizzled to nothing and Sarn released a deep breath as he digested the exchange. After just a few moments, he turned back to his men.

'You heard. Get the message out.'

~~~ME-I2~~~

The main briefing room of the Kanderax was enormous, a chamber of white and grey metal, the ubiquitous piping and cables of the ship's bulkheads disguised with banners of the legion who crewed her. A speaking platform stood at the far wall to address row after row of simple benches, all angled slightly to allow for the unique turian physiology.

Almost all were empty. Occupying one of the benches near the platform, an asari and a salarian did their best not to squirm in their unfamiliar seats.

The asari in particular looked unimpressed. For Matriarch Lidanya, to be summoned to this place instead of the more comfortable officer's mess was a pointed insult. Even the practical turians respected protocol when dealing with senior officers of other navies and her host had already made a poor impression on her.

Though an asari in the latter cycle of her life, Lidanya was fit and hard after centuries of dedicated military service. Her turquoise skin, though sporting a few unavoidable lines of age, was still smooth and healthy, flecked with red paint on her forehead and around her eyes. Her uniform was modest next to the salarian's, a tight and flexible dark suit of light armour typically used by the commandos of her people.

'Does he always keep people waiting, Vahtu?' she asked her counterpart, stiffening her back to at least look like she wasn't having a hard time keeping her balance.

'He has a reputation for it,' remarked the salarian. Admiral Vahtu Pyat sat upright, his arms laid across his lap. Next to Lidanya, his outfit might have been called ostentatious. Standard salarian body armour had been interwoven with traditional robes seen on diplomats and dalatrasses, creating an odd fusion of the pragmatic and the flamboyant.

'And the Council expects us to work with this man,' Lidanya complained irritably. 'We can't let him set the tone for these meetings if we are going to hold them every week.'

The harsh lighting of the briefing room made the milky scales on Pyat's head shine, contrasting sharply with the muddy brown skin beneath. The green orbs of his eyes narrowed a little at Lidanya's words.

'If that's the case then we're definitely not going to let him pick the venue going forward.'

The door behind them hissed open and they turned to see Admiral Kaion approaching them fast, his stride impatient. He wore sleeveless robes over his armour, elongating the silhouette of the already thin turian to make him look even more gnarled. Together with the vicious white slashes of his face paint and his long, dark fringe, he looked to Lidanya like a dead thorn bush; sinister, dangerous and certainly not something to become entangled with.

The matriarch steeled herself. Though she hardly felt the sentiment, out of respect she rose to her feet. 'Admiral? Matriarch Lidanya, Captain of the Destiny Ascension. It is a pleasure to meet you.'

She extended her hand, but did so in front of Kaion's path, stopping him deliberately in his tracks. Pyat couldn't help a small grin at the move.

Kaion's eyes swivelled in their sockets, eyeing Lidanya without a single movement from the rest of him. The man's voice was like a snap of pistol fire, lighter than most turians but with an expectorant quality that sounded like he needed to clear his throat.

'Yes, it's a real treat.'

Lidanya slowly withdrew her hand as she realised Kaion wasn't going to shake it. Her expression was neutral, but inwardly she raged at the turian's impropriety.

Admiral Pyat had lost his smile now and did not try to succeed where Lidanya had failed, remaining in his seat as he looked at Kaion pensively.

'Clearly we seem to be eating into your precious time,' said the salarian, 'so I suggest we keep this brief.'

Kaion took position in front of them, waiting for Lidanya to sit down once more before replying. 'That's the first good idea I've heard since I arrived here. Almost as good as my insistence we hold this meeting over comms.'

Lidanya did not bother to hide her angry frown. 'Admiral Kaion, this is most irregular. Not once in all my years as captain of the Citadel Fleet flagship has a fellow admiral refused to meet the others in person. How are we supposed to work together effectively if we cannot even speak face to face?'

'Your face is just as capable of making noise over a comm terminal,' Kaion answered with an apathetic wave of a hand. 'Let me be clear, my asari incumbent. I'm not here to be your friend. I'm here to ensure the turian contingent of the Citadel Fleet - the one that pulls the most weight around here - is not unduly influenced by those not completely invested in its success.'

Where Lidanya looked like she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing, Pyat instead stared at Kaion with detached amusement, perhaps thinking the same thing as the matriarch but producing a different reaction. The salarian relaxed a little, letting his back touch the bench.

'Strangely frank from someone in your position,' he remarked.

'More than one would expect from your kind,' Kaion bit back. He inclined his head. 'But at least you don't maintain the pretension otherwise. Neither of you may like me, however at least you know where you stand. Our esteemed matriarch here certainly doesn't look like she hears honesty all that often and that concerns me immensely.'

Lidanya opened her mouth to snap back but Pyat spoke quickly to cut her off.

'Well, now that our cards are on the table, so to speak, we have matters to discuss. The Council requires our recommendations on the response to the Thessia incident earlier today. Of course, fleet action is out of the question…'

'Completely,' Lidanya confirmed. 'Even if this Crimson Fist group is acting with support of the batarian government, the Council's stance on aggression against the Terminus Systems is unchanged. We have to rely on our covert forces; Commandos, Special Tasks Group, Blackwatch.'

'Has a Spectre been assigned?' asked Pyat.

Lidanya shook her head and crossed one leg over the other, placing her hands on her knee. 'Not yet. I think they want to see how things play out before committing to that. The humans may see things differently. After all, the bombings were carried out on non-human worlds but directed entirely at their enterprises. It doesn't change anything, however. I recommend we continue to gather intelligence and decide on a measured response from there.'

Kaion scoffed. 'How predictable. Even when your vaunted homeworld is attacked, you shy away from real action.'

'And what exactly would you suggest, Admiral?' Lidanya queried, her tone sardonic.

The turian began to pace, forcing the others to keep their eyes on him.

'We know the batarians have been funding pirate raids and terrorist actions against human colonies for decades now. In the past, the Council has batted aside any thought of protecting those colonies with Citadel ships. Now the humans are part of the Council - they saved their damned lives from the geth - and still the narrative continues to play out.'

He stopped for a moment to glare at the other admirals fiercely.

'I suggest we end that policy of indifference and commence punitive strikes against batarian outer colonies immediately.'

His statement drew blank stares from both Pyat and Lidanya, the latter even letting out a short, disbelieving laugh.

'You can't be serious,' she said. 'The Council will never agree to that. It will start a war with the Terminus Systems!'

Kain swept a hand out in contempt. 'No, it won't. Not any more than their own attacks on our territory. Unless we invade proper, they will sit only back and complain. They'll howl in pathetic protest to their little four-eyed gods before doing exactly as the Council does: sit back and let it all happen. If they really think themselves strong enough to retaliate, they'd be invading Alliance territory in full force as we speak. But they don't. They don't because they fear us. It's time the Citadel Fleet enforced its rightful position as the dominant military force in the galaxy.'

'Interesting…' Pyat mumbled to himself.

Lidanya threw him an exasperated look. 'Don't tell me you agree with all this?'

Pyat took a moment to gather his thoughts. 'Well, he raises a good point. If the Terminus Systems were so strong as to declare full scale war over a few retaliatory strikes, then they would do something more bold than hiring a few deniable mercenaries to make life difficult for the humans every so often. If we were launching a complete invasion of the region then yes, collectively they would unite in the name of self-preservation but would they do so just to safeguard a couple of batarian colonies? I doubt it.'

'That's beside the point,' Lidanya argued. 'If we just set out to mindlessly attack the batarians, we prove ourselves no better than Crimson Fist themselves!'

Kaion chuckled with genuine amusement. 'Ah yes, the much-celebrated asari morality, coming into play once more. Who better to judge others than those who sit so high above them, separate and superior in all they say and do?' His voice grew sharp as a knife. 'Here we have the outlook of a species who squat securely at the ass-end of Citadel space. How easy for you to pass off this attack on Thessia as an isolated incident, requiring no more thought than who you choose as your next breeding partner.'

The bench screeched as Lidanya stood abruptly. 'This is absurd! You presume to tell us how we should view the galaxy? I will not be lectured to by a damn turian warmonger!'

The matriarch's shouts echoed briefly through the briefing room. She let them die before turning on her heels and marching away.

'I gladly accept your invitation to hold future meetings by comms, Admiral,' she called out in fury before disappearing through the doors.

Admiral Pyat turned back to Kaion, his brows raised in complete surprise. The salarian reached up to scratch at the back of his bulbous head with a finger.

'I admit, Admiral, I find myself in an unfamiliar position. I've served with Matriarch Lidanya for more than ten years and not once have I seen her leave the room first, let alone in such dramatic fashion.' He grinned cautiously. 'I must say, I'm rather impressed.'

Kaion did not return the smile. He continued to stroll back and forth. 'I simply have no time for these false courtesies the asari seem intent on peddling. I will never be Councillor, but that's no bad thing in my eyes. My only intent is to put a stop to the chaos permitted by the great enablers on the Council, or at least open up new possibilities to deal with it.'

'Indeed. You are a most curious one, Kaion. May I call you Kaion?'

The turian didn't object, nor did he show confirmation. Instead, he fixed Pyat with a curiously menacing stare, a side effect of the cruel-looking facial pattern covering his skeletal features.

'I will forward my own recommendations to the Council,' he growled. 'The matriarch can say whatever she wants, I will not stand by quietly as the turian fleet wastes valuable ships and men on a static giant. Either we make use of the immense commitment we have made, or we continue to look like fools before our enemies. That is not something I will permit.'

Pyat leaned forward and laced his fingers together thoughtfully. 'So that's why the Kanderax is here, I assume? You wish to use it as part of some anti-Terminus crusade?'

'We didn't build the biggest warship in the galaxy just for glorified regattas.'

Again, Pyatt grew quiet, considering the great amount he had to absorb in the short time since Kaion entered the room. It was a quick task for any salarian but he made a show of it nonetheless. He stood and nodded.

'Very well, I will consider your points when forming my own recommendations. May I say, this has been a rather refreshing change of pace. It's always good to have new perspectives, especially in a role as, how best to say this…stale as this one?'

Kaion smiled humourlessly. 'I'm so glad I was able to entertain you.'

Pyat turned to leave, but a thought halted him. He looked at Kaion curiously. 'You know, for a turian you were quite vociferous in your support of the humans. Coincidental?'

'Not at all.' For the first time since their meeting, Kaion spoke with respect in his voice. 'The Alliance has proven itself a dangerous and worthy foe in battle, something I cannot say for the asari and salarians, who cried and begged us to stop the krogan. The humans are a people of action, not petty talk or shadowy dealings. Out of all the Citadel races, they are the ones we turians should be showing the greatest support. Certainly, we should be siding with the Alliance against the batarians rather than cowering, pissing our pants over what the Terminus Systems will do to us if we help our allies.'

'I see,' Pyat replied. He bowed in farewell. 'I look forward to our next meeting, Kaion. Perhaps Matriarch Lidanya will have calmed down by then.'

Kaion's tone had smoothed somewhat, his manner less harsh. 'In your experience?'

'I can't say,' Pyat replied with a shrug. 'I've never seen her that mad before. It's been a day of new lessons, for all of us.'

Kaion watched him leave. His mandibles pulsed softly, the only expression of the many turbulent thoughts running through his mind.

~~~ME-I2~~~

Lorica took another sip of tea. It had long grown cold but she'd acquired it from an Illium import company at great expense and she would be damned if she'd let a single drop go to waste. The bitter taste made her wince but it was just a reflex action. Her mind was solely focused on Kim's terminal display.

'There,' she said with a shallow nod. 'That's the handover right there.'

They were poring over security cam footage from the Silver Coast Casino. Urqar Molach was easy enough to spot but his contact had carefully placed himself on the other side of the batarian, obscuring himself from the camera. Still, they could clearly make out the T-Seven bomb case as it was passed to Molach.

'Definitely turian,' Kim said, her brows knotted in concentration. 'Let's see if we can follow him.'

More than two dozen small icons filled the lower edge of Kim's screen. She clicked one after the other and the display shifted to the next camera as the turian moved out of sight of the last. There were no mistakes; Kim knew the exact location of each camera for each icon as she stalked the accomplice out of the casino and onto the neon-bathed walkways of the Silversun Strip.

'No good,' she mumbled. 'He's keeping his head down and straight. He knows exactly where not to look.'

Lorica drained the last of her tea. 'He did his homework on local surveillance. We can't get an ID on him from here and there's no chance in hell we'll get any DNA evidence from a place that crowded.'

Kim looked up at her as she tucked a loose lock of red hair behind her ear. 'I'll try and stay on him, see where he goes. I'll also get Mike on the pre-footage. If we can't see where we went, hopefully we can see where he's been.'

Lorica placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned in close. 'I'm sorry about tonight. I'll make it up to you when all this is over.'

Kim reached up and squeezed her hand affectionately. 'Don't worry about it. That's the task force, right?'

The asari straightened with a melancholy smile. 'That's the task force.' Something caught Lorica's attention and her expression became serious. 'Two seconds, I need to take care of this.'

Kim's gaze followed her as she made her way purposefully to the entrance ramp to where Eddie Lang had just arrived.

'Officer Lang?' Lorica asked, drawing the human's notice as she approached. 'I'm team leader Lorica Da'Nante. Commander Xen's indisposed for now, I've been asked to debrief you if-'

She paused, distracted. Lang wasn't quite like the other humans Lorica had known, even from an initial glance. He was young and energetic, wide and thick of build but he bounced lightly on his feet as if he were half his size. Moreover, he was grinning like he'd just won an arm wrestling match with a krogan.

'Am I missing something?' she asked.

Lang's voice was loud, not in an irritating way but with that same exuberance his body language showed. He lifted his hands, animating his response. 'Okay, I was hoping to give these to the commander, but…'

Lorica's eyes widened as he produced two OSDs from his pocket.

'Check it out!' he laughed. 'These came straight from the crime scene!'

Taking the disks, Lorica couldn't hide the surprise from her voice. 'That's- Wow, we were scratching our heads trying to figure out how to get our hands on anything that came out of that apartment. You just walked right in there and took them?'

Lang bobbed his head proudly. 'Yep, I just got the sergeant on the scene talking, waited for my cue and boom! Quick as a flash, didn't see a thing!'

Lorica's teeth gleamed as she smiled widely, unable to contain her admiration. 'Well done, Officer Lang, you just saved us at least half a day of wrangling with Investigation. Lina - that is, Commander Xen - she'll be ecstatic.'

The compliment seemed to embarrass him and he rubbed the back of his neck. 'Please, call me Eddie, everyone calls me Eddie.'

'Okay,' Lorica said quietly, unable to wipe the silly grin from her lips. 'Eddie.'

An awkward silence fell, swallowed instantly by the steady drone of activity in the command centre. It didn't last long before Lorica cleared her throat, composing herself.

'The commander should be back soon. I'm sure she wants to speak to you in person, if you don't mind hanging around a little longer? If you're tired, there's a break room down the ramp, through the doors on the left and halfway along the corridor. The coffee's free.'

'Wow, free coffee? You JSTF guys get all the perks.'

'Only the best,' Lorica chuckled. She inclined her head back in the direction of her section. 'I need to get my team on these. Thanks again, Eddie, I mean it.'

'No problem, uh…?'

She understood his hesitation. 'Lorica.'

He beamed appreciatively. 'Lorica. See you around.'

'Yeah.' The asari started walking back to her subordinates, her eyes lingering on Lang a little longer than she'd intended.

As if to re-focus, she tapped the OSDs against the palm of her other hand as she walked. This kind of evidence was best case-scenario stuff, hopefully filled with plans, comm records, banking transactions, any number of things that could give them a lead on Crimson Fist. While the search for the T-Seven bomb continued, the task force needed any piece of good news they could get.

~~~ME-I2~~~

The shuttle shuddered as it passed through the air seal of the freighter's tiny launch bay on the way out, rattling the emergency boxes slung onto every bulkhead of the tiny transit craft. It was the final leg of Arlen's journey to the Purgatory, a journey spent staring at bare walls and counting the motes of dust floating in the air. Now he had the opportunity to look out of the shuttle's small windows but, unsurprisingly, he wasn't in the mood for stargazing.

He and Cannis had been booked at the last second onto a ship bound directly for Omega, its captain given a hefty payment to divert briefly to the Purgatory along with instructions not to ask any questions. The Blue Suns connection was enough to ensure both the captain's compliance and his silence.

It had been a terrible few hours in the freighter's cargo hold, well away from prying eyes and questions. Arlen's back still ached from half-squatting on rickety crates, never able to get too comfortable before the ship's old drive core shuddered and the artificial gravity failed for just a few moments, forcing him to always maintain a grip on whatever he could to avoid a hard fall. Even in the relative comfort of the shuttle's passenger compartment his back complained as he hunched forward with his arms resting on his knees, gazing ahead blankly.

Cannis stood rotating his shoulders, trying to loosen them after so long spent in his ill-fitting Blue Suns armour, sourced too quickly for him to have the luxury of trying it on first. It was a necessary inconvenience and the salarian hadn't uttered a word about his discomfort. His ruby-coloured skin glistened as he turned to Arlen.

'Shouldn't be more than a few minutes now. Hold out your hands.'

Arlen obeyed and his arms dipped a little under the weight of heavy metal handcuffs as they snapped shut with a mechanical whir. He flexed both pairs of fingers, barely able to see them under the inches-thick bindings. Already the cuffs dug into his wrists, making them burn. It set the tone aptly for what was to come.

'Petra, you okay?' Arlen asked.

Cannis' omni-tool pulsed softly as she replied. 'I am functioning adequately, if that is what you mean, Agent Kryik. I would need to feel to be "okay".'

Arlen held back a wry grin. Cannis was under the impression Petra was a Virtual Intelligence, and the mischievous AI was all too keen to play up the act.

'You should be able to upload her to Purgatory's network without a problem,' Arlen told his partner. 'She's as advanced as VIs get. Just leave your omni-tool's background functions on and she'll connect automatically before uploading herself. She'll take care of the rest from there. All you need to do is lay low for a while, do whatever the Blue Suns ask of their recruits and make your way out when we escape. You'll know the time's right when Petra brings the Purgatory's systems offline.'

'How will it know when the moment's right?' Cannis asked worriedly.

'She'll be listening in through every suit mic, every security camera, every one of that ship's sensors. She'll know when the time's right, trust me.'

'I don't doubt your VI's abilities here. Hell, I've never heard of anyone trusting a VI enough to refer to it like they would a person, so I guess that says something about how much faith you have in it. But even if you get a cell next to Zwei from the start you'll have to work your way into his good graces and that's not going to be easy.'

Arlen grunted. 'That's for sure. I already have a good idea of how. Actually doing it will be the hard part.'

Nodding, Cannis gave his armour a once-over. 'Well, you know what you're doing. I just hope it works. The thought that at any second we could learn the Citadel has been destroyed, it's…sobering, to say the least.'

'Look on the bright side,' Arlen said, trying his best to smile. 'If the bomb blows in the next twenty-four hours, you can get out of here while I'll be stuck as a lackey for the most dangerous psychopath in the galaxy.'

'True enough.' Cannis paused momentarily before looking at Arlen with genuine admiration. 'Look, I just want to say, in case we don't get another chance… It's an honour working with you, Agent Kryik.'

Shaking his head, Arlen laughed bitterly. 'There's no honour in working with a dumb rookie who acts like he has a death wish.' His eyes became distant as they turned to the deck. 'I know my reputation in JSTF but it's all crap. I was carried along by circumstance and coincidence a year ago, a stupid kid who stood on the shoulders of better men and women. My family trained me for greatness but the great ones were those who fought with me and paid for it with their lives. I didn't deserve to survive all that, not at their expense. My captain was right. I only get people killed.'

Cannis stepped closer, the sight of his blue and white armoured boots lifting Arlen's head briefly.

'We have a dangerous profession, Agent Kryik,' the salarian murmured solemnly. 'We often have little to no control over who lives and dies around us. The only deaths we can prevent are the victims of those we hunt. A set of scales exist, weighing the lives we save against the lives we do not. If you can tell yourself truthfully that the former outweighs the latter, that is all you can hope for in this line of work.'

Arlen's voice grew quiet. 'And what if one of those lives is heavier than all the rest on the opposite scale?'

'Then you're not thinking as you should,' Cannis answered without hesitation. 'Agent Kryik, you are respected because a year ago you went through hell to keep those scales swinging in the right direction. Your sacrifices continue to this day.' He motioned to Arlen's jaw, and his shorn mandible. 'So I say this again, as a C-Sec operative of more than a decade, it has been an honour to work with you. I hope that once all this is over, you remember why you joined C-Sec to begin with.'

The detachment receded from Arlen's silent stare. He blinked and looked up at Cannis, nodding in thought. 'I'm not sure it's that simple, but I appreciate it. Thanks.'

On impulse, he reached out, his handcuffs clunking heavily. Cannis took his outstretched hands and gave them a firm shake, smiling.

'We salarians aren't exactly what you'd call "party animals",' he said, 'but if you manage to pull this off, the drinks are on me.'

At that, Arlen could show real enthusiasm. 'I might take you up on that, Maro.'

As Cannis slipped on his helmet, Arlen looked out of the window and his eyes widened. Against the ever-stretching canvas of stars stood a ship unlike any he'd seen before. It was enormous, at least as big as a cruiser, and looked like a pale grey fern leaf with paired arrays of tubular hulls branching off a thin central superstructure.

'The prison ship Purgatory,' Cannis stated.

Arlen couldn't take his eyes off it. 'It's huge. How many prisoners do the Blue Suns keep on that thing?'

'Over four thousand, though rumour has it the population can rise to over ten thousand in times of overcrowding.' Cannis' helmet turned to Arlen for a moment. 'It's going to be hell in there. If you're having second thoughts, now's the time.'

Whatever was left of Arlen's reason and sanity begged him to take the offer but he crushed all those thoughts as soon as they rose. He hauled himself to his feet and tilted his head from side to side, loosening his neck muscles. His fingers flexed and he bobbed lightly on his feet to pump some blood through his sluggish veins.

Seeing he was ready, Cannis took position just behind him and drew his pistol.

'All right, Riko Pavek,' he announced. 'Let's get you settled into your new home.'

Seconds later the nearby windows were shrouded in darkness. A thin blue line washed over them as they passed through the kinetic barriers of a shuttle bay. The air was filled with the familiar sounds of touchdown - the whine of momentum dampeners and harsh rumble of landing thrusters, all punctuated by the thump of metal on metal as the shuttle hit the ground.

The door opened with a hiss and Arlen winced as a blast of something strange hit him. It was a cold rush of gas that forced his eyes closed, though he caught a glimpse of a long hose held by white and blue-armoured hands. It only lasted a few moments but Arlen's skin burned afterwards and he shook his head to try and dispel the sting.

'Get moving!' Cannis barked before giving Arlen's head a firm smack with the butt of his pistol.

It was all a rush of sensation, none of it good. Arlen gasped lightly as he staggered forward, his prickly skin now feeling like there was some sort of residue left on it that he ached to wipe off. His mouth hung ajar as air, stale and stinking of something he didn't recognise, made him want to retch.

The noise was the worst of all. Beneath the layer of normal ship ambience, the hum of engines and steady roar of ventilation fans, there was a relentless undercurrent of animalistic shouts, screams and cries. They were everywhere, growing louder as Arlen was led past a line of armed Blue Suns mercenaries, one elbowing the man next to him to mutter some remark or another at his expense.

The shuttle bay gave way to a dark, grimy hallway filled with machinery. This was a working ship with no inclination towards comfort. All around them came the drones of various systems, merely adding to the cacophony of danger and misery that drenched the place. The corridor opened out to a chamber, above which a glass walkway was suspended, again filled with the baleful silhouettes of mercs clutching shotguns and high-powered rifles.

At the far side of the chamber, in front of a huge blast door with the word Processing plastered over its surface, stood a helmetless turian. He was clearly the one who ran the place, judging by his rigid, overbearing stance.

Arlen was brought to a halt in front of him and the Blue Suns leader took a few steps forward, bringing him face to face with his new prisoner. The turian was barefaced, his skin the colour of pale wood, and his yellow eyes passed over Arlen with hard scrutiny.

'Riko Pavek,' he said, his voice articulate and smooth. 'My name is Warden Kuril. I am here to tell you that no matter what you were in your previous life, no matter who you were, as of this moment all that is over.'

Kuril began to tread a wide, threatening circle around Arlen. 'You are now an inmate of this prison. You are a number in our database. You have no name. Everything you once had is gone, everyone you once knew, out of your reach. Abandon now all thought of the outside world because here, it doesn't exist. The only life you have is contained in your cell block.'

Arlen's mandibles twitched. It was the only movement he dared make.

'If you cause trouble,' Kuril went on, 'you will be punished. If you continue to cause trouble, you'll be blown out the airlock. You have value while you're still breathing. If the expense of keeping you exceeds that value, there will be no hesitation. Obey our rules. Obey our commands. There is no other point to your pathetic existence. We own you now.'

Kuril had made his way back to standing in front of Arlen and a sick grin crossed his lips, the perfect accompaniment to the tortured wails and shouts emanating from every bulkhead.

'Welcome to Purgatory.'