MASS EFFECT: INTERCEPTOR 2

*Episode Eight*

Lina's suit creaked as she sat back against the edge of Ket's desk. The salarian, along with Mike Deveraux, had been given the job of cracking the encryption on Molach's OSDs while Kim was still sifting through security footage to track down the batarian's accomplice. Lorica stood over Kim's desk, talking with her quietly while Eddie Lang loitered close by, having been drawn into the group by Lina's presence.

The commander folded her arms. 'Arlen's just been processed into Purgatory. Let's hope Zwei's feeling generous with his information. The sooner we can get our people out of there, the better.'

'Ah, yes,' Ket mumbled as he typed, 'we were all wondering what he was doing here. Your turian friend, I mean. With all due respect, Commander, does that young man have a death wish or is he just a fool?'

The question was delivered without Ket's usual sarcasm but it still made Lina bristle. 'Of course not, he's just extremely dedicated to saving lives. If C-Sec had more agents willing to make the sacrifices he does then the Citadel would be a much safer place.'

Kim called out over her shoulder, 'I still can't believe the balls on that guy. He just checked himself willingingly into one of the worst prisons in the galaxy. If he can pull it off, he deserves every commendation the executor can give him.'

'The executor doesn't know,' Lina reminded her. 'Remember, he's only there because we're as desperate as it's possible to get. If the stakes were any lower I wouldn't have even considered letting him go through with it.'

Ket's head bobbed up and down approvingly. 'While it's a pleasant change to see JSTF employ someone competent other than yours truly, I can't say I rate his chances. Purgatory holds some of the most violent primordials in the galaxy, people who wouldn't think twice about beating you to death and using your skull as a gravy boat.'

Lang spoke up behind him. 'Hey, you haven't seen Arlen fight. The guy's a machine, he took down two armed suspects hand-to-hand. I didn't even know turians could fight up close like that.'

'Hmph, shows what you know, primate. Turians make natural boxers. Reach and flexibility are two of their most famous traits.'

'Primate, huh?' Lang repeated with a good natured grin. 'That the best you got, tadpole?'

'Tadpo-' The insult broke Ket's concentration and he turned in his chair, bringing a surprised glance from everyone else in the section. 'You're awfully bold for an Enforcement thug. Remind me what you're doing here if not to bring the coffee for the real professionals?'

The jibe didn't even dent Lang's easy manner. He replied with all the banterous charm of one who regularly traded good-humoured barbs with his comrades every single day. 'Only doing the hard work out on the street, pal, bringing in the stuff that keeps you in a job. It's not coffee but it's a start.'

Laughing, Kim slapped Lang on the arm playfully. 'Okay, it's official. I love this guy.'

'Don't let our glorious team lead hear you say that,' Ket mumbled to himself as he turned back to his terminal.

Lorica straightened. 'Okay, knock it off, all of you. Mike, how's the decryption looking?'

Guiding the rim of his glasses once more up the bridge of his nose, Deveraux frowned. 'Strange, Ma'am. The encryption is complex, in fact it's pretty solid stuff even for batarians, and they always take their security very seriously. The thing is, I'm getting nowhere with running it through known batarian ciphers. Something about the key they're using here is bugging the hell out of me and I can't figure out why.'

'Loath as I am to admit it,' Ket said, 'the human has a point. The encryption algorithm is standard batarian fare but the key itself is unfamiliar to our VIs. Or rather, the various encryption parameters are not limited to what batarians would usually use. Here we've got alien language characters from a dozen different species, random bits generated across multiple input sources from audio to haptic fingerprint markers, and more besides. Crimson Fist is showing significantly more imagination with their programming than what one would usually expect from batarians.'

'I'm a little lost here,' Lang said, scratching his head.

Sensing an unnecessarily hostile response from Ket, Lina spoke quickly to cut him off. 'It's complicated and even these guys have oversimplified things. In the most basic terms, our terrorist group has used Batarian Hegemony software to encrypt, or scramble the data on these disks to make reading them impossible. However, the software used to do this has been altered substantially, using a variety of methods to stop our VIs from being able to break in, at least in a suitable time frame.'

'Seventeen trillion-trillion years at current estimate,' Deveraux complained. 'If we can identify the cipher key they're using, we should have a chance of breaking it quickly. Batarians use symmetric encryption, powerful but pretty old stuff. If we can give our VIs a head start, they should be able to brute force it.'

Lina rose up suddenly, crossing over to Deveraux's desk and leaning over his shoulder. 'Run it through a C-Sec cipher.'

'Ma'am?'

'Do it,' Lina ordered.

A hush came over the team at the steel in her voice. It took a few moments for Deveraux to complete the task and the young man's eyes grew wide behind his glasses.

'My god,' he said. 'You're right, Commander. This isn't batarian encryption. It's Citadel Security's. Or rather, it's an amalgamation of the two. It'll still take time to decrypt but we stand a much better chance now.'

Lorica moved closer to Lina, concern etching her features. 'What the hell does this mean?'

Lina's voice smouldered with anger. 'It means I think I've figured out what's been holding up our investigation all this time. Either those OSDs are fakes, left there for us to find, or we've found our Crimson Fist mole in C-Sec.'

'Back in the apartment,' Lang interjected, taking a step forward, 'Sergeant Alna said she had orders to send everything on to Detective Chellick in Investigation. Didn't seem too happy about it, either, from what I could tell.'

Kim turned around, slinging an arm over the back of her seat. 'And Molach's contact in the casino was a turian, one with an intimate knowledge of Zakera Ward's surveillance systems and how to avoid them.'

The dawning realisation that Chellick could well have been their mole brought a cold stillness to the team. The command centre continued to work around them unabated and it wasn't long before Lorica sighed, clenching her fists by her sides.

'That bastard. We should have him hauled in immediately. I'll make him talk myself, stick a biotic warp so far up his ass he'll be crapping gizzard stones.'

'No,' Lina warned. 'Much as I'd like nothing better than to work him over, we don't know anything for certain yet. Chellick is a complicated man, one with whom you can never take anything at face value. If the OSDs are fakes, he'll have the real ones in his possession. If not, he might have evidence we can lift from his terminal that can link him to Crimson Fist. Either way, we're better off doing this covertly, at least for now.'

'We already know this detective is on the lookout for JSTF sniffing around his operations,' Ket pointed out. 'Getting to him won't be easy.'

Lina looked at Lang. 'Fortunately we have someone who's proven himself more than capable. What do you say, Officer Lang? Would you mind doing us another big favour?'

Lang smiled excitedly. 'You kidding, Commander? I could do this all night!'

The quarian was unable to hold back a light chuckle. She liked the young human and found his presence a breath of fresh air in the command centre.

'All right. I'm going to hand you over to Senior Analyst Da'Nante for this one. She'll set your omni-tool up for what we need. Go to Chellick's office. If he's there then we'll improvise. If not, you'll need to break in and search the place before bugging his terminal. We'll keep in touch with you the whole way to guide you through it, just like before.'

'Good luck, buddy,' Kim told Lang.

'Yes,' Ket sneered. 'Do try not to screw this up.'

Lorica withheld the palpable urge to slap her salarian subordinate, instead gesturing to Lang.

'Come on, Eddie. Let's see if you can make it two miracles in one night.'

~~~ME-I2~~~

Arlen's cell was little more than a large metal box. They were all like that; simple shipping containers converted to store sentients with a hard bed and a toilet but nothing else, designed to be transported easily through Purgatory without the need for guard supervision.

It was pitch black inside. Arlen could only lie on his back, his stomach lurching as outside, servos whirred and gigantic robot arms latched onto his cell and hauled it across the ship. Enormous conveyor belts fed one cell block into another and in the darkness Arlen's eyes twitched from side to side as he tried to sense in what direction he was even moving. It was impossible to tell.

Petra was now in Purgatory's systems, that much was clear. No sooner had he been forced into the cell with a clubbing blow to the back of his head before the movement began, and he had to lie down in the stinking cot just to avoid tumbling about as the cell was lifted out and passed along the line. His only consolation was the knowledge that when he was finally allowed to step out, chances were Zwei would be standing right in front of him.

With only the echoing clunks of machinery and the ever present screams of his fellow inmates for company, the journey seemed to take forever. He didn't know how long had passed when a grinding metallic scrape signified the cell being slotted into its new location.

As relative silence fell once more, Arlen realised he had absolutely nothing to do until the Purgatory's guards saw fit to let him out. In that oppressive dark, his worst fears played out as potent images were cast by his mind's eye against the black canvas. A pang of terror ran through him at the thought that they might simply never open his cell, or it could have been days before they did. Zwei could've been moved to a different part of the prison in that time, or put in solitary confinement. A thousand possible ways it could all fall apart tormented Arlen and he gripped the filthy sheets of his bed in fear.

Other images came to mind. He thought of his brother Nihlus, and of Amanda. Without anything to engage or distract him, their spirits were loud and vengeful. He'd once been asked if turians believed in ghosts and he was forced to explain the difference, that the spirits were more an idea, an inspiration than a physical manifestation. Now he wasn't too sure. It certainly felt as if his demons were alive and were taking special pleasure in watching him fail.

He didn't know how much time had gone by when his cell door began to grind open. He sprang up into a sitting position, squinting as a white line appeared, then widened until a Blue Suns guard was visible in the gap.

'Exercise,' the man snapped. 'Stay in the yard. Try to leave and we put a slug in you.'

Arlen said nothing as he levered himself to his feet and made his way out of the cell, limping slightly with cramp. He craned his neck, wincing at the overbearing white light coming from the ceiling, which was nothing but a sea of brightly illuminated squares. The yard itself was just a large chamber, bare of anything but a few dozen prisoners in dark orange jumpsuits, either milling about in groups or staggering about alone muttering to themselves. Wide gantries edged the room on which more Blue Suns lurked, ready to pour gunfire on anyone who stepped out of line.

Arlen's gaze swept the yard, taking in the prisoners of various species. All were male in this cell block. There were a few turians and batarians who clumped together in small cliques but the vast majority were human. Arlen didn't know if this applied to the rest of the prison population, or if the cell blocks were usually segregated and there were only non-humans here because of overcrowding elsewhere. He kept his eyes and his ears sharp as he started forward, trying to take in as much information as he could.

It wasn't long before a flash of white hair caught his attention and Arlen glanced to his left.

It was Zwei, the sleeves of his jumpsuit rolled up to his elbows, exposing his sinewy frame. He sat on an outcropping of pipes, hunched over his knees lazily while smoking a cigarette. Surrounding him were others, a couple whom Arlen recognised as members of his crew. The human Madsen and the turian Tuvio chatted to each other while a few other prisoners loitered around them, either seeking or paying back favours.

Zwei himself wasn't talking, content to simply stare out into nothing, surveying the room with the air of a king holding court. He probably wasn't even allowed to smoke but the guards kept their distance from him, Arlen noticed. No doubt a stint in cryo containment awaited if Zwei made a nuisance of himself but, for now at least, his crew and the Blue Suns clearly had a "leave well enough alone" policy.

That wasn't an option for Arlen.

He crossed the open space indirectly, taking a path that took him in front of Zwei's line of sight. Another cluster of humans stood in front of him and Arlen braced himself.

Showtime.

He clipped the arm of one of the prisoners with an elbow as he walked past. The man frowned, confused until he saw who'd caught him. The prisoner straightened and Arlen felt a twinge of hesitation as the man drew up to his full height. He was enormous, a flat wall of muscle with a shaved head and tattoos lining every inch of bare skin. Arlen showed no emotion as he was forced to lift his chin to meet the prisoner's eyes.

'You gonna apologise, turian?' the prisoner rumbled, his expression murderous.

Arlen was unrepentant as he glared back. He'd spent some time in his cell quietly rehearsing Riko Pavek's voice, his intonation and speech patterns memorised while watching plenty of interview footage on the journey over. His voice became raspy and coarse, and he forced a dialect that he was worried would sound like it came straight out of a bad crime vid.

'Yeah I'm sorry,' he growled, taking a half-step back. 'I'm sorry I have to look at your ugly face, for starters.'

One of the prisoner's group muttered to him, 'Sounds like this bird wants a beating, Cain!'

Cain's craggy, scarred face had coloured in rage, distorting some of his tattoos. He leaned in close enough that Arlen could smell nothing but his hot, stinking breath.

'I don't think I heard you right. You wanna try that again, boy?'

'Sure,' Arlen replied. He drew out each word, watching the veins in Cain's temples bulge as he went on. 'How about this? I'm sorry my elbow got in the way of your fat ass. I'm sorry your mother took a dump instead of giving birth when you came sliding out.'

Arlen was more than prepared for the huge arm that came swinging at his head. He slunk to the side, fluidly dodging the punch. At the same time his own hands came up to take a firm grip on Cain's jumpsuit and he stamped hard on the human's knee.

Cain's leg was as thick as a tree trunk but Arlen felt his kneecap give way with a sickening pop. Cain screamed in pain, the sound cut short as Arlen rammed the man's face into the ground. It was all over in a heartbeat, with Cain's companions staring in open-mouthed shock at what had just happened.

Arlen didn't stop. He lashed out, kicking Cain in the stomach and head ruthlessly until several guards trotted over, barking orders for him to stop. When he didn't, a thin mechanical whine at his side cut through the sudden chorus of cheers and taunts that had sprung from the other prisoners.

Arlen felt something tug at his arms but quickly realised it wasn't just his limbs. His whole body was pulled back and a shimmering bubble of blue surrounded him and the fallen Cain. Sprouting from a nearby energy pylon, the mass effect fields pushed the two men apart, holding them in place as the guards approached.

'All right, that's enough,' one of the Blue Suns commanded. He looked down at Cain, his voice expressing the disdain his helmeted face couldn't. 'It was only a matter of time before somebody fought back. This is your last warning, Cain. Any more from you and outta the airlock you go.'

He turned to Arlen, jabbing a finger into the mass effect bubble over his chest. 'And you. I don't care if you're new here, or if this piece of shit started it. Medical treatment costs money, and if you're costing us more than you're bringing in, you'll make it up to us in other ways. Understood?'

Arlen nodded slowly, backing away from the whimpering body as the bubble receded and his feet touched the ground. With the sudden and public outburst of violence, a message had been sent. It took only a brief look at Zwei to know that it had been received by the way he observed the scene from a distance, some small curiosity clear in his expression as his men pointed and muttered to one another.

Quickly looking elsewhere, masking his own interest, Arlen couldn't help but feel a small surge of triumph. Some of the prisoners were cheering and hooting as Cain was hauled off to the infirmary and Arlen knew his first objective had been met.

Purgatory would be talking about him now. The hard part would be waiting to see what came of it, if the prison didn't kill him in response to his challenge first.

~~~ME-I2~~~

The terminal display sat open in front of Ambassador Novari, a solitary bloom of amber in the otherwise complete darkness of her bedroom. She sat relaxed at her desk, though her fingers rapped against its surface impatiently. Her stern azure features were edged with orange in the terminal's glow, highlighting her frown as it deepened.

When the screen blinked with an incoming call, her response was instantaneous. She made the connection, speaking quietly but firmly.

'Huntress,' she greeted. 'You're late.'

'Apologies,' said the female voice on the other end. 'I was indisposed. Contact is very risky at this time so I won't be able to transmit for long.'

'Is this call secure?'

'Of course,' Huntress replied confidently.

Novari dipped her head, observing the OSDs Antus had given her as she toyed with them in her other hand.

'Another drop will be made tomorrow, the usual location,' she said. 'Ensure the information is disseminated among the matriarchs. Not much vital this time but all useful nonetheless. Our main concerns are twofold; how the turians are responding to these batarian attacks, and this new admiral they appointed to head their Citadel Fleet contingent.'

'Admiral Kaion?' Huntress asked, though Novari knew she wouldn't have ventured the guess if she didn't already know the answer.

'Yes,' the ambassador confirmed. 'Matriarch Lidanya is incensed that such a belligerent personality was permitted to work with the fleet. I haven't met the man but his reputation speaks for itself. An excellent naval strategist but with strong political views that run counter to our goals. His appointment, along with the deployment of the Kanderax, is a message to us. Of that I am certain.'

'Is elimination an option?' Huntress queried impassively.

'No. Not yet. We'll wait and see if his attitude becomes a serious problem. In some ways, I can see some possible advantages to the situation. As for the first matter…' Novari paused, weighing her next words carefully. 'The turians are still in the dark as far as their missing WMD goes. Admiral Kaion wants to respond to the batarians with military force, an idea not shared by his peers but things can and will change, in time. What have you learned about Crimson Fist?'

'We've made at least one significant discovery. Their man on the Citadel, Urqar Molach, had a turian accomplice, the one who handed over the T-Seven. The location of this accomplice is not yet known.'

'Still,' Novari pondered, a slight smile tracing her silver-stained lips, 'this is quite the revelation. If we can get to this turian before his people do, the leverage he may give us would be just what we need. The Hierarchy will no doubt give us anything we want if the alternative is for the galaxy to know their people willingly supplied a nuclear weapon to batarian extremists.'

She fell quiet, contemplating what could be gained were the asari to apprehend this mystery turian. The darkness of her apartment seeped into her thoughts, wants and desires growing more potent with every passing moment. Novari gathered herself, drawing upright in her chair.

'Is that all?' she asked.

'No, Mistress,' Huntress responded. 'There is one more thing. Citadel Security has assigned an agent to gain the location of the T-Seven from the man who stole it from Molach. I do not have the details but from what I understand, he is a competent operative with a high rate of success. I do not believe it will impact our operations, however we must keep an eye on any developments. Things are unpredictable, to say the least.'

'Understood,' Novari murmured, her good mood fading. 'If you feel there is no danger then it is a secondary priority. Continue to monitor the situation. Molach's accomplice is to be given your full attention. Deal with obstacles any way you see fit but I want that turian alive, is that clear?'

'Yes, Mistress. Huntress out.'

The line closed and Novari continued to stare at the blank terminal for a time, mulling over the situation. Though excitement still brewed in her at the thought of the kind of power she could gain over the stubborn turians, not to mention the look on Ambassador Tessarius' face when she revealed her trump card, she knew better than to claim victory just yet.

In the ever-shifting world of politics, intrigue was the ultimate game and Novari knew from experience that no game could be won until all the cards were dealt.

~~~ME-I2~~~

Antus shuddered slightly as he stifled a yawn. His night with Novari had meant only an hour or two of snatched sleep and he was being punished for it. He was not a young man anymore, and his head buzzed with a latent headache while his body struggled to catch up. That Ambassador Tessarius had scheduled a meeting for the very first thing in the morning was typical of the old man.

Ciro himself was as fresh and rested as ever, his voice clear and strong as he addressed the large three-way comms terminal at the side of the room.

'With respect, Admiral,' the ambassador began, 'are you completely mad? These proposals of yours are beyond outlandish.'

From his customary position at the office door, Antus observed Ciro's guest with distant interest. Admiral Kaion was an unusual-looking fellow, which was enough to make Antus curious enough to force his mind out of its lethargy. Even the red-tinted holographic projection seemed to struggle to render Kaion's harsh lines properly and his voice gave a harsh reverberation to the console speakers.

'What's the matter, Ambassador?' Kaion smirked. 'Have you gotten so relaxed over there in the Presidium that you've developed an allergic reaction to change?'

'Hardly,' Ciro said, calmly but clearly. 'What I am allergic to are the complaints I'm getting from throughout the asari admiralty. You've only been here five minutes and you've angered just about every senior asari naval officer in the Citadel Fleet.'

Kaion shrugged. 'Am I to blame for their sense of entitlement? It's the same everywhere we go. The asari hold themselves above us, barely tolerating our presence while calling us all savages and warmongers behind our backs. They hide behind the strong and decisive, relying on our protection while judging us constantly for solving the problems they helped create.'

Antus watched with fascination as Ciro glanced at the ground briefly. Was he unnerved by this admiral's brutal frankness? It was indeed odd to hear such rhetoric from a senior turian military figure, or indeed anything that didn't parrot the Primarch of their native territory.

'You can't tell me you haven't seen it in your own vocation,' Kaion continued, sensing Ciro's hesitation. 'In fact, I would even go so far as to say you've seen the worst of it. How many times have the asari looked down their noses at you? How many times have you gotten that prickly sensation when you know at the back of your mind they're not taking you seriously?'

'Even if what you say is true,' Ciro bit back, 'what good do you think you're doing by riling up the people you're working with?' His brow plates pressed together in a frown and his deep tones poured into the embassy office. 'What is your game, exactly?'

Kaion's reply was like the crack of a whip. 'There is no game. That's the point. I refuse to indulge in the petty lies and deceptions that you call diplomacy, Ambassador. If that makes your job more difficult, well, that's the price you pay for playing by their rules.'

'These aren't "their" rules, this is the process by which we resolve our differences without the need for military force, without resorting to killing one another!' Ciro rolled his eyes and his voice became unusually exasperated. 'Why am I having to explain the necessity of this process to you, Admiral? Are you so far removed from reality that you believe we have the military strength to vassalise the other races of the galaxy?'

Kaion's projection shimmered as he prodded a finger in Ciro's direction. 'Whatever lack of understanding you think I have of politics pales in comparison to your absence of knowledge concerning the strength of our people, make no mistake about that. When was the last time you served on a warship, Ambassador? Or went out on a combat patrol? I'd wager you've completely forgotten the feeling of mud under your talons or the stench of eezo residue in your nostrils. Don't even think of presuming to tell me what our military is capable of when your greatest insight is a cursory glance at a war magazine over your morning tea.'

Antus struggled to suppress a grin at that. It was very rare indeed for Ciro to be challenged outside the comfort of professional protocol and the old man was showing more of his true self in a single meeting than Antus had seen in all the years working for him. The aide was enjoying himself immensely.

'I remember more about war than you could think possible,' Ciro murmured softly. He stared at Kaion, and yet stared at nothing. 'I remember the cries of the wounded on Shanxi. The broken bodies of civilians piled up, ready to be burned. I remember the orders of a madman sending us down to the surface of that planet, ready to stamp out the fire of an upstart species about whom we knew nothing and cared even less.'

The ambassador's face was grim. 'I remember what it was like to serve under an officer who took war lightly, as you do. If those memories didn't still keep me up at night, then I wouldn't be here, working every day to ensure people like you can't do the same thing to other young men and women today. I will not allow you to take advantage of our people's honour and duty to waste them in pointless wars.'

The admission brought a new light to Kaion's eyes. The admiral's voice quietened. 'How hard one must dig to uncover the truth.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean that it's amazing how thick the layer of obscurity lies across everything in your world, that one has to scrape it away with a chisel, not uncover it gently with a brush. So you're not the pampered, spoiled politician I took you to be. I wish I could say I'm surprised.'

'So all this,' Ciro growled, 'all this posturing on your part was an act?'

Kaion shook his head. 'Not at all. Of course I was aware of your service and deployment history, but you've lived the civilian life in foreign space for a long time now, Ambassador. I needed to see what kind of a man you are now, not back then.'

'And now that you know?'

Again, Kaion hefted his shoulders. 'It makes no real difference. You have your motivations, to safeguard the souls of those who ultimately will make no difference to the Empire or to the galaxy as a whole. I, meanwhile, will continue to act - not talk, but act - in the interests of those who know what kind of universe we live in.'

'So tell me, Admiral,' Ciro intoned, his composure returning swiftly, 'what kind of universe do we live in, exactly?'

Kaion's answer was as pointed as a dagger. 'The same universe as the rachni, who spilled out to slaughter and conquer without so much as a word of peaceful dialogue. The same universe as the krogan, whose response to being told they could not simply annex whatever world they pleased was to kill entire planets with kinetic impactors. The same universe as the batarians, who left your world of peaceful diplomacy to terrorise, kill and enslave innocent civilians.'

Though Antus swayed slightly on his feet with exhaustion, his attention had only grown stronger. He listened to this strange admiral as his sharp voice rang out with conviction.

'We live in a universe of infinite danger,' Kaion said, 'and we need to align ourselves with those whom we can respect, not love. The asari have neither for us, remember that, Ambassador. Remember that when they come to you with complaints of me, and consider instead what the salarians and our new human compatriots think. I daresay the human ambassador, Udina, holds a very different view of my proposals to take the fight to the batarians.'

'And this is where the reality of my world supersedes yours,' Ciro stated flatly. 'That reality being that until the humans rival the asari in wealth and territory, until they can assert more influence throughout Council space, we must be concerned first and foremost with the most powerful faction in the galaxy.'

His black-lined mandibles flexed as his gaze hardened. 'Admiral, believe it or not I respect what you bring to the table. You've unbalanced a great number of people who've long grown complacent in their positions. Perhaps I am one of them. However, that will only go so far. The Hierarchy has tasked me with not losing our claims in the Silean Nebula, or at least extracting a fair price for them. That job is being made impossible by your confrontational attitude. The Council will never authorise an incursion into batarian space, no matter how you try and rationalise it. Now I ask you, for the good of the Empire, please refrain from causing any more disturbances lest you cause irreparable harm to our people.'

Kaion said nothing. There was no give in those hard, gnarled features and Antus knew Ciro was wasting his breath.

'I will, as always, act with the best interests of our people in mind,' the admiral finally replied. 'Until the Primarchs see fit to remove me, I suggest you remind yourself which side you're on, Ambassador. Otherwise, you will find that I will constantly be reminding you.'

The transmission cut before Ciro could respond and the ambassador sagged with fatigue. Antus knew his cue and he brought over a glass of hot tea, which Ciro took from him with a grateful nod.

Ciro sighed wearily. 'What did I do to anger the spirits, that they would send a man like that to the Citadel?'

Antus hid his own amusement at the entire episode. 'It's hard to believe, isn't it, Sir? That Admiral Kaion would be allowed anywhere near the heart of galactic politics?'

'Indeed, very hard to believe,' Ciro repeated softly. He sipped his tea, his eyes and mandibles shifting, deep in thought. 'I wonder which of the Primarchs was responsible for giving him the Kanderax, let alone sending him here? It almost seems an act of self-sabotage.'

'Well,' Antus began cautiously, 'we must remember, Sir, that a great many were opposed to humanity being given a seat on the Council. After all, they only had to lose a couple thousand of their people to be granted the honour, not the millions we sacrificed. While the humans managed to conveniently arrive in time to save the Council from the geth, we lost entire worlds to the krogan. We were tested in the most destructive war of our existence whereas the Alliance needed only to turn up late to a single battle.'

Ciro considered the point as he turned and made his way back to his desk. 'Hm,' he grunted as he sat, 'I'd almost forgotten how large the disparity between our circumstances was. I suppose the distant memory of one threat to the galaxy cannot compare to the immediacy of the next. Still, if someone believes Kaion and the Kanderax will restore that disparity, they're very much mistaken.'

Antus nodded. 'Would you like me to draft a letter of objection to the Primarchs, Sir?'

Thinking for a moment, Ciro shook his head. 'Not yet. If someone with a grudge against humanity elevated Kaion to his position, they made a poor choice. The man is more antagonistic to the existing Council members than the newcomers.'

'He does seem particularly vitriolic towards the asari.'

'To the point of obsession,' Ciro agreed. He clasped his tea glass in both hands, looking out over the steaming rim. 'But he's making few friends here of any species, that's for certain. If anything, that alone will guarantee him a short deployment. We'll see if he calms down and comes to accept that his battering ram philosophy will get him nowhere. It happens from time to time. This world of politics has a very specific way of dealing with the arrogant and hot-headed all of its own.'

'Indeed it does, Sir,' Antus said with a respectful dip of his head. As silence fell, he looked sidelong at the inert comms terminal, his stomach tightening with pleasure at the thought of the covert recording device he'd installed and the treasure trove of information with which he'd be able to gift Novari the next time they met. The dreams of her gratitude would be enough to carry him through the day despite his exhaustion.

~~~ME-I2~~~

Breakfast in Purgatory was heralded by a loud, blasting drone over the prison's loudspeakers. Arlen's cell opened shortly after and he stepped out for the second time in just a few hours, groggy after only a quick, snatched sleep.

The meal area was exactly the same as every other part of the cell block, a wide open space hemmed in by elevated guard walkways. Tables and benches were set up in jagged rows, occupied by self-segregated groups of humans, turians and batarians. They filed into their little circles in front of a line of animal feed dispensers along the far wall, and as Arlen made his way over he saw they carried back dinner trays filled with some sort of viscous grey slop. It looked like the nutrient paste doled out on the Citadel, stuff that he'd never had the courage to try for himself.

He took a tray and spoon from a waiting rack and took it to one of the mounted dispensers. The nozzle was caked in hardened gruel but that didn't stop the stuff from choking out of the end in disgusting splats. Arlen couldn't bring himself to look at it as he turned and made his way to the nearest table, wondering if he'd starve to death before completing his mission.

He chose an empty bench, though as he sat he expected someone to approach him, claiming the seat was taken. It wasn't a surprise when a shadow fell over him as he prepared to sample his prison delicacy, which rippled and shivered as someone took a seat on the opposite side of the table.

Arlen glanced up to see a dusky-skinned man with a slick of black hair, his face lean below a pair of thin-framed glasses. Though the man couldn't have known it, Arlen recognised him as Madsen, Zwei's tech expert.

'You're Riko Pavek, right?' Madsen queried. His eyes held Arlen's until the turian chose to look down to his meal.

Arlen picked up his spoon and scooped up some of his gruel, trying his best to ignore the lumps as he forced it into his mouth. It was flavourless aside from an odd metallic aftertaste, though the texture alone made it a near impossible effort not to gag.

'Yeah, that's me,' he mumbled. He knew Madsen was there for a reason, and he wanted to draw that reason out.

'You've got a reputation,' Madsen went on. 'I can tell it's no bullshit after seeing how you took down Cain. Usually when he tests the new guys, they fail hard.'

'Maybe I was testing him,' Arlen replied casually.

Madsen grinned but it was an unpleasant expression. 'I don't know how things are over your side of the Terminus, but on the Purgatory, that kind of attitude is a surefire way to get yourself shanked in record time. Maybe you should've killed Cain while you had the chance.'

'Why's that?' Arlen asked with his mouth full.

'He was the shot-caller for the Double-O, the Omega Orphans. Not a gang you want to get on the wrong side of.'

'If that's the case, then why do you wanna be seen with me? Ain't you worried that his friends'll think you're associating?'

'Nah, man,' Madsen said, holding up his hands. 'They know exactly who I am and who I'm with. This is just a friendly warning.'

Arlen snorted. 'Friendly is the last thing I'd expected to see in this place.'

'That's true,' Madsen chuckled, 'but still, you look like you can take care of yourself. Enough to catch the attention of my boss, and that's no small thing. He wants to know if you're gonna be trouble here, and if so, who're you making it for?'

This is what Arlen wanted so desperately to hear and he struggled to keep himself calm, his outward demeanour indifferent. 'And who is your boss, exactly?'

Madsen held up a finger in warning. 'Nuh-uh, that's not for you to ask. If he's interested, he'll find you.'

'What? You in a gang? You recruiting?'

'Not exactly. We just like to keep tabs on talented individuals and your name is known around here. 'Course, those people didn't think you were the type to go picking a fight with the leader of the Double-Os, but my boss likes that kind of initiative.'

The table darkened further and Arlen looked up to see three other inmates staring down at him. They are all human, all hard men with rigid lines of muscle covered in anti-alien tattoos under their jumpsuits. They said nothing but Madsen got the message immediately and, with a raised eyebrow, he slid out of his seat.

One of the prisoners spoke. He was the one Arlen saw with Cain the previous night. 'This ain't your table, turian.'

Arlen cleared his throat. He held the man's murderous gaze as he too stood slowly. It was nothing to do with ceding the point, but rather the way the man's companions were edging their way around to his sides.

'Maybe next time you should send around the seating arrangements in advance,' he snarled. 'I had no idea this was the ugly human table.'

Glinting slivers flashing in the corners of his vision as shivs were produced, short stabbing knives made of pieces of scrap sharpened to a killing edge. He looked askance to see a couple of guards pointing at the growing menace but doing nothing except muttering to each other, possibly taking bets amongst themselves on who would come out of this exchange alive.

The lead man leaned forward over the table. 'I think maybe we need to carve our names into your face, that way you won't forget who sits here.'

Arlen didn't wait for them to make their move. With a single, fluid movement he snatched up his tray and smashed it into the leader's nose edge-first. Blood mixed with the stodgy grey gruel as the man screamed, and Arlen barely had time to bring up the tray again to block a stab to his right.

The shiv clanged as it fell out of the human's grip and Arlen whipped out a punch in response, catching him in the throat. As he went down clutching his neck, the third prisoner was almost on top of Arlen, but the turian shifted his weight before cracking his shin against the man's knee. The denser turian bone made a hideous snap as it dislodged a knee cap and the attacker toppled over, Arlen taking him by the hair and ramming his face into the bench for good measure.

The first human had recovered and brandished his shiv as he clambered over the table with a roar.

'You're fuckin' dead!' he screamed, blood streaming from his nose in bright rivers.

Arlen calmly sidestepped a lunge, his actions now mere unthinking reflex after many battles. The tray flicked up in one hand, the edge turning the blade as the elbow of his other hand snapped into the side of the human's exposed head. He went down in a crashing heap, out cold.

It was over so fast that heads were still turning to see what was going on by the time the last body hit the floor. Arlen stood panting, tense and yet with a looseness in his limbs, the natural signs of a fighter still wary of attack. The tray fell from his grip with a clatter and he became very aware that the eyes of the entire prison were fixed on his blood-spattered form.

A pair of Blue Suns ambled over, chattering to one another before speaking to Arlen. 'You just made me a thousand credits, turian. That's the only reason I'm not sticking you in cryo-max. Now pick up your crap and get lost.'

Arlen obeyed, not wanting to outstay his welcome. The adrenaline filtered out of his system, making his body tremble as he carried his tray back to the rack. It disguised his surprise as a sharp, hacking voice addressed him as he approached.

'You handle yourself well, mate.'

Arlen turned to see Zwei standing with his back to the wall a short distance away, wiry pale arms crossed over the unzipped chest of his jumpsuit. His white hair glowed in the harsh light of the ceiling panels as he dipped his head, grinning subtly.

'First Cain, now his crew,' he continued. 'How 'bout making it three for three and offing the warden while you're at it?'

Slotting his tray into a cleaning unit, Arlen gave Zwei a wary look. 'I don't plan on sticking around that long.'

'Oh?' Zwei cocked a querying eyebrow. 'You aiming to get flushed? Take an express ride to the nearest sun? Or you got something else in mind?'

'Who's asking?'

Arlen tried to make the question free of suspicion but even after one night, he knew Purgatory itself was seeping into his speech, his mannerisms and his behaviour. It was impossible to spend more than a few minutes there without feeling the influence of hundreds of screams, of feral yells and the relentless beatings happening only feet away at any given moment.

Zwei didn't seem to notice as he produced a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Arlen, thinking nothing of it when it was declined with a shake of the head. He spoke with the cigarette in his lips as he patted himself down in search of a light.

'I'm the guy who's able to carry a pack of smokes and a lighter out in the open,' he answered pointedly as he finally managed to find it and spark up. 'A bloke like you knows what that means. For me, this place is a palace. The warden gets a fortune for keeping me here, so every guard protects his investment, and I get a few liberties for not kicking off. Cryo-sleep's expensive. Cheaper for him to let me enjoy myself a bit. Until I get bored, anyway. Or I fancy a nice, long nap.'

The last words were coupled with a widening of his smile. The expression seemed unnatural and made Arlen intensely uncomfortable.

He spoke to hide his unease. 'You don't look like you're with any of the gangs around here. I'm guessing you're unaffiliated?'

Zwei took a long drag and expelled a large plume of smoke. 'You guess right. Me and my mates, we're about the closest things to professionals you'll see in this pit of psychopaths, rapists and serial killers. But sometimes it's good to know folks outside your little circle. You look like you might be worth knowing.'

'Is that so?'

'Oh yeah,' Zwei replied eagerly from behind the cigarette. 'Guys who can actually fight are always useful. And from what I hear, Riko Pavek ain't a stranger to pulling off the odd score now and then.'

After a few moments' silence, Arlen nodded slowly. 'Okay. You know my name. Can I ask yours?'

The human tilted his head up slightly, staring down at Arlen with manic, cold-edged eyes.

'The name's Zwei,' he rasped. 'So if you've got nothing better to do, Pavek, I think it's time you met my lads and maybe tell us what it is you're planning.'

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