XL

Demon of the Night Winds: The Underworld

They docked on Omega. Garrus worked with Goto, Massani, and the professor to help Shepard arrange for the most trustworthy technicians to give the ship a final detail before they launched after the Reaper IFF. There were a lot of shifty operators on Omega, but there were a few of them who wouldn't charge through the nose, try to fabricate additional work, or install spyware during a job. Not that most people would be able to pull one over on them, with Tali and EDI onboard, but arguing down the cheats was tedious.

Garrus didn't worry too much about buffing out the Archangel emblem on his armor before meeting with the technicians. The first day back on Omega, he saw Archangel graffiti in five different places and some version of the symbol sewn on three different shirts. No reason for anyone on Omega to think he was the actual Archangel.

And he knew Omega, every dark alley and garbage-filled side street. He knew the shadows. He knew the sick, pulsing rhythm beating out from Afterlife like an oversized heartbeat. He knew which species went to which bars and where all the major gangs were strongest. He blended into the faceless crowds in the dim, windowless corridors of the station. Next to Massani, Goto, or Solus, he looked like just another heavy, pulled down by gravity into this cesspit at the center of the Terminus. He hung back from Shepard, just in case, but he never left her line of sight. He saw her worry about him. He saw the pickpockets and predators note her bright hair and expensive equipment, too, while she was watching him, and didn't know if she noticed them or not. They always saw the N7 engraved on her armor and the smooth, deadly grace of her gait and decided to look for an easier mark, but even when Shepard didn't ask him to come along with her to meet the people she had in mind to work on the ship, he usually found a reason to do so, just in case.

The day after they arrived on Omega, after one last conversation with a specialist mechanic with Solus, Garrus walked back to the Normandy with the professor. "Garrus," Mordin said, with unusual delicacy. "Wondered if we could speak. Personal matters."

A chill shot down Garrus's spine."I've got time," he told the salarian, forcing calm. He followed Mordin to the lab on the bridge deck. After they were safely inside the salarian's workspace, free of Lawson's bugs, if not of all EDI's sensors, Garrus faced the professor across the work table, braced for the worst. "Have you heard from Palaven?"

Solus blinked. Once. Twice. Then he got it. "About mother? No! No! Apologize! Never thought you would assume had news about mother! Doctor-patient confidentiality sacred! Study would not release information to unaffiliated agent, regardless of prior relationship!"

He seemed genuinely horrified. Garrus started to breathe again. "Mom's alright?"

Solus walked to a cabinet by his lab sink. He withdrew a glass, filled it with water, and handed it to Garrus. It was a secondary apology, Garrus realized. He wasn't thirsty, but he took the glass.

"Mother has terminal, degenerative neural disease," Mordin said gently. "Far from alright. But news of improved quality of life, new findings, will come from facility, from family—not me. Apologies," he said again.

Garrus nodded. Should've known that. Stupid to think . . . "It's fine, professor," he said. "My family and I appreciate everything you've done. Well. If you weren't trying to give me a heart attack just now, what did you want to talk about?"

Mordin smiled, and stepped back. "Medical matters on the Normandy," he explained. "Sexual activity normal stress release for turians and humans. Certain similarities in culture, values—despite troubled history. Past association with Commander Shepard also heightens attraction—"

Garrus's hand slipped on the glass Mordin had given him. He caught it before it hit the lab table, but water still slopped over the edge. "Crap!" he choked, but the water hadn't spilled on any datapads or experiments. He coughed loudly until he had regained his composure. "Sorry! Sorry! What?! How—"

Solus's eyes danced. He's laughing, the sneaky bastard. "Experienced xenobiologist and geneticist," the professor explained. "Trained in interspecies observation. Attraction frequencies in subharmonics during party banter. Physical space between subjects measurably smaller than between unattracted members of both species. Also—" he shrugged— "Normandy gossip."

It was strange, how curiosity and ignorance could keep him on his feet despite his strong desire the floor would open up and swallow him. "Wonderful," Garrus muttered. "Everyone's talking about it." He should have seen it coming, really. At this point, Wrex, Krios, and Lawson had all said something. He had hoped not to disrupt the crew.

But Mordin shook his head. "Speculation only," he promised. "No evidence, no proof. Good thing. Would not advise unprepared sexual encounter." The amusement left his face then. He plucked the glass from Garrus's talons, ran a swab over the rim, and transferred it to a slide in less than three seconds. "Amino-acid incompatibility serious concern," he said. "Ingestion of tissue could provoke allergic reaction. Anaphylactic shock possible."

Oddly, Garrus felt more comfortable talking about the science of it. "Only if the participants have that allergy," he pointed out, letting Solus scan the DNA sample anyway. Mordin was a doctor like he was a salarian. He couldn't turn it off, and Garrus knew what he would find. "Saw some cross-contamination in C-Sec. Usually it was a matter for the hospital and not the cops—someone eating the wrong entrée at a business dinner rather than any deliberate poisoning. Only about half the human and turian population has any reaction at all, and the severity of the allergy varies even then."

Garrus waited while Solus ran a simulation, probably projecting an encounter with levo amino acids. When the simulation finished, the professor looked up. "Shepard tried the dextro rations on the SR-1 once or twice on a dare," Garrus told him. "She doesn't have any reaction either."

"No," Solus agreed. "Ran her DNA sample after visit last night. But only first and worst issue." His omni-tool lit up again. "Forwarding advice booklet to your terminal. Valuable diagrams, positions comfortable for both species, overview of erogenous zones. Human bodies have advantages—environmental adaptability, temperature flexibility, energy reserves, impressive fine dexterity—Amazing! But lack natural defenses or weapons comparable to turians." The professor looked him right in the eye. Garrus was twice the salarian's mass at least, but now Solus made him acknowledge that he didn't have two centimeters on the professor in height. "Unfiled talons can cause damage to human tissue. Plating can chafe! Imperative to consider safety and comfort of human partner."

Garrus looked hard at Mordin. The professor seemed almost as worked up as he'd been on Tuchanka. "I don't want to hurt her, Mordin," he said. "And I always file my talons. Hard to work on a console or fire a gun otherwise. I'll look at the information. Shepard and I have been talking, but nothing's happened yet. And you can trust that I'm even more invested in making sure I don't screw this up than you are."

Solus regarded him for a long moment. Then he seemed to relax. "Not just my patient or commander of mission," he admitted, referring to Shepard. "My colleague. My friend. Want her safe." He smiled then. "Approve of you, actually. Can compensate for sexual obstacles; romantic compatibility more difficult to adjust."

Garrus forced a smile. That'll be the day. "Slow down there, professor. Shepard hasn't said anything about romance, but she's said a bit about avoiding attachment in the military."

Mordin didn't seem surprised. He nodded. "Avoid loss, grief. Psycho-emotional defensive barrier. Sensible. Understandable. Still—close to you, Garrus. Different cultural, psychological, moral perspectives. Similar goals and values. Challenge and improve each other. Mutual trust, respect. Admiration." He spread his hands wide. "Salarians usually incapable of sustaining courtship emotions beyond mating period—occasionally form bonds with asari." He shrugged. "Lifespans, social structures of humans and turians fundamentally similar. Dating, pair-bonds—temporary and permanent. Never underestimate biological, cultural influence."

He does approve of me, Garrus realized. It was probably the most ringing endorsement of a relationship between him and Shepard the salarian scientist could give.

In the end it doesn't matter; what happens between me and Shepard will be up to Shepard. Still, it was nice to know. "I think there was some encouragement in there," Garrus joked. "Very strange encouragement, but thanks. Any other advice, professor?"

Solus smiled. "Cerberus skin weave makes Shepard more durable than average humans, but can supply oils or ointments to help reduce discomfort. References to demonstration vids."

Garrus chuckled. "Porn."

"Scientific research!" Solus corrected him. "Knowledgeable partner more likely to provide pleasurable experience! Also provide information on human mating customs—alcohol, mood music." He extended his hand, and Garrus shook it, still amused. "Good luck, Garrus. Enjoy yourself while possible."

Garrus left the lab, feeling awkward but also reassured, somehow. He was, however, unprepared for a message from the subject of his conversation with the salarian requesting him to the airlock. Apparently, his research into human sexuality would have to wait, because there was something other than repairs to take care of on Omega after all.

Garrus checked when he saw Samara waiting with Shepard up by the airlock. Then he thought about it. It made sense. Everyone else on Shepard's ground team had seen to family, completed some outstanding mission, taken care of some loose end. Everyone but the justicar. Of course she has business too.

Samara's face was as serene and impassive as ever, but at second glance, the expression seemed deceptive. There was a tension to her posture, a contained energy to her that suggested that whatever business she did have, it was vital. "Garrus," she said smoothly.

"Samara."

"I understand you were a detective, prior to your association with Shepard in your search for Saren. I may have some need for your skill."

Garrus looked at Shepard, "The fugitive we were looking for on Illium?" he guessed.

Samara answered. "My daughter, and the reason I became a justicar. I do not know if you are familiar with the Ardat-Yakshi . . . ?"

The ancient asari name gave Garrus a moment's pause. "'Demon of the Night Winds'?" he translated. Something niggled at his memory, a case an asari senior detective had handled shortly after he had started at C-Sec. Some detectives were closemouthed about their cases, but he remembered the asari coworker being particularly vicious about confidentiality in this instance. The only reason the name had caught his memory. "I'm not familiar, but I think I heard something once. In regards to a murder case, if I remember right. Detective was precious about the details."

"My people do not like word of the condition to leave asari space," Samara told him. "An Ardat-Yakshi is a genetic defective. It is a very rare condition, that means that when an asari mates, her nervous system burns out that of her partner, leaving them in a vegetative state first, and eventually dead. The condition manifests with maturity. Sufferers are given the opportunity to retire to a life of peace and seclusion, but the condition is narcotic. Ardat-Yakshi can become addicted to the power and thrill of killing their mates, as has our target. My daughter, Morinth."

"Target," Garrus repeated. "So—"

"I must kill her," Samara confirmed. "The Code demands it, as does my own honor. She has come here. We must find her."

Garrus looked at Shepard. Her face was unreadable, but he could guess what was behind it. She wouldn't like this—Samara killing her daughter. But they could hardly let a serial killer wander around either. Especially not an asari. With their psycho-emotional abilities, criminal asari could be especially dangerous to imprison. And if Morinth was here—well. There was no law on Omega to give the woman over to, even if Samara was prepared to do so, and somehow, Garrus wasn't seeing a lot of room for negotiation in the asari's calm I must kill her. Shepard wouldn't like this, but hunting down criminals had been his life for two years.

"I'll help."

EDI chimed in, over the radio so the entire crew didn't hear. "The daily death count on Omega is too high for me to pinpoint an Ardat-Yakshi's location," she said. "However, given the reputation of Ardat-Yakshi among the asari, Aria T'Loak may have tracked her movements."

"Aria T'Loak. Fantastic." He looked wryly over at Shepard. "I imagine you're on speaking terms?"

"Not my idea," Shepard answered. Garrus guessed it wasn't. As soon as Aria's people had tagged the Normandy landing on the station, she would have wanted eyes on Shepard. Make sure Shepard knew Omega's one rule and didn't have plans to overturn the whole sick, miserable order of life here. "Still. She's been useful enough. Helped me get to you and sent word ahead to let me into the quarantine to get Mordin. After I did her a minor favor, she also got us some resources for our mission. She's an apathetic mob boss that can't be bothered to keep any kind of real order as long as she stays in charge, but I haven't seen the point in making her an enemy."

Garrus hummed. Shepard shot him a look as they started through the airlock. "Are you going to be okay on this? You're the best tracker and investigator we've got, but if you can't deal with her or you think it'll be too dangerous for you, we'll leave you here."

Garrus looked back at her. "I can also navigate Omega better than anyone else you've got, Shepard. Mordin stayed in Gozu. Massani knows his way around, but not like I do. It'll be just like old times."

"It better not," Shepard muttered.

It wasn't. It went against every instinct Garrus had developed through two years in Omega's underworld to walk right up the thoroughfare and through Afterlife's front doors, but that's where Shepard led them. The bouncers glanced at the N7 on her armor and didn't say a word as the three of them passed.

The music in Afterlife was a physical thing. It pulsed up through Garrus's feet and into his bones. People out for a night on the town had to yell to hear one another over the din. A turian manned an illuminated bar to the right. Patrons swayed on their barstools and on the dance floor. Others, more sober, kept to corners, watchful and alert.

A half dozen asari and human women danced around poles set on neon platforms spaced through the room. Their glow-in-the-dark jumpsuits, every bit as tight as anything Lawson wore, had cutouts her jumpsuits didn't feature.

In the past, Garrus had ignored the exotic dancers that places like Afterlife tended to hire. Sure, the odd asari had caught his eye, if she was trying to, but it was always a momentary thing. Now, though, Garrus found himself considering the expanse of chest the Afterlife dancer uniforms left exposed—the cleavage in between the mammary deposits humans and asari seemed to find so appealing and even quarian female environment suits seemed to emphasize.

I don't understand it, he decided, with a feeling of vague unease. Clearly, mammals found the female glands they were named for attractive. When the time came, would Shepard expect him to compliment hers? They weren't particularly impressive, especially next to a specimen like Samara. In fact, that made him feel more comfortable, but did Shepard mind?

Eyes front, soldier. Talk to Aria now, contemplate human anatomy and sexual-cultural significance later. Preferably when Shepard and Samara can't look to the side and see you comparing the fatty deposits on their chests to the local pole dancers.

The guard on the steps up to Aria's personal couch didn't stop them any more than the bouncer at the door had. Garrus glanced at Shepard, but she didn't announce herself or ask for an appointment or make any concession to formality at all.

Aria didn't greet her formally either. She simply nodded in greeting and gestured to the seat next to her on the couch. Shepard took it. Aria didn't offer Samara or Garrus a seat, and they stood at the bottom of her dais, waiting. The Pirate Queen of Omega didn't even acknowledge them. "What do you need?"

Her voice was perfectly audible. Of course, the acoustics in here were set up so that Aria's area was protected from the noise. Somewhat, anyway.

Shepard didn't beat around the bush. "An asari fugitive is hiding out here. She's an Ardat-Yakshi. We need to find her."

Aria's formerly expressionless face darkened. "I knew it," she muttered. "Nothing leaves a body quite so . . . empty . . . as an Ardat-Yakshi does."

"You haven't taken steps to kill her?" Samara wanted to know.

Aria's hard blue eyes raked over Samara. "Why would I?" she returned coolly. "She hasn't tried to seduce me." She turned back to Shepard. "Her last victim was a young girl. Pretty thing. Lived in the tenements near here. That's where I'd start looking."

Garrus regarded the rotten cancer at Omega's heart, both fascinated and disgusted. Two years he'd lived on her station, and he'd never once seen her in person. How can someone so powerful, so connected be so unaffected by what happens on the station she professes to rule? Aria T'Loak was lean and deadly, dressed in black and fairly crackling with power, but she reminded him of nothing so much as a bloated spider, crouched on the center of an enormous web, aware of everything that touched it, but uninterested in anything that didn't feed or threaten her. Her gaze snapped to his suddenly, hovered over his scars a moment, and then found the emblem on his armor. Her tattooed lips turned up in amusement.

Shepard noticed. She stood, stepping back to stand between Garrus and Aria. "Thanks for the help," she said.

Aria tipped her head at Shepard. "I'll give you another free tip, Shepard: watch yourself with that one." She indicated Garrus with another glance. "Word's got back here he's not as dead as he's supposed to be. And if he's going to wear that emblem on his armor—well. I won't vouch for his safety if you leave him alone."

It didn't matter that the crowds on Omega wouldn't know him from the dozens of other fans and Archangel pretenders, Garrus knew. What mattered was that Aria T'Loak knew, and that meant anyone she wanted could know too. "I didn't know you cared." Garrus didn't bother disguising his contempt for her.

Aria T'Loak only raised her eyebrows. "I don't. Omega's already forgetting you, Archangel. But the gangs haven't. Just stay with Shepard if you know what's good for you." She turned her attention back to Shepard. "Good luck finding the Ardat-Yakshi, Shepard. Better luck catching her."

Shepard led Garrus and Samara down the steps to the main club again. She didn't speak until they were out, away from Afterlife. Then she matched her step to Garrus's. "So, she'll murder you if she has half a chance, right?"

Garrus considered. Unless he was mistaken, Aria didn't like him any more than he liked her.

More gratifying than I'd like to admit. There was something clean in the open animosity he had felt back there, in knowing that Archangel had been annoyance enough that Aria T'Loak was taking the trouble to threaten him now. In essence, that back there had been, "You need to stay retired. Don't even think about coming back."

But he also sensed Aria was willing to close the book on Archangel if he was. He didn't know what Aria thought her relationship with Shepard was, but it was obvious to him that she valued it more than any grudge she might still have against him.

"I don't think so," he told Shepard. "It'd be beneath her. She can't resist letting me know she could, though, and I don't think she'd cry if someone else did. We never came close to taking her down. But some of our operations may have hit her in the pocketbook."

"Good," Shepard said. Garrus glanced at her. Aria might think Shepard's voice was a little emphatic for a someone she offered no-strings-attached help to on a moment's notice, but after a second, Garrus wasn't surprised. Shepard's morals hadn't changed, even if she wasn't willing to completely overturn the status quo on Omega on a whim. Aria was useful to Shepard, but that didn't mean Shepard liked her.

Aria's directions had been a little vague, but "tenements near here" was enough to get them started. Once they were in the low-rent complex, a couple of judicious credits to the neighbors got them the name 'Diana,' the mother of the girl who had been killed, and the apartment number where they could find her.

When they stood in front of the door, Garrus rapped on it without hesitation. Talking to the families of homicide victims was never fun, but he'd done it often enough. The woman inside took her time to answer the door, but a light underneath told Garrus she was in.

A bolt drew back. A chain rattled, and the door opened to reveal a pale and careworn human woman. Her hair was greasy, like she hadn't washed it for a few days. She looked exhausted. She blinked at them all: a turian, a human, and an asari in her doorway, all in battle armor with some serious guns—but not mercs from any identifiable organization she might expect to be looking for protection money. She made the right conclusion.

"Are you here about my daughter?" she asked, voice small. "My Nef died a week ago, and no one seems to care. The medics said it was a brain hemorrhage, but that's not true: it was murder! Someone killed my Nef, my baby!" Her voice got stronger through this speech, and more desperate.

Garrus heard in that voice that the woman, Diana, had been saying this all week to everyone she knew, and no one had believed her. She lived in a low-rent tenement. Probably couldn't afford a doctor, and most people didn't try to make a free clinic for anything other than an emergency. The medics probably thought Nef had had some sort of untreated condition and had dismissed the case. They were busy, on Omega.

"I think she was murdered too," Shepard told Diana, in a calm, even tone. "And I'm looking for her killer."

Diana opened the door wide and let them in, clinging to Shepard's hand, tears in her eyes. "Oh, thank you! It's so hard when no one believes you! I'm all alone now!" She closed the door and looked at all of them, uncertain. "Are you . . . are you Aria's people?"

Shepard smirked and glanced at Garrus. Diana followed her gaze. Then her eyes found the symbol on Garrus's armor. "No . . ." Diana said slowly, answering her own question. "You aren't, are you?" And she looked very hard at Garrus, then Shepard. Her lips trembled, and Garrus smelled fear on her. She didn't know who they were, he didn't think, but she had some guesses that they were dangerous.

"We're here to help," Shepard said quietly. "Does it really matter who we are or who sent us?"

Diana squared her shoulders then, deciding maybe she could use some dangerous people. "No one else on this hellhole station gives a damn that my Nef is dead!" she said. "If you can do something about it, I'll help you however I can."

"What kind of a girl was your daughter?" Shepard asked her.

Diana smiled sadly. "My Nef had a fire inside her. She was shy, but she was creative and driven and . . . the best girl a mother could hope for."

Samara stepped in. "She was creative? How so?"

"She was a sculptor," Diana explained. "Several galleries were interested in her. Said her work was 'fresh.'"

That was saying something on Omega, Garrus knew. This girl had been poor. No fame, no connections. No way to buy into the art scene on the station, which was as corrupt as everything else. Nef had to have been good.

"Did your daughter have a lot of friends?" Shepard asked.

Diana shrugged. "Not a lot, no. She was shy. Spent most of her time off making her sculptures, not hanging out with friends." Her face hardened then. "Something did change in the last few weeks, though. She started talking about an asari. Morinth."

"I see," Samara sighed.

"I didn't like her!" Diana said bitterly. "She kept dragging Nef out to clubs, and I'm pretty sure she gave my daughter drugs."

Shepard looked at the justicar. "Samara, does Morinth control her victims with drugs?"

Samara shook her head. "She controls them through sheer will. The drugs are just a lifestyle. She loves the club, loves the bass. She's a hedonist."

Diana's eyes were wide. She'd suspected, Garrus saw—aware with a mother's knowledge of her child that Nef had none of the health problems the medics who had examined her after death said that she had had—but she hadn't really known Nef was murdered until now. "So this Morinth did hurt my daughter? Is she the one that . . . that—"

Samara reached out for Diana and gripped her wrist. "I will bring justice to the one that did this," she promised.

Shepard looked annoyed; she didn't like to promise anything she wasn't certain she could deliver. It was bad practice—in the military or on the force. They had a lead here. It might be a good one or a bad one—no telling yet. Either way, Morinth could still get away, easy. "We'll do all we can, ma'am," Shepard said, more cautiously.

Diana looked at Garrus, though, at the scarring on his face and the guns he carried. At the emblem on his armor: Archangel, the avenger of the powerless here on Omega. "If you find the person that hurt my Nef, you kill her!" she ordered them passionately. "Or tell me where she is, and I'll kill her!"

Garrus frowned. "Can you tell us anything about Morinth?" he asked.

Diana sighed. "I never met her, but Nef talked about her like she was a queen. You'd swear there was no one else alive when she talked about Morinth."

She spat the asari's name like a curse. Samara looked over at Shepard. "That sounds familiar."

So only profile—she parties. Clubs, music, drugs. Could give us an idea of where she finds her victims, anyway. "Where did Nef like to go?" Garrus asked. "Did she have a particular spot in the city she enjoyed?"

"She was always quiet, working here at home," Diana answered. "Then, a few weeks ago, she started going out all the time, to the VIP area of that club down the street. I think you need a password or something to get in there. The change was so sudden. She just seemed . . . tired and distracted when she wasn't around Morinth."

That's a yes on the hunting grounds, then. We have a lead. But how to get into Afterlife's VIP area? It was possible that Aria could get them in, but while Garrus thought Samara wouldn't mind going back to her for help tracking down Morinth, he didn't think it was a good idea to put themselves in debt to Aria T'Loak for anything else. And if Morinth's smart, she'll be listening for anyone asking about her. She could have an ear to the ground. She could hear we've pulled some strings. Garrus looked at Shepard, then back at Diana. "Do you mind if we take a look at Nef's room?" he asked. Something in there might help them get to Morinth—at Afterlife or even where the asari lived.

Diana's face crumpled. "I didn't want to disturb anything. Her clothes, her art, her sculptures—everything is the way she left it . . . the way it will always be. My baby is gone—"

She was crying now, her mascara running, sobbing with grief for her daughter. Shepard fished in her belt and brought out a handkerchief to give to her. Diana took it and collected herself.

"Thank you. I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just miss her so much."

"It's okay," Shepard told her, though she looked awkward and uncomfortable. "We've all suffered loss."

Samara seemed more comfortable. She wrapped her arm around Diana to comfort her, bracing her. "I know what it means to lose a daughter. I will avenge her," she promised.

To Samara, Garrus guessed, Morinth was already dead. She had died however many years or centuries ago—when she had first decided to become a killer. It was a strange way to look at it, but as valid as any. Maybe.

"Thank you," Diana said. She nodded at Garrus then, and typed something on her omni-tool. "Please, if it helps you find her killer, look through her things."

The access panel to a bedroom off the main room beeped open. "We will be respectful," Samara told Diana.

Shepard nodded at Garrus, gesturing for him to take the lead. "Let's go."

Nef's room was small and cluttered. Posters of independent bands, both here in the Terminus and from asari space, lined the walls. There were shelves of small, abstract sculptures, in metal or cement or of mixed materials that jutted out here and there. There was just enough room for Garrus to stand with Shepard and Samara. The rest of the space was taken up by a workbench that had clearly doubled as a desk and a small, single bed.

Samara reached out to touch the unfinished sculpture on the workbench—curves and angles of beaten metal that suggested something that lay in between a starship and a geometrical fact. Diana stood in the doorway to Nef's bedroom, watching them. "Nef made that," she said softly. "Some gallery offered me four years' salary for it, but I'd never part with it."

Shepard was more interested in an electronic receipt in the wastebasket by the workbench—a customizable tag that you could add to a gift when you used certain messenger services, here and on other hub worlds. Shepard swiped her fingers over the receipt, and the message that had been recorded there played again. "Nef, I'm sending you this hologram by the elcor artist, Forta," said a female voice, playful, mid-range. Young-sounding. In the doorway, Diana had stiffened. She gripped the doorframe. Morinth sent this hologram. "His work is sublime," Morinth's voice continued. "But don't stare at it too long, or you may go mad!" The voice softened, became intimate. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you, love. I can't wait to hear what you think of Forta!"

Shepard let the receipt fall again, and Garrus moved past her and Samara to the bed. There was a holo-journal sitting on it, the cheap type that was really only used to record short-term entries for short-term reference. The journal would provide a holo-rendering of the user for the playback, but couldn't hold more than a few entries. Businessmen and scientists mostly used them to keep notes for current experiments or upcoming conferences. I guess artists might find them useful for project methods too.

Garrus picked up the journal. He tapped the interface, and a light blinked green, waiting for an oral instruction. There were three entries in the data bank. "Read the oldest entry," Garrus said.

A girl's face appeared over the interface—human, young. Maybe twenty years old. Pale, with dark, curious eyes and dark hair gelled into an irregular, artistic arrangement. "Hey diary," a voice said. Shy, like Diana had said, but sweet. Musical, if somewhat flat like most alien voices. Diana sobbed and left the doorway, retreating back into the main room. "Cycle 34, orbit 671. There's a lot to talk about. I dropped Jaruut's name, and they let me in the VIP room at Afterlife. I'm sure everyone was staring at me." On the holo, Nef's eyes were bright, excited. "Then the most beautiful asari starts dancing near me." Her brow furrowed as she tried to describe the encounter. "She moves like water, form and volume, but shifting, changing. I'm in a trance. Then I'm dancing with her! Later, we went for skewers. I'm supposed to see her again tomorrow."

Not project methods at all then. They had what they needed to find Morinth, if they got lucky. If we can find a little more, though . . .

"Read the middle entry," Garrus told the journal.

Nef's image appeared on the display again. This time, she looked worried, frowning. "Cycle 36, orbit 671. Am I a freak?" she asked herself. "Morinth is a girl like me, and she's definitely not human. Just . . . when we dance and the Hallex is flowing through me—the way she looks at me, with a hunger, a longing. No one's ever looked at me like that." Her eyes went distant on the display, and her lips turned up. "We kissed tonight," she murmured. The entry cut off.

Garrus felt Shepard's presence right beside him like a force. If he was reading things right, both of them were proof that people didn't always know what they liked, or could like. But something about this sounded different. Like Nef hadn't ever thought about being attracted to another species, or to women at all. Like her instant attraction to Morinth had not only surprised her or made her search herself a little but had genuinely disturbed her. And he didn't like the way she described Morinth's hunger. Longing, sure. Lust. But Nef's description gave Morinth predatory qualities. Well—according to Samara, she is a predator. Addicted to a high she gets off killing the people she mates with.

Asari had psychic abilities other species didn't. Living on a hub world, it was impossible not to notice that every other species saw them differently, thought of them differently. The way they reproduced meant that they had an innate power to appeal to anyone they decided they wanted. It was usually just a momentary appeal, though, and easy enough to resist if you knew what was happening and weren't actually disposed to be interested. Morinth's abilities seemed heightened, though, and dangerous.

"Read the newest entry," he said.

The final entry played. Nef looked fevered, manic. Her pupils were dilated. She was high—literally—but also high on Morinth. She spoke quickly. "Cycle 32, orbit 67. She's going to take me to her apartment tonight!" Nef squealed. "Whatever happens, I want to be with her forever. She can sell my pieces; we can live somewhere glamorous—like the women in Vaenia, that vid Morinth likes. How did this happen to me? I'm just dumb trash from Omega."

Garrus shut off the holo-journal. "Well," he said, disturbed.

Samara looked grave. "This is Morinth's work," she said, an edge of disgust in her tone. "She's attracted to artists, creators. Someone with a spark, slightly isolated from their peers. She impresses with sophistication and sex appeal. Then she strikes! The hunt interests her as much as the conquest."

"Anyone who's successfully hunted sapient beings for four hundred years warrants caution," Shepard observed. Something in her phrasing, and the way a side of her mouth was turned down, told Garrus that she had also noticed that Nef might not have been attracted to Morinth on her own.

Samara confirmed their suspicions. "Morinth speaks to you on many levels. Her body tells yours that she will bring unimaginable ecstasy. Her scent evokes emotions long hidden. Her eyes promise you things you were always scared to ask of another. Her voice whispers to you after she is done speaking."

Shepard let out a breath. "She sounds more like a highly evolved killer than a genetic defective."

Samara looked thoughtful. "The condition has been present since my people huddled around fires at night. Perhaps it is symbiotic rather than a defect.

"Storming her den would be a mistake: she will have a hundred escape routes planned," Samara continued. "She will go to ground and disappear for fifty years or more. This is the closest I've ever been."

Shepard folded her arms. "You sound like you're working your way toward an idea."

Samara nodded. "Afterlife's VIP section seems her preferred hunting ground. You must go there alone and unarmed."

Garrus blinked. He interjected. "Wait. Your plan is to send Shepard in by herself?"

Samara looked back at Garrus. "Morinth's targets are isolated," she explained again, as if he should have already thought of that. "She will not dare to move upon someone obviously defended."

"A sting operation isn't a bad idea," Garrus told her, "but I know how to run back-up for one. We can go in separately. I know Omega, Samara. We can both set up so Morinth doesn't see us. Shepard doesn't need to go in there alone."

"If we are in the club, she will sense us," Samara disagreed. "If she catches sight of me, even by accident, she will certainly flee, and one look at you would give the game away. No. Morinth is far too cagey. She'd simply disappear."

"And you think I can bait her?" Shepard asked, skeptical.

Garrus stared at her. You'd think she hadn't noticed all the people we meet who try to hit on her. He still had no idea whether Shepard was conventionally attractive by human standards, but she had a presence that everyone noticed. Besides, from everything they'd heard, she was just Morinth's type. "'Someone with a spark, slightly isolated from their peers'?" he quoted. "That's you, Shepard."

Shepard shifted. "Could just as easily be you," she muttered.

Garrus gestured at his face with one hand, but Samara shook her head. "No. She's right. The scarring makes you appear dangerous. Morinth would like that. Either one of you could attract her. You are artists on the battlefield, and your sparks burn brightly indeed. I ask you to do this, Shepard, because you are distant enough to intrigue her without frightening her away. This is Omega, and it has not been long enough for you to do this task, Garrus. Archangel is too well known on Omega as a champion of the weak. Archangel might have taken notice of Morinth's murders. She would never approach you."

Garrus looked at Shepard. Shepard looked back at him. "She's right," he conceded. "The grafitti's everywhere, but Aria recognized me, and Diana might have. And there were all those people on Illium. Morinth might have heard of me by now, and she just might recognize me. It's got to be you."

Shepard still didn't like it. "I don't like going in without a gun."

Garrus glanced at Samara. "I don't get that part either." He looked back at Shepard. "You know how to conceal a weapon?"

"Part of my spec ops training," Shepard confirmed. "Sometimes N-operatives have to go in undercover. Hid a pistol under a cocktail dress just a few months ago on Bekenstein."

Samara stepped forward. "Trust me," she pled. "Morinth will feel it if you enter her hunting grounds armed. I will be in the shadows watching, Shepard. You will never be alone. This I swear. But this must be a subtle, delicate act." Her eyes moved from Garrus to Shepard, imploring.

Shepard pressed her lips together. "This is your mission, Samara. We'll run things your way," she agreed at last. She sighed. "I guess if I'm going to be bait, we better head back to the Normandy so I can try and look pretty and harmless."

"Relatively harmless," Samara corrected. "You must also look dangerous. Where you are concerned, that will be part of the appeal for Morinth. You simply cannot appear to be an active threat. We can talk more about it once we're there."

"Understood," Shepard said.

They left Nef's bedroom. Diana was sitting in the far corner, her legs curled up beneath her on the sofa. "You're going," she said. Her face was clear of makeup now—she had cried it all off. It made her look older and softer. "Do you have something?"

"We have a lead, and we have a plan," Shepard told her. "Thanks for your help, Diana."

Diana took her hand and squeezed tightly. "Just find Morinth. Kill her. For me, and for my daughter."


Back on the Normandy, Garrus stopped Shepard before she could head off to her cabin. "Shepard. Are you sure about this? I didn't like what we heard about Morinth from those holo-journals."

Shepard glanced at Samara. "She's Samara's daughter," she answered. "And Samara's been chasing her for centuries. If she says this will work, I'd say we probably have a shot. I should go. Every minute Morinth is out there, she could be finding another victim." She left, heading for the elevator.

Garrus turned to Samara. "You know, when you use bait to go fishing, there's a good chance the bait gets swallowed before you get your fish," he told her.

"I will not let my daughter swallow Shepard," Samara promised. "I swear to you, Garrus. I know this is difficult for you. You are always with her, protecting her from danger. Trust that I can also protect her."

She walked away as well. Probably going to meditate. Garrus looked down at the ground.

He couldn't shake it. He had a bad feeling about this. "Joker?" he called down the hall toward the cockpit.

"Yeah?" Joker called back. He sat there through most of the day even when the ship wasn't flying. Garrus didn't get it, but it made things simple.

"If anyone asks, I went out to get some old mods from a contact." Solana had texted him some ideas for upgrades for the squad's Locusts. He would have to make sure he came back with them so he wasn't lying to Joker.

"No problem," Joker called back. "You wanna take someone with you? Pretty sure Shepard'd be pissed if some merc tried to assassinate you like last time, and it's more likely here than it was back on Illium."

Garrus remembered Aria's warning, then dismissed it. He'd stay out of sight, that was all. "Shepard worries too much. I'll be fine."

"Whatever you say, Vakarian. Be back in time for dinner." Joker's voice was heavy with sarcasm.

Garrus left the ship and started through the docks toward Afterlife. His radio crackled on, and Joker's voice came over the comm. "Hey, Garrus. Make sure the commander comes back in one piece too."

Garrus didn't know if EDI had briefed the pilot on what was happening or if he had just been able to hear them down the corridor from the cockpit when they left the Normandy and came back. But he radioed back. "That's the plan."


A/N: So, second majorly messed up loyalty mission. I actually did not plan to write them back-to-back like this. That's just the way I play through them. I guess creepy rapists is the theme for this little bit of the game and novelization.

Samara's plan really doesn't make a lot of sense. I wanted to highlight that here.

First off, no way Shepard, the single most important member of the team, is the only person on it who could serve as bait for Morinth. I think Tali, Jack, and Mordin also might attract Morinth, in different ways. And Garrus, as I've said here, though on Omega, as Samara also observes, Morinth probably wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole.

But secondly, with members of the team trained in stealth ops and shadowing people, there is absolutely no reason Shepard shouldn't have backup or a tail. Kasumi would be the best choice, but Thane and Garrus are also solid candidates, way better than Samara in her red armor.

But fine, let's assume Morinth, maybe high and definitely aurally impaired in a noisy, busy club, will still pick up anyone else watching Shepard (but not her mother, whom she's been running from for centuries). Why can't Shepard bring a concealed weapon?

1) There's no guarantee Morinth will decide to get with Shepard right away, and if she doesn't, that Shepard will ever see her again. She played with Nef for weeks. The best solution is to quickly shoot her as soon as she identifies herself.

2) Shepard is cybernetically enhanced and has undergone gene therapy. But Morinth is an incredibly powerful biotic, and Shepard might not be biotic at all and also might be psychically, mentally, or emotionally impaired in an encounter with Morinth. If Morinth suspects anything at all, Shepard is very much at a disadvantage against her if she gets violent.

3) Unarmed, Shepard has to rely entirely on Samara to keep sight of her, to protect her, and to kill Morinth. If Shepard has a gun, Samara just has that much more of a chance that this mission will actually take Morinth out.

So screw Samara's plan. Garrus is providing insurance.

Leave a review if you've got something to say,

LMSharp