XVIII
Auld Lang Syne: Good Will Draught
The mercs the Eclipse officer had been in charge of were in the next room. It was big and open with a ceiling like a cathedral—when it was finished it would probably be some kind of trading floor. Maybe an in-house café. There were just three of them and a couple of deactivated LOKIs—a patrol group or guard, not a hunting party, and they were talking over a radio.
"He's all over the place," a human man complained. Shepard held up her hand. Hope these guys know more than the last one.
"What do you mean?" an angry woman's voice demanded over a speaker. Garrus recognized a Citadel accent. Nassana.
"We've got reports of him on multiple levels. We think he's traveling through the ducts," the merc explained. "And the assassin's not even your only problem. Archangel's all over us out here."
"Archangel's your problem, not mine," Nassana snapped. "Deal with him, and find that assassin! What the hell am I paying you for?" The radio beeped. She'd signed off.
"Shit." The merc said. "If Archangel doesn't get us, she'll throw us to the dogs. Come on."
"You almost got to feel sorry for them," Taylor said in an undertone.
Shepard's face was tight. These guys weren't alone, and they were wound up to shoot on sight. "No. You really don't." she said. She nodded, and they charged in.
She hacked one of the LOKIs as they charged. Bullets blazing, the fight probably lasted five seconds. The mercs were as tired as they were—but they were unprepared. Garrus looked over the smears on the floor impassively, then nodded at a door to an office on the left, glowing red—locked.
"More survivors?" Taylor guessed.
"Could be." Shepard sliced the door open with her omni-tool.
It occurred to Garrus then that whoever was in the room would have no idea of knowing who had been firing at whom outside. "Shepard—"Garrus started, but it was too late. She'd walked in the room.
"You guys all right in here?"
Garrus saw Shepard freeze, and before he walked in beside her, he knew what he'd see. One of these workers had a gun. His eyes were wide, manic, and he swung the pistol around wildly, trying to cover them all. "Get back!" he shouted. "Get back! I'll shoot!"
Garrus looked at Samara, saw biotic energy glowing around her fists already. She could grab the gun from the salarian or push him off to the side—but his finger was tight on the trigger, and it was close quarters in here at point blank range. If he managed to get a shot off, there was no telling what he'd hit.
"Relax," Garrus told the salarian, keeping his voice concerned and nonthreatening, even as he didn't lower his pistol for a second. The salarian was scared out of his wits. Probably not actually hostile, but nervous enough he could fire off a shot in a heartbeat. "Don't do anything you'll regret."
"I don't want to hurt you, but I will," the salarian told him. There was another behind him, unarmed, horrified as he watched the scene. "I said, 'get back!'" the armed salarian cried, shaking the gun. "I'll do it!" His forearms shook, unused to holding a gun. "Please, don't make me do it," he begged.
Slowly, deliberately, Shepard holstered her pistol and raised her hands again. "Hey, I'm not the bad guy here," she said in the human version of the same tone Garrus had just used. "What's your name?"
Forming a connection with the hostile, becoming his friend. The salarian started to relax, and his pistol dropped a few centimeters. "I . . . I'm Telon," he said. Shepard lowered her hands, and Telon raised the pistol again. "Don't . . . don't come any closer," he said, but his voice was already calming. The salarian behind him started to walk up.
"Telon, I'm Commander Shepard," Shepard said. "I don't work with the mercs, and I don't want to hurt you. I'm here to help." She raised an eyebrow, and when he didn't challenge her again, stepped forward, holding out her hand for his pistol.
"I . . . all right," Telon said. He handed the gun to her, trembling. "Here. I . . . don't feel so—" His eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out. The other salarian rushed forward.
"Telon!" All their weapons were on him in a second. "He's my brother!" the other salarian explained. "I just want to see if he's all right!" Shepard nodded at all of them, and all of them but Taylor holstered their guns. Taylor stood in the doorway, watching their back.
The other salarian knelt by Telon, taking his pulse. "I'm Chesith," he said. "Are you the ones who . . . shot the merc?" His eyes darted to a corpse in the corner.
The dead man was human. His blood and brains had spattered all over the corner of the empty office. His head was completely gone. Shepard looked him over. "I've shot a lot of mercs today, but I can't take credit for him," she said.
Chesith had his brother's head in his lap. He kneaded his brother's shoulders and upper arms, trying to bring him around again, but he kept his eyes on Shepard. "Then who did?"
"You tell me. What happened?" Shepard asked him.
Chesith gestured at the merc. "The merc found us and shouted at us to move. We panicked. And then he shouted more. I thought he was going to kill us, then his head just exploded! Telon picked up the merc's gun, but we were too afraid to leave. After about two minutes, we heard shooting outside—then you showed up."
"A perfect headshot with no collateral damage," Garrus mused, looking outside at the floor. Where would the drell have been? He could've been in the vents—but the airway was sixty meters away, and the grate was undisturbed. There wouldn't have been much room for Krios to shoot. How had he even seen the salarians in trouble? "Very impressive."
Shepard folded her arms, and her lips curved upward. "Mmm. I know a couple of people that could pull it off." In the field in front of the others, the indirect, self-inclusive compliment was still tantamount to a glowing commendation from Shepard. He knew his abilities, and he still had to fight to keep from grinning like an idiot. That calculated encouragement just when one of the men was feeling worst had been something he'd learned from her. He wondered where she'd learned it. Was it Anderson, someone else, or did she just always know?
Shepard raised her chin at Chesith. "I'm looking for someone. Probably the guy who killed this merc."
Chesith frowned. "Telon thought he saw someone following us, but he's been a bit . . . on edge. I haven't seen anyone but the mercs."
We aren't going to catch this guy until he gets Nassana.
Shepard sighed, resigned. "How safe is that bridge out there?"
Chesith had turned his attention to Telon again. His brother was stirring, coming around from his panic, but Chesith answered anyway. "The bridge is stable, but the wind's your real problem. If it doesn't throw you off, the mercs will definitely try. There's a lot of them out there."
"And the bridge is the only way to the penthouse in the other tower?" Garrus asked.
"From here, yeah," Chesith said, helping Telon to sit. "It won't be easy. Mercs are patrolling the other side. Whatever Nassana's hiding from must be pretty scary."
"There are still mercenaries up here," Samara said. "The two of you should get to the lower levels."
"No need to convince me," Chesith said. "Telon, come on. Get up."
He helped his brother to stand. Telon rubbed his head. "Can we go home now?" he asked. He sounded very young. Garrus wondered if he was even a decade old.
"Yeah," Chesith told him. "We're getting out of here." With his arm around his brother's back, he started out of the room. He nodded at Shepard on the way. "Thank you."
They followed the salarians out, but took a left where the brothers took a right. On the other side of the room there was a staircase, with a sign cycling through asari, salarian, and human standard languages that read "Bridge." Underneath the sign, a temporary terminal had been set up, and Nassana's voice was shouting from the intercom. "Where is everyone? Will someone please give me a report?"
Shepard stepped up to the console and hit the button for the microphone. Looking at her, Garrus saw the reflection of what he felt when he thought of what had happened to the workers in this building. Her face was as still, but looking into her eyes was like looking into the heart of a hurricane. In the end, Eclipse didn't matter here. This cell was almost legitimate—they weren't criminals, not here. They were hired security professionals that had gunned down "trespassers" five minutes after hours on the cowardly orders of someone who could pay the cops the blood money to shut this up. Eclipse's feud with Archangel was irrelevant. What mattered was the gall, the intolerable arrogance of the woman who thought she could buy people's lives. Maybe she wasn't trafficking them like her sister, but Nassana Dantius was still treating people like chattel.
Someone has to do something. He knew it. Shepard knew it. Right here, right now, Shepard knew the galaxy would be a better place without Nassana Dantius. And Garrus wondered how long it would have taken her on Omega to come around to Archangel.
But that doesn't matter either.
"It's about time!" Nassana was yelling. "What's going on down there?"
"Sorry, Nassana," Shepard said, smooth as glass. Garrus made a note to jump off the nearest tower if he ever heard Shepard speaking to him in that tone. "I'm afraid the mercs you had shooting your workers aren't able to respond."
"Damn it!" Nassana swore. The comm went dead.
The bridge was where Nassana had concentrated her defense. At the top of the stairs, there was a makeshift armory—a workbench, a crate of thermal clips, empty gun lockers. "If anyone needs some clips, now's the time," Garrus said. He looked up at Samara, standing behind a column and peering out across the bridge. "How many?"
"Twenty at least—this is Nassana's final line of defense," Samara reported. "But I do not think the mercenaries will be as much of a problem as the turrets she has stationed above the bridge."
Shepard grimaced. "Artillery and rockets. Can't say Seryna didn't warn us." She pulled her rocket launcher around to cradle it in her arms. "Garrus?"
"I've got you," he assured her.
"Stay toward the center of the bridge if you can—remember what those salarians said about the wind!" Shepard warned. "Move out!"
Everyone on Shepard's team now was a top-notch operative. You could say what you wanted about Cerberus, they know how to vet a could put a dozen different squads together with what they'd given her, and no matter what they were up against, it wouldn't be anything close to a fair fight. They would hit the enemy with overwhelming force and overrun any opposition, annihilating them with tech, biotics, and break-the-bank firepower in the hands of people who knew how to use it.
Taylor, Samara, and Mordin fought like they'd been a unit for months, focusing on the heaviest-armored biotics and vanguards, throwing them into chaos, putting them on the defense, forcing them off the bridge. Mordin weakened armor with tech attacks to open it up for biotics, or Taylor and Samara spun a target overhead for his heavy pistol.
Garrus's job was the long-range mercs, the heavies. The mercs with rifles and rocket-launchers that could shoot them down across the bridge—and until the turrets went down, anyone firing on Shepard. She took out a couple of LOKIs, found a good position behind some of the cover the mercs had set up on the bridge, battened down against the wind that howled over the bridge, pulled shots out of line, and bit through the seals of Garrus's armor, crouched, and took aim at the two turrets spitting fire on the far side of the bridge.
In six seconds, though, both were down, and Shepard joined him shooting all the mercs Taylor, Samara, and Mordin hadn't gotten to yet. In the place in his mind that was floating above the rhythm of sighting the target, firing, ejecting and reloading heat sinks, and pressing forward, Garrus noted Shepard was in top form.
She'd always been the deadliest person on the field anyway, but the woman that had made nonlethal shots to the center of mass back on Korlus was now coolly making as many headshots as he was on this bridge, fluidly connecting them with hacks and attacks on the LOKI mechs the Eclipse soldiers kept sending at them. "Impressive!" Garrus remarked as a salarian's brains burst out of the back of his head after a particularly well-placed shot.
"You've inspired me," Shepard said shortly, and so drily he couldn't tell if she was saying it straight or as a joke. Maybe figure that out later, Garrus thought, darting to the side as a rocket exploded a meter away. The shockwave took his shields down 30 percent, but he'd already got a lock on the merc's position and sent back an overload program. Shepard quirked her wrist, and a merc reloading a rocket launcher tripped back screaming as her light armor was engulfed in flames. Mordin's heavy pistol punched a hole the size of a fist through her chest, and the screaming stopped.
Over the howl of the wind, they could hear Nassana yelling out of speakers mounted on the other side of the bridge. "I don't care what you do! No one gets across that bridge! Just kill them!"
Another merc went tumbling off the bridge, wreathed in biotics, and they pressed forward. They were closer to Nassana than the way back now. Four mercs remained—a couple of engineers, a grunt, and a tough-looking, tattooed asari trying to rally them all. "Hold them back, you miserable shits!" she cried.
As Samara, Taylor, and Mordin advanced, one of the engineers, a salarian with mad eyes and tears flowing down his face, just sprang forward at Samara, screaming, omni-blade extended. Face impassive, she took him down with a three-pulse blast from her assault rifle. He fell to the ground, blood pumping from the wounds in his chest. Garrus smelled it on the breeze from where he stood, across the width of the bridge from Shepard from behind cover they'd taken from the mercs.
A stream of bullets flew from where the two reporting soldiers were trying to cover their captain, holding Garrus and Shepard behind their pillars. Garrus tracked the shots on his visor, already constructing a firing solution, and when one of the bullet counts hit forty, he leaned out and squeezed the trigger. Mordin and Shepard were hitting the asari captain, wearing down her armor with tech as she cursed them in language as blue as she was.
The last merc tried to make a break for it, running for the door to Nassana's office, firing over his shoulder. Taylor's short-range shot hit him in the middle of the back, punching fractured bone and blood out of the front of his chest. The asari howled in wordless rage—she knew she was dead in seconds. Limbs trembling in exertion, her biotics flared into a halo half a meter deep all around her. Garrus tracked her intention a second before she moved, vaulting over the last barricade, rocketing past Samara, Taylor, and Mordin on a trajectory that would take her straight into Garrus, a living missile, and shoot them both of the edge of the bridge.
He dived to the left, and she fell off the bridge alone. Garrus watched her fall, trailing biotic energy, and impact where several others had done tonight, stories below.
They stood silent for a moment, and then Garrus felt the eyes of all the others gravitate toward him.
"'Fighting Archangel's war,'" Shepard recalled, grim and disgusted. "God. I wasn't. I hope you weren't. But they were." She walked past Garrus, ahead toward Nassana's office.
They all watched her go for a moment, then followed. Nassana's office was right off the bridge, off a small hallway. Entering, Garrus saw three bodyguards were still standing behind her desk in front of the window at her back, two humans and an asari, blocking a sniper shot from a neighboring building. There was an abstract painting on the left wall of the office. Large. It looked expensive. Otherwise, the walls were white, minimalist.
Nassana was pacing in front of her guards, dressed in a long, dark-blue-and-maroon asari gown. Her eyes were shadowed and her face was pale, and he saw chips in her manicure where she'd bitten her nails. He felt little sympathy.
She rounded on them as they filed into the room, still more angry than scared. "What the hell does Archangel—"she checked when she saw him. Her mouth fell open slightly. Then she saw Shepard, and she took a physical step back. "Shepard . . . but you're dead."
Shepard, with the guns of all three of Nassana's bodyguards trained on her, crossed the room and sat down in one of the plush white guest chairs in front of Nassana's desk. She held her pistol loosely in one hand, but she would be able to bring it up in a second. Garrus signaled the others, and they fanned out, making it impossible for the bodyguards—or Nassana, if she decided to get her hands dirty—to take them out in one move. All of them were ready to fire.
Shepard crossed her legs. "I got better," she said, sounding almost bored.
Nassana looked resigned. "And now you're here to kill me."
Shepard shrugged. "Won't deny it's crossed my mind since I got here, but it's not why I came."
"Don't play with me, Shepard," Nassana scowled.
Shepard gave her a big, bright, completely fake smile. "Charming as ever."
Nassana paced behind her desk. "I'm sure you find this all very ironic. First you take care of my sister, and now you're here for me. Well, you made it this far. Now what?"
Shepard sat back in her chair. "Nassana, I'm not here to kill you. I just happen to have a meeting in your office."
Nassana was violet with rage. "So you destroyed my tower, decimated my security—for what?" she sputtered.
"We told you: Archangel's hit Eclipse all over the Terminus systems," one of the bodyguards snapped, glaring at Garrus. His finger was tight on the trigger of his weapon.
"That's not Archangel, you fool!" Nassana raged. "I've seen him before. That's a drop-out C-Sec colleague of hers," she waved her hand dismissively.
"Don't tell me that's not Archangel!" the merc cried. "He's got the fucking symbol on his arm! Tarak shot his face off on Omega, and she helped him escape. Do you know how many of my friends you've killed, you bastard?"
"How many innocents did your friends kill tonight?" Garrus replied.
"Don't pull that noble act with me," Nassana snorted. "What's this really about?"
For a second, Shepard's feigned unconcern dropped, and all the anger and weariness Garrus had seen below showed on her face. "No, he's right. It's about your workers. But I'm also looking for someone."
Nassana flung her arms out. "You expect me to believe that? Is it credits? Is that what you want? Just tell me your price. We can make this problem go away."
There was a thud in the ceiling—the sound of a misplaced knee or elbow hitting the side of the vent. Shepard's smile was cold. "All the credits in the world won't make this problem go away, Nassana."
Nassana waved her hand and turned her back, disgusted at what she thought was happening, how she thought Shepard was making her squirm. "Who the hell gave you the right to play God? I may not be perfect, but look at you! We both kill people for money. What's the difference?"
Shepard's smile vanished. "I have a slightly different opinion of my job description," she said "I try to save people, when I can. I only kill when people leave me no choice. You—you kill people because you think they're beneath you. You squash them like bugs if they so much as step in your path."
"Well, you've got a choice here, Shepard," Nassana said. "I can tell you—" her guards shifted, turning toward the ceiling. "What?" she asked.
"I heard something," the asari said.
Nassana pounded her fist on the desk. "Damn it! Check the other entrances." She pointed her finger at Shepard. "You—stay put." Then, from the vent conveniently right behind Nassana's desk, a drell dropped down behind one of the humans.
In less than a second it was over. The first human died of a broken neck, spine neatly severed. The second had his windpipe crushed from a swift, hard punch to the throat. The asari gasped, but by then Krios had drawn a pistol and shot her in the throat.
The kills had been so swift, so silent, that the shot was the first sound to get Nassana's attention. She'd been facing Shepard, focused on what her paranoia still believed to be the threat, when the gunshot made her whirl around, biotics flaring. Too late. "Who are—"
Krios ducked under her outstretched arm, gripping her shoulder with his left hand. With his right, he brought the barrel of his heavy pistol right to her gut, and fired before Nasanna could finish her sentence. She gasped, and her head fell back. Krios caught her up in his arms into something almost like an embrace, and bore her over to her desk. Gently, he laid her atop it, crossing her arms across her chest, and straightened somewhat—but not entirely.
Thane Krios was about the height and weight of a human male—not too tall, but so perfectly conditioned Garrus would have known he was deadly even if he hadn't just seen him kill three people in less than a second. His scales were a bright, venomous green that contrasted against the black of his crest and the bright red of the frill over his jaw and neck. His black suit straddled the line between sophisticated and ostentatious, formfitting with a shirt cut lower than Samara's breastplate, but all in a black that would easily blend into a crowd or fade into the shadows.
"Impressive," Garrus ventured. "You certainly know how to make an entrance."
Krios didn't respond, still bowed over Nassana's corpse, eyes closed, hands clasped. His lips moved, but Garrus couldn't hear his voice. Two seconds stretched into five, and just before things got really awkward, Shepard said, "I was hoping to talk to you."
Krios's double eyelids flitted open, and his hands fell to his sides. "I apologize, but prayers for the wicked must not be forsaken." His voice was quiet and cultured, but he spoke with a rasp so dry it scraped the air. Taylor actually winced, and beside him, Garrus saw the professor's eyes narrow. His omni-tool came up quietly, and his fingers started working.
Shepard stayed focused on their contact. "For her?"
"No. For me." Krios stalked around the desk. His large, black eyes flickered over the rest of them, then lit on Shepard again, serious and intent. "The measure of an individual can be difficult to discern by actions alone," he mused. "Take you, for instance. All this destruction, chaos. I was curious to see how far you'd go to find me. Well, here I am."
Shepard bristled. "Once I walked in the door, it wasn't about you. The destruction and chaos started long before I got here, when she ordered her men to fire on the workers trying to find you. I wanted to save everyone I could." Krios didn't deny it. His vertical inner eyelids slid across his eyes and back again, and he inclined his head respectfully. Shepard gestured at him. "How'd you know I was coming?"
"I didn't," Krios told her. "Not until you marched in the front door and started shooting. Nassana had become paranoid. You saw the strength of her guard force. She believed one of her sisters would kill her. You were a valuable distraction."
Shepard folded her arms. "So you used me to make your hit."
He was making a worse impression than anybody since Jack, but Krios didn't flinch at Shepard's accusing tone. "I needed a diversion," he said. "You needed to speak with me. You certainly fulfilled your end of the bargain. What would you like to discuss?"
Shepard's lip curled in distaste, and Garrus half thought she would walk away, but then she swallowed. "You're familiar with the Collectors?"
"By reputation."
Shepard nodded. "They're abducting entire human colonies. Freedom's Progress was their handiwork. And Horizon."
Krios blinked again. "I see."
"We're going after them," Shepard told him.
"Attacking the Collectors would require passing through the Omega-4 relay," Krios pointed out. "No ship has ever returned from doing so."
Shepard raised an eyebrow. "They told me it was impossible to get to Ilos, too."
The ghost of a smile flitted over his lips. "A fair point," he said. "You built a career on performing the impossible." Somehow it didn't surprise Garrus that the assassin, unlike Samara, knew exactly who they were on sight. Krios crossed the floor, moving with feline economy and power. He gazed at the door, considering. "This was to be my last job," he told them. "I'm dying. Low survival odds don't concern me. The abduction of your colonists does."
Garrus glanced at Mordin. The professor met his eyes. He gave him a short, sharp nod, still running scans on his omni-tool.
"You're dying?" Shepard asked. Her tone had changed completely. "Are you contagious? How long do you have?"
Krios looked back over his shoulder at her. "If you're interested, we can discuss it on your ship. The problem isn't contagious, and it won't affect my work," he assured them.
She had almost made up her mind she hated this guy, Garrus could tell, but this changed everything. This terminally ill drell was willing to give up everything and die to save a bunch of human colonists. What was it he'd said? The measure of an individual can be difficult to discern?
Shepard shifted, looking uncomfortable. "I hadn't heard about your illness. Is there anything we can do? We have a couple of good doctors aboard my ship." She gestured at Mordin, but the salarian frowned.
"Kepral's Syndrome," he said. "Too advanced. Can hear it in lungs, voice, breath. No cure. No time to develop one. Effecting circulation yet?"
"At times," Thane conceded. "I have learned to work around it. Do not worry. Giving me this opportunity is enough. The universe is a dark place. I'm trying to make it brighter before I die." He looked out the window. "The violence started before you arrived," he admitted. "Many innocents died today. I wasn't fast enough, and they suffered. I must atone for that. I will work for you, Shepard. No charge."
For some reason, the cab station was reluctant to send a van or rent a skycar to six people covered in green, red, and violet bloodstains. Shepard was able to convince the security guard not to call the cops by having her verify her Spectre status. Technically the Spectres were Council operatives, and they were outside of Council jurisdiction in the Terminus, but the sec officer was so awed or intimidated to meet Shepard she forgot that little detail. Or she'd never known. Anyway, she let them go, and they ended up riding the train back to the trading floor plaza.
There weren't a whole lot of things more awkward than sitting in an Illium train car, in combat armor, covered in blood, while civilians gave you side-eye, Garrus thought, but sitting beside a drell who'd dropped the news of his terminal illness like a weather announcement didn't really improve the awkwardness. Mordin asked questions regarding Krios's breathing, sleeping patterns, mobility, and blood type for six stops—which Krios patiently answered, albeit with a growing edge of annoyance to his dry voice—before Shepard finally asked Krios if he would give Mordin a blood sample when they returned to the Normandy and told the professor to shut up. She couldn't look at Krios, and Taylor couldn't stop, shifting in his seat every few seconds. The only one who seemed comfortable with the situation was Samara, who tucked her feet up underneath her on the worn public seat and started to meditate.
Unable to begin the briefing on a public train car, they rode the rest of the way back to the Normandy in silence.
Thane was the last official business they had on Illium, but there was still a lot to do. Finalization on Tali's shielding upgrades, engine checks and maintenance, shuttle maintenance, reprovisitioning before they flew out again. Shepard had already made plans to head to Tuchanka next—something about working out what was wrong with Grunt with the krogan clans. There wasn't a lot of medical information about krogan available on the extranet. Ever since the Rebellions, krogan had become understandably careful about letting other species know about their biology. In order to figure out what he called a "blood haze" in his head was all about, they were going to have to ask an expert. But for all Garrus knew, Tuchanka was in the opposite direction from wherever it was he needed to go.
As the days ticked down before they left Illium, Garrus got more and more anxious to hear back from Liara. He had to know where to look for Sidonis before it was too late. Before they flew through the Omega-4 relay and he lost any chance to get justice for the ten men that had died on Omega. No one else knew. No one else cared. He was the only one left.
He'd stopped sleeping again, and by now, he was more familiar with the Thanix than most turian engineers. He'd gotten a couple letters back from his military contacts thanking him for his observations on the gun, actually. Running calibration sequences didn't help anymore. He'd have worked the tension out in the shuttle bay like Shepard had done after Horizon, but he knew he'd run into the same problem she had. The observation window along the engineering corridor would let anyone passing through engineering know right away that something was wrong, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about it.
While contract mechanics refitted and upgraded the Kodiak, Garrus had asked Shepard if he could take a look at the Hammerhead they'd picked up a while back. It was a hybrid military ground vehicle Cerberus had developed, more agile than the Mako if not as well armored, and equipped with jets for long jumps and driving over water. He was curious how it worked—even Shepard had been unable to figure out a way to crash it—and anyone who saw him fiddling with the Hammerhead engine wasn't likely to start worrying about him. Taking care of the Mako on the SR-1 had been his primary shipside responsibility.
Shepard had agreed to let him poke around so long as he had Tali check things over before they took it out again, but the second Niels saw him down there the day before they left Illium, he whistled. "Vakarian, you have got to get yourself a life."
Garrus pushed the trolley he was lying on out from under the Hammerhead and sat up, wiping engine fluid from his forehead and reminding himself to visit the doc for a clean bandage later. "Doesn't look like I'm down here alone."
"Sure, but this is the first time I've been down here all week. Gotta check the engine, fuel levels after the contractors were here earlier. Make sure the Kodiak's ready for whatever the commander needs her to do tomorrow. We're on shore leave, Vakarian. Who knows if we'll get another one! Have to make the most of it while we can! You work harder than anyone on this boat but the commander. Take a break!"
Garrus forced a smile. "They don't like my face here on Illium. Can't say I blame them. I guess Nos Astra isn't really for me." He hadn't exactly been grounded after Dantius Towers, but Shepard had strongly suggested he avoid any lonely strolls through the dark corners of the city, and Garrus hadn't really been inclined to go looking for trouble on his own.
Niels squatted down to his level. "Look, a bunch of us are going out tonight. We'll get some drinks, maybe dance. Nothing too crazy, just good fun. You should come. Clear your head." He smiled. "Or fog it up."
Garrus wiped his hands, considering. It's better than staying here worrying. "Alright if I invite Tali?" he said. "I promised we'd do something before the Normandy took off. First I was busy, then she was, and we never got around to it."
Niels shrugged. "Sure, the more the merrier, right? Tali'Zorah could probably use some fun, too, after what happened down on Haestrom. And this is Illium. Anywhere we go will probably have drinks for quarians, right?" He frowned, suddenly worried.
"We'll check the reviews beforehand," Garrus promised. "Tali knows the best extranet sites to look for. When we leaving?"
"We'll probably head around 2000 hours," Niels told him. He looked down at Garrus's grease-spotted bodysuit. "Uh—you'll change before we go, right?"
Garrus held out his hand for Niels to help him up. "Sure. I'll be ready to go."
Turned out the best place for quarian drinks close to the ship was Eternity, the lounge Garrus had visited with Shepard, Lawson, and Taylor their first day on Illium. Tali was jumping in excitement as they headed over. "I feel like we never do anything normal," she told Garrus as they walked under the market lights. "It will be nice to go out without having to shoot anyone for once."
"That we know of, anyway," Garrus qualified. "You never know what a quiet night out might turn into." He eyed his side pistol, hoping Eternity wasn't the mercenary bar.
Tali shoved him. "I could swear you want this to turn into a blood bath. Relax! It'll be fine!"
The lights were dim and pulsing at this hour, and there were far more people moving through the rooms of the lounge now than when Garrus had visited earlier in the day. The music throbbed over the speakers. A few people were already swaying and writhing on the dance floor. Garrus and Tali found Niels in a back corner. He'd secured a bench and a couple of tables, and when Garrus saw the crowd he'd brought with him, he did relax.
Taylor, Goto, and Joker were there, along with Gabriella Daniels and Ken Donnelly, Thomas Hawthorne, Sarah Patel, and Vadir Rolston. They were in fact the very Cerberus crew members Garrus appreciated most on the SR-2, every one of them hardworking and friendly but not overbearing.
Tali's entire posture softened when she saw Joker, Daniels, and Donnelly. She already worked with Ken and Gabby in engineering, and liked them both for more than their talent. She'd told Garrus in private that Donnelly was a little inappropriate but entirely harmless, and both engineers were the very best-natured sort of human. She hadn't met all of the others, and Garrus and Niels introduced her.
The two of them settled on the edge of the table. Niels flagged down a waitress. Garrus ordered a glass of creyis, straight. They had Cipritine Bronze Label, and when it came, Garrus eyed the peridot-colored liquid appreciatively. It'd been a long time since he'd had a good drink. Anyone that sold the good stuff on Omega was likely to sell it at 300 percent markup. To compete here, the bars had to offer good prices.
Tali's straw came in an airtight, sterile package, and so did her drink. It'd been premixed this morning in a clean room downtown, the waitress told them, and chilled in their fridge all day long. She sighed happily as she sipped. "This is more like it," she said. "It's almost like going to the bartender back home on the Fleet. Thank you for inviting us out," she added to Niels. "I wouldn't have thought you would have wanted aliens in your group."
"What? Because of Cerberus?" Sarah Patel asked, surprised. "I only joined five months ago because the recruiter said Cerberus was getting ready to do something about the Collectors. I've got family out here in the Terminus. Anyone willing to help us take out those monsters is okay in my book."
There were murmurs all around the table. "Did you all sign on for this mission?" Tali asked.
"I've been in Cerberus a while," Taylor admitted. "A few years. But this is the best crew and the best commander I've served under."
"Here's to that," Rolston grinned, raising his bottle. "To Commander Shepard!"
"To the crew that'll help her take those Collector bastards out!" Donnelly added. Everyone drank.
Garrus regarded Donnelly. "Your accent comes across the translator," he remarked. "It's still Alliance Standard—English, the same as Lawson and Shepard and several of you speak—but like you learned it on a different part of Earth. Where are you from, Donnelly?"
"Ach, that'd be Scotland. Don't hold the English against us, laddie. One good, fighting Scot's worth twelve of yer Brits, Aussies, and Americans."
"I'd like to see you up against Lawson or Shepard, Kenneth," Daniels snorted.
"Here now, lass, I dinnae say I was a good Scot, now did I?" Donnelly laughed.
"You Earthborn are all spoiled if you ask me," Niels grinned. "Haven't had to really build anything for years. Always someone around to help when things get dicey. The colonies are where it's at."
There were good-natured boos from Goto, Donnelly, and Hawthorne, cheers from the others. The booze flowed, and Garrus and Tali got to know some of the crew of the Normandy SR-2. Niels and Rolston showed off holos of their families out in the colonies. Niels had a three-year-old son, and Rolston had two girls, eight and five. Patel talked about her fiancé, an agricultural technician back on Benning. If all went well, they were planning to get married next year.
After a couple drinks, Tali was swaying slightly to the music in her seat. She looked over at the dance floor wistfully, then asked, "Do you want to dance, Garrus?"
Garrus considered. Kasumi was swapping jokes and engineering tips with Gabby and Ken, while Taylor, Hawthorne, Patel, and Rolston were comparing service histories. He and Tali had been arguing ship design with Niels and Joker, but the two pilots looked more than capable of keeping up the conversation without them. "Why not?" he asked, standing up with her to head to the dance floor.
Tali looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded in a way that suggested a smile. Garrus let the slight buzz in his body take over, laced her fingers with his, and spun her around.
It was good to do something normal for a change. No shooting, no moral debates raging in his head, just good drinks, good people, and a pulsing beat. Garrus went with it. No one would ever call him the galaxy's best dancer, but he knew how to move without embarrassing himself, anyway, which was more than some could say. And Tali more than made up for any of his awkwardness. Her hips swirled and swayed while her arms waved in time. Every gesture flowed like water. Garrus smiled and let her drag him along, remembering for the first time in a while what nonlethal fun felt like.
Probably a bad sign I ever forgot.
He was enjoying himself so much, he didn't notice at first that Tali had moved closer to him, that his breath was fogging up her visor, his hands were on those twitching hips, and she was turning in a way that wasn't quite friendly anymore. He blinked. Wait.
Tali pressed her body back and forth in his hands, still smiling up at him, encouraging him, and Garrus had to admit that it felt good. It did. Tali didn't care about his rank or his face; she was his friend, and she cared about him. Her waist was firm and warm under his hands. She was solid, real—and willing, it looked like. But he hadn't wanted this.
He swallowed, moved one hand to hers again, and called, "Niels, Goto! Come join us!"
Sending up a literal SOS was the coward's way out, but Tali handled it with grace, willingly moving over to Niels when Garrus handed her off and spun Kasumi into his arms. The thief was smirking slightly. She knew what he was doing, but she curled her hands over his shoulders and moved her legs to the beat anyway, turning what had been freestyle into something more like an Earthen Latin dance. Garrus stared at her feet, picking up the rhythm. He led clumsily, but he managed.
"Not bad, big guy," Goto murmured. "We'll turn you into a dancer yet. Don't suppose you could call Jacob over here too?"
Garrus tilted his head. "Would you really want me to?" Goto talked loudly and often about how attractive Taylor was, but he'd never seen her actually make a move on him.
Kasumi sighed dramatically. "I just like looking at him." She glanced in Taylor's direction and growled playfully, then looked back at Garrus. "But you're right. You should dance with Sarah or Gabby too," she suggested in a complete change of topic. "They look a little lonely."
He took the point: Calling Goto to rescue him from Tali was fine; it'd go over easier if he didn't show a preference for anyone. So after the song ended, he did ask Patel to dance—a silly number with a quick beat they mostly freestyled. They laughed and had a good time, and by the time Garrus returned to his seat, he was out of breath and sweating a little.
There was a fresh creyis in front of him. Garrus glanced at Joker. The pilot shrugged. "Don't look at me. You've got a friend." Joker nodded toward the bar. Garrus looked over and saw a turian woman standing there. She tipped him a nod, staring steadily, inviting him over.
And there goes the evening. Garrus ran his finger along the edge of the glass. "Did you see the bartender pour?"
"I did," Donnelly said. His uniform was unbuttoned a bit and the alcohol fumes were strong on him. "I've been watching her. That girl can make drinks at a snap of your fingers. What's the problem?" he laughed. "Worried about a date rape drug? That your lady friend'll try to poison you? Bit early for that, isn't it?"
Garrus guessed from the question that Shepard hadn't let the events of a few days ago spread around the ship, but Taylor's head snapped around. "Someone sent you another drink? She a merc?" he demanded.
Garrus shrugged. "If Ken saw the drink poured, I'll go over there. Try to work out what she wants."
"Here's a wild idea: maybe she just wants to talk to you," Joker suggested, with heavy sarcasm. "No, you're right. I'd suspect poison too."
"Yeah, that's not as funny as you think it is, Joker," Jacob said. "I'll keep an eye out, Garrus. I've got your back."
"Thanks." He got up and walked over to the woman by the bar.
He extended his hand. "Garrus Vakarian. And you are?"
She shook hands. "Impressed," she said in an ironic, lilting mezzo. Her subharmonics agreed. She was definitely interested. The part of Garrus that had been worried about another attempted murder relaxed, making way for an entirely different kind of anxiety. "Rastel Gyrion. You're a spacer."
"What gave it away?" Garrus drawled.
"Mmm. The human and quarian friends? The company logo on the sleeves of some of the fatigues over there?" Rastel mused. "I'm guessing you're not a merchant." Her caramel-covered eyes dragged over his scars, but for once, Garrus felt she was more fascinated than afraid. There's a switch.
He looked her over. The wear on her plates suggested she was a few years his senior, but she was still in good shape. He saw hard, lean muscle underneath the long sleeves of her red-and-black tailored shirt, her posture was close to parade rest without even thinking about it, and the alcohol smell on her breath was light. If she was a merc, she was a professional. "Guessing you're not either," he said.
She smirked. "I do some work for Elanus," she admitted. "Accompanying a trader from Noveria. But you—" She hummed, looking over at his crewmates speculatively. "Quasi-military, multilateral mission—"She looked back at him. "But you're no Terminus boy. Those are Cipritine tattoos. You're an interesting one, Garrus Vakarian."
"Well. I try." He hadn't had any problems with Elanus. This was the chance he'd been waiting for, and it wouldn't take much with this one, Garrus knew. Another drink, a couple dances, a compliment or two, and they could be out of here. Rastel was looking for company, and he probably even had enough credits left for a cheap room somewhere that wasn't crawling with vermin. How long has it been? Six months? Longer?
You ought to jump at her. Miraculously, she's not out to kill you. She's friendly and interested, mostly sober, and she's not selling anything here. And she's turian. So why did he feel more sick than thrilled?
"Been a while since your last furlough?" Rastel guessed.
Garrus's neck warmed, and he rubbed it instinctively. "That obvious?"
"You weren't shy with your friends earlier," she observed. "Somehow it still works for you. Finish your drink," she suggested. "We'll see what we can do about your nerves." She winked, then seeing his expression, hesitated. "You got a girl back home?" she asked.
"No," he rushed to say. "No. But—"he sighed. "Another for the lady," he told the bartender, flipping a cred piece over. "Thanks for the drink," he said to Rastel.
She regarded him, confused—but he didn't think offended. The bartender slid her another glass. "Sure," she said. "Have a good night, Garrus Vakarian."
He forced a smile. "You, too." He walked back to the others. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
Tali was sitting down by Joker again. "How'd it go?" she asked, only a trace of disappointment in her voice. "Are you going back over there? She's obviously got excellent taste."
Garrus could tell she meant her encouragement. He looked down at her. I should really be so lucky. "Or terrible, as the case may be. She was nice. Nice enough she'll find someone better to spend the evening with."
Taylor chuckled, but he was obviously relieved. "So, not a murderer, but you struck out anyway. Tough luck, Garrus."
"Not every guy thinks with their dick, Taylor," Gabby told him. "Maybe he just wasn't interested."
Donnelly rolled his eyes expressively. "Or maybe Vakarian thinking she was out to kill him just killed the mood." A thought struck him. "Unless she was old and ugly. Was she old and ugly?"
"Not that old, and a lot better-looking than me."
"So let me get this straight: a reasonably attractive, nice lady turian is somehow into you, buying you nonpoisoned drinks and everything, and you walk away?" Joker shook his head. "Man, if I could get laid without the risk of breaking my pelvis, I would be all over the one-night stand. Something's seriously wrong with you."
Patel, on Joker's other side, shoved him. "If Vakarian doesn't want to, he doesn't want to. Lay off, okay?"
At the same time Donnelly turned to Joker and said, "Really? You could break your pelvis from a little casual action? You have actually had sex, right?"
Joker grimaced. "Sure, and a broken pelvis. Not fun. There are workarounds, but it's not exactly the kind of thing you can explain to a girl on a night of shore leave. Properly positioned pillows or a visit to the ER—either way it's a bit of a buzzkill."
"That's the worst," Donnelly sympathized. "But you're a fine-looking man, even if your bones are made of glass. I'm sure you could find a nice girl to give you a little head action—"
Kasumi sighed, stood, and reached out her hand. "Come on, Garrus," she said. "Let's dance before things get a little too interesting over here."
Trying not to feel too grateful, Garrus took her up on the offer.
He tried to stay long enough that it wasn't too obvious he wasn't exactly having the time of his life anymore. Joker, Donnelly, and Tali were more than a little tipsy, Hawthorne was grinding on an asari like the two of them should really start heading for the exit, and Gabby and Sarah were laughing on the dance floor again after coming back for some water and a snack twice before Garrus nodded to the others. "It's been fun, but I think I'll head out," he said.
There was the token protest, but no one really pressed him to stay, and Tali raised her hand to say goodbye. "I'm going to stay for a while. I'll see you back at the ship."
Garrus regarded her for a moment. He'd hurt her pride tonight, he knew—though I had no idea she was actually interested. She probably needed a little distance, but she was slurring her words and swaying in her seat in a way he didn't like. "Don't stay out too late."
She chuckled. "Don't worry, Mother. I'll be fine."
"We'll see she gets back to the Normandy in one piece," Niels told him. "We'd be useless without our quarian engineer."
"Damn right you would," Tali said, lifting her drink again. She caught Garrus's eye out of the side of her visor. "Oh, go on, you party pooper. Keelah se'lai." She waved him off fondly. He smiled at her, tipped her a wave, and got lost.
Leaving the pulsing music of Eternity behind, Nos Astra quickly fell quiet. Most businesses were shut down at this hour. Even most of the trading floor, though Garrus saw lights on at a few kiosks that did trade with headquarters on the other side of the planet or across the galaxy. The streets were empty of individuals. Instead, people traveled in loud, laughing groups of two to five—or skulking ones with darting eyes and hidden weapons. These were the citizens of the Nos Astra night—innocent and otherwise.
Garrus felt restless—and not nearly drunk enough for the thoughts, questions, and self-recriminations buzzing and bouncing around in his skull. When are you going to get another chance to blow off some steam? You could be dead in weeks.
His feet wouldn't take him back to the Normandy yet. He knew it might be reckless, but he wandered through the side streets until he came to a public garden. Broad, silver avenues shone in the lamplight, lined with artisan gravel. Purple shrubs from Thessia had been trimmed in short, delicate spirals at the corners of the walkways in between long, dark, green hedges. Flowers dripped from trees and peeked out from beds on the side of the paths. Garrus sat on one of the benches oriented toward a fountain burbling down from some shiny piece of abstract public art that probably cost a fortune and looked like nothing at all.
Garrus, leaned back on his hands, feigning complete ease. He kept his gaze on the fountain, but in his peripherals, he watched the people passing. He kept an eye out for weapons or hostility, but mostly, he studied how they related to one another, tried to objectively study everyone's features. Most of the women were asari, naturally, but all of them had different partners, and every once in a while, a human or a turian couple, or two or three salarians together would walk by.
The problem with knowing you're being irrational is that it doesn't necessarily stop the irrationality. All that insecurity still knots up there, insisting it have its say. Rationally, you know you probably haven't become a deviant in the last two months, Garrus, that you would have known if you'd been one all along.
Yet, here he sat.
The truth was, interspecies attraction was generally rare. Curiosity always had its say, and there was porn of everything, but biologically, it was impossible for a species to sustain itself if its members were continually hooking up in couplings that couldn't produce viable offspring. Asari short-circuited this genetic hardwiring in most species' brains through a mixture of telepathic/empathic suggestion and actually being able to produce viable offspring with any species in the galaxy. Interspecies couples that didn't feature an asari were much more sensational—thus the success of vids like Fleet and Flotilla. They had the draw of novelty with a side of fetishism and shades of taboo.
Garrus had never had a fetish for aliens. He didn't necessarily judge those who did—it had just never been one of his particular kinks. He'd experienced flickers of attraction to Shepard's energy, to Tali's voice, back on the SR-1 and written them off as flukes. But back in Eternity, he knew he'd had a moment with Tali, that he'd had an opportunity there—and part of him had wanted to take it. But the reason most of him hadn't, that he'd walked away from a reasonably attractive and very available turian woman too—the reason you're quietly freaking out at close to 100 hours in a random Nos Astra garden—was that now his attraction to Shepard had become a constant, pressing fact.
A fact—and an aberration, Garrus had to admit as he watched the citizens of the Nos Astra night passed by, murmuring softly to one another. Aesthetically, asari and other human and quarian women were all nice enough to look at, like looking at stylized paintings, but he couldn't imagine ever wanting to sleep with them. It was still the turian women that got his attention—the height, the movement patterns, the facial features, the familiarity. He could say what was attractive about them—delicate fringe, sharp eyes, smooth and even plates, controlled and powerful movements.
But asari, humans, turians, or the rare quarian that passed, it was impossible to ignore that most of the couples passing drew a bit closer together when they walked by him. The rare irresponsible parents still walking around with sleepy children pulled their children in and walked a little faster. Garrus sighed. While it was nice that it didn't look like he was going to have a repeat of the café incident—these were civilians—this was unpleasant in its own way. He understood that a horrifically scarred male turian alone was not someone most people wanted to meet in a garden late at night, but he was minding his own business. But the way they were looking at him—if this were a private property, I wonder if they'd report me as a suspicious character. Garrus didn't smoke, but suddenly he had the wild desire for a cigarette, something a little bigger than the Phalanx to lay across his lap—something to make him look really sinister. Another part of him wanted to drop his gaze or to wave and smile at the young asari girl walking with her parents, staring wide-eyed at him across the courtyard, reassure her somehow. Everyone says you don't have to apologize, but damn, if the urge isn't strong.
These people were clueless. They walked down the silver lanes under the moonlight in a safe, affluent part of Nos Astra, confident they wouldn't be held up in an alley, that Collectors wouldn't fall from the sky and pack them up into a ship. They had no idea. Their crimes were tidy, white-collar thefts—anything messier they kept at arms-length, in neat, black-and-white rows in a ledger of paid-off mercs, assassins, and runners. They washed their hands every morning and thought they were clean. The true innocents here were even more oblivious. They ignored the war going on under their feet—the war that was coming. He wanted to give every one of them a kick up the ass until they opened their eyes. He hoped every one of them never had to.
Lost in his thoughts, Garrus still noticed the moment he was no longer the most interesting person in the Nos Astra garden, when two or three pairs of eyes stopped darting to him every few seconds and widened at someone coming around the hedge. He heard shoes with hard soles and no heel—they crunched the gravel in a firm, assured stride very different from the steps of the loafers or fashion heels of the citizens he'd been hearing around him for the last several minutes.
Garrus tensed, ready to leave, but when he glanced at the corner, he almost smiled when he caught sight of her. In the asari-style Nos Astra garden, Shepard stuck out more than the scar on his face. The other civilians all looked away from her half a second after their double-takes. Despite the street clothes, her military hairstyle and the heavy pistol strapped to her thigh still said she was no one to screw with. But Garrus took the time to take in the whole incongruous effect.
That's another straight from Earth or Arcturus. Dressed down for the first time since they'd landed on Illium, Shepard looked epically Earthen. The shoes that had been crunching on the gravel had blunt toes as well as flat heels. They were made of some sort of canvas, and Garrus had to shake his head at the laces, so easy to trip over if they came untied. She was wearing faded jeans that hugged her hips and thighs and then flared out just a bit at the knee. Her top was equally casual but much softer-looking—a blue-and-white-striped gray hoodie.
Garrus tipped his fingers at her in an ironic salute as she approached. Sometimes he wondered how a career military woman could be so nonconformist.
Probably the same way you are.
She sat down beside him on the bench.
"Shepard."
"Garrus. Have fun with the others?"
It didn't surprise him Shepard knew he'd been out—she didn't miss much. "It was nice to spend time with some of the crew," Garrus answered. "But hangover's a bitch when you're on duty. Wanted to get out while I was still enjoying my last night of shore leave. Why didn't you come along?"
Shepard shrugged. "Samara and Thane are still getting settled in. Wanted to make sure they were ready to fly out tomorrow. Besides, the crew can't really come together with the commander breathing down their necks." She leaned back, crossing her ankles and observing the wind through the trees. "And I have to say, I've never been a huge fan of crowds. Came here for a bit of fresh air a couple hours ago, but it's late. I was about to head back to the Normandy. When I saw you over here, I didn't want to leave without saying hi."
They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the evening. Shepard made no move to get up. "Am I going to have to leave with you here?" Garrus asked.
Shepard rolled her eyes. "You can take care of yourself, Garrus. You've proven that more than once. I don't want you going up against any merc cells on your own, but when you left the ship in civilian clothes, I figured I didn't have to worry about that."
Garrus hummed. It's a bad idea to stay, he thought. Counterproductive to everything I wanted to do here. But his mouth was already opening. "Then do you mind some company?"
He knew she was still upset about how Archangel had bled over into their operations here, but when she glanced at him, the corner of her mouth quirked in a way that could be a smile. "Never yours," she said.
They stood, and he fell into step with her. Shepard didn't seem to feel like talking, and that was fine by him. He listened to their feet on the gravel and then the concrete, watched the shadows passing over them in the lamplight—first the shadows of the trees and then the shadows of the Illium skyline.
Contentment and quiet stretched between them as they walked, and with a sense of resignation, Garrus acknowledged that it was the closest to happy he'd been all day. Walking down a random street not talking to Shepard was better than dancing with Tali, trying to flirt with an interested turian woman, or harmlessly shooting the breeze with the crew.
Without even trying, dressed in clothes most other humans on Illium would be mortified to be seen in, she was the sexiest woman on the street—and it had nothing to do with the way she looked.
Though there's something to be said for that too. The hoodie Shepard wore didn't do nearly as much for her body as the asari dresses the other women wore, but jeans looked better on her than they ever had on Erash or Joker, he thought, sneaking a glance at her hips as she watched a ship flying into the port. The streetlights shone on her hair and cast shadows under the long, lean angles of her face and frame. Her scars had all faded away, he realized. It was a harder, thinner, more complicated face than most of the asari and humans you were likely to see—but stronger, too, and more interesting.
Shepard shifted, and Garrus looked away as they turned into the port. "I've got another meeting with Liara tomorrow," Shepard told him. "I've been doing some more work for her around Illium, helping her track the Shadow Broker."
"The Broker? That's who T'Soni's after?" Garrus asked. The Shadow Broker was the biggest, most comprehensive information broker in the galaxy. A completely neutral, for-profit operator, the Shadow Broker sold information to the highest bidder. Always. They often operated on multiple sides of any given conflict. No one knew who they were, where they were based, and they had agents everywhere. Spectres and Council diplomats had failed to find the Shadow Broker, and anyone who dug too deep tended to wind up dead. Most people just accepted the Broker as an unpleasant fact of intersystem intelligence operations and went about their business.
"Seems so," Shepard said.
"Well. She doesn't lack ambition, that's for sure."
Shepard's face darkened. "I never thought I'd miss that naïve, awkward archaeologist walking around with her heart on her sleeve. Liked her, but wished she'd grow the hell up. But the galaxy needs more people like the person she was. What it didn't need was another ruthless shadow operative."
There was a strong edge of guilt to her voice. "You okay?" Garrus asked.
Shepard was quiet for a moment. They'd stopped in the dock. Neither of them wanted to go into the ship just yet. They stood looking up at that streamlined, wicked silhouette. The Normandy was as beautiful and dangerous as the woman who commanded her, and she changed everyone who stepped aboard her. "I'm not sure if biologically I'm twenty-nine or thirty-one," Shepard told him, "but most of the time, I feel about seventy-five."
Garrus hummed. "Liara and I were talking before. Age stops mattering after a certain point when you're a soldier. Eventually, you've seen enough that you're old no matter how much of your life you might still have ahead of you." Might being the key word. Both of them were living on borrowed or stolen time. Odds are, we won't live out the year.
"I don't think I've ever been young," Shepard admitted. "But the past two years have lasted a lifetime." She looked sideways at him, and he knew she wasn't just thinking of Liara.
Garrus stepped up and bumped her shoulder with his. "Not so long. We're still flying the Normandy and kicking Reaper ass—and while you have been improving, I'm still the better shot."
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You cheat," she said, nodding at his visor. "And you aren't half as good with an assault rifle, Mr. Bigshot. I can gut the enemy with a submachine gun, a heavy pistol, or with head-melting tech and match you shot for shot as a sniper most days of the week. Who's really the better soldier?"
Garrus looked down at her. "I didn't hear a denial that I'm the better shot."
She socked him in the arm, but she was grinning. "You want to check in on Liara with me tomorrow? I know I haven't given you a lot of time off this leave."
Garrus shrugged. "I could've enjoyed a week of unbridled hedonism, two or three tragic romances. Done with fewer attempted murders. Frankly, it's more fun delving deep into Illium corruption and shooting mercenaries in its centers of culture. No place I would've rather been, Shepard."
Shepard made a face. "Think you must still be a little tipsy, Vakarian. You're getting sappy on me. Go to bed. I'll see you in the morning." She turned on her heel and stalked toward the airlock—but he'd already seen her blush.
Garrus watched her go long enough that, remembering how Massani had once called Taylor out, he was glad the dock was otherwise empty.
Okay.
Okay. It was useless and stupid to look at a change in a combat situation and refuse to acknowledge and adapt. Any soldier out of basic and worth a damn knows that when the terrain changes, when reinforcements arrive or tech gets an upgrade, when someone else takes charge and the enemy strategy shifts—you stop. You reevaluate, and then you change tactics.
Time to change tactics, Vakarian.
He boarded the Normandy and headed back toward his battery. As he got ready for another night he probably wouldn't be able to sleep, he absently checked his omni-tool for messages, alerts from Miranda or texts from Solana—and he found one blinking message from an address he didn't know time-stamped about four hours ago.
I've found something. It's not a lot to go on, but I think I have a lead on your friend. I imagine you don't want to discuss it over an unsecured channel, but Shepard's coming into the office at 1100 to talk about some work she's been doing for me tomorrow. If you like, we can schedule a meeting before or afterwards—you'll probably need her leave to pursue my information.
Regards,
Liara
Garrus swallowed and shut off his omni-tool. There was no way he was missing Shepard's appointment with T'Soni tomorrow.
A/N: I'll just—let you absorb that. Chapter was supposed to end with Thane's recruitment, then with Niels asking Garrus to go out with some of the crew, before I realized it ends a lot better here. But that leaves it my longest chapter to date, and one of my most packed. I'll try not to write such a long one again.
Leave a review if you've got something to say,
LMS
