Chapter 18. Cobalt-60


26. February 2390 AD, Orbit around Elysium

"Overwrite complete, you're clear to go boarding party. Over."

"Copy that, beginning exploration of the vessel. Over."

The holding clamps on the airlock tightened themselves with an audible noise and the door on the other side, visible through the small window of the frigate's own airlock, hissed open, connecting the freighter that had failed to respond to hails to the HSASV Agincourt.

Originally the vessel had drawn the frigate's attention due to slowly drifting towards the Battlegroup Hawking, currently refuling over Elysium. Its assignment of showing naval presence in the Skyllian Verge had made Elysium the logistical hub of the fleet.

A fleet civilian ships weren't supposed to come to close to.

"Alright, watch your spacing, check your corners and don't just start firing. Chances are their communication gear is simply broken," the now Sergeant Francis Hackett reminded his unit as they walked through the airlock towards the freighter.

"I've seen this kind of movie before," one of his marines, Gerrad, commented. "and it wasn't faulty communication gear."

"You're not gonna get eaten by space spiders," another chuckled as Francis set foot into the dark freighter, the night vision gear in his HUD allowing him to stare down the empty corridors.

"Where the hell is everyone?" he asked as his unit started to walk through the corridors.

"Lights up ahead," one pointed out.

"Alright, advance slowly. Gerrad, cover the rear."

The unit, following the training they had received for boarding action, walked past closed doors, slowing their pace as they closed in on the sole room that showed any sign of being inhabited.

"Three," Francis began to count down, his voice carried to his comrades through the unit's squad intercom.

"Two," he spoke as he prepared himself to twist around the corner.

"One," he raised his rifle.

"Go."

Spinning into the open room, he looked at an empty kitchen area, plates of foot still placed on the table and a still half full glass of juice sitting on the table.

"Looks fresh," one observed. "Still hot as well," Francis noted the steam coming from the heated meal.

"Agincourt, there's no sign of the crew itself but we've go reason to believe that they were just here," he informed the frigate. "I'm suspecting smugglers, scan for smaller vessels. Did anyone leave this ship, over."

After a small break the female voice of his Lieutenant replied. "Negative boarding party. No such activity. You're not alone over there. I'm preparing a second team, continue investigation. Over and out."

"You heard the lady, let's push for the bridge, turn the power back on."

Hackett made a move to get out of the kitchen area only to throw himself back on pure instinct, the blue light of mass accelerator fire illuminating the dark corridor of the freighter mere moments later.

"Ambush!" he declared as the cracking of small, deadly rounds tearing through the artificial atmosphere drowned out his own voice.

"Shit, we're boxed in," one marine declared.

"Get me a flash bang," Hackett ordered and the small object was handed to him. He removed the pin and threw it into the general direction that the shots were coming from, his self preservation instinct keeping him from peaking outside.

While the deployment in the Verge had put his unit high on the list of receiving the new shielding technology, his team had not yet been equipped with them, their priority as a frigate detachment far outweighed by the priority of N7, ASOC, HSAIS and the troops stationed on assault carriers.

Right about now he was starting to doubt that particular order of priorities.

The familiar sound of a detonation was predated by the bright flash of the grenades explosion and without even giving the order, his unit began to advance across the mostly coverless corridor, dishing out suppressive fire at the enemy to keep their heads down and in turn keep them from firing at the exposed unit.

"Reloading!" Francis shouted, causing the next man to began suppressing, a steady stream of lead, including the sporadic tracer round, pouring down the corridor and changing the formerly blue illumination into orange.

"Reloading!" a marine called, causing another to keep up the suppressive fire right until the unit was at the corner from which they had been fired at. Francis, being the first in line, spun around it and found nothing but emptiness.

The silence that followed after this discovery didn't last long as he spotted a figure moving in the darkness, the green outlining of his night vision gear making one thing rather clear before the figure vanished around a corner.

The person was carrying an assault rifle. More precisely an old salarian mass accelerator.

One commonly found alongside IFS cells ever since Eclipse had armed them.

This wasn't just a bunch of smugglers, these were separatists.

"Agincourt, this is boarding party. Be advised, we're engaging a foe carrying mass accelerator weaponry, possible IFS presence. Over."

"Acknowledged boarding party, another squad has just deployed to the freigther, they'll secure the engine room. Over and out."

Francis motioned for his unit to follow him, pointing into the direction the figure had went into, "That's where the bridge is. Move up, marines. We can't allow him to start the FTL drive. The other squad might not make it to the engine room in time."

Had they known that the freighter was not simply having a communication problem, they would've dispatched a unit earlier. The order had been a simple investigation, not an entire lockdown of the vessel.

That order might cost them now.

"I thought our VI overwrote the systems of the ship?" a marine questioned as he walked past an open door leading to an empty storage room, his rifle none the less scanning it as he passed it.

"It did, we still can't risk it," Francis explained as his feet carried him towards the darkness, towards the bridge.

"A hard reset of the systems would throw the Agincourt's VI right out," the squad's engineer explained. "Can't stay connected if there's nothing to connect to."

The door leading towards the bridge came into few as they spun around the corner the figure had disappeared behind, the blast door firmly shut.

"Specialist, get to work," Francis ordered as the man who had just explained why they'd have to prevent anyone from messing with the freighters computers. The engineer got to work, removing a panel from the side of the door and exposing wiring.

This would've been easier if boarding parties had the same kind of priority in regards of omni-tools like special forces.

"No point in dwelling on it right now, focus on the task at hand," a voice that sounded strangely like his older brother warned him and doing so just in time to spot another figure creeping up on one of his men.

"Get down!" he called as he tackled the man standing between him and the figure all the while drawing his sidearm. The fall probably hurt the marine, judging by his grunting upon impacting the ground, but as Hackett saw an almost invisible figure jump back through the use of biotic powers, the fast movement causing barely visible ripples to appear in the air , he was convinced that this was the better option. A biotic punch could do all kinds of damage after all.

The bullets left his SIS-8 as the cloaked assailant withdrew into the shadows he had just appeared from, barriers and Hackett's horrible aim while falling allowing him to escape.

"We got cloaked enemies," he informed everyone linked to his intercom. "Tanner, how's the door looking?" he questioned as he tried to spot the sword carrying foe again.

"Should have it open any minute," the engineer said as he finished connecting two wires, causing the door to open in a hiss, "now."

"Two with me, Corporal you and the rest guard the entrance," the sergeant ordered. Then Hackett entered the freighter's bridge and spotted a man hunched over the console, typing in commands and seemingly ignoring the fact that several rifles were pointed at him. He didn't even feel the need to grab the assault rifle leaned against the terminal he currently manned.

"Step away from the console!" Francis ordered, only to be ignored. "Cover me," he ordered as he let his SR-7 down and grabbed a hold of the man that had just fired at him, throwing him to the ground and restraining him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? You can count yourself lucky I didn't shoot you in the back."

"Go to hell," the man simply chuckled.

"Specialist, what was he doing?"

"Deleting the flight log and scrambling some numbers," the engineer stated surprised. "He didn't even touch the drive. Didn't attempt to lock out our VI either."

Gunfire form the outside drew Hackett's attention away from the engineer and towards his unit, a scream echoing through the

"Report," he ordered as he lifted he considered rushing out.

"Clipped the invisible guy before he got away. Got a look at him when his camo failed. He sure as hell doesn't look like an iffy though," the corporal replied. "Ulrich took a sword to the arm, he's gonna need some medical attention in the long run."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well for starters he's a lizard. A biotic lizard."

"A salarian?"

"Nah, the other lizards," Corporal Boman replied. "The sneaky ones."

"Agincourt, there's at least one hostile drell running free on this freighter. He's armed with a sword and we've got one injured marine. Over."

"Since when do the iffys have drell on their payroll?" the engineer asked as he locked down the console.

"They don't," Hackett replied. "Whoever is on this ship, they aren't separatists. Turn on the power, then rally on me," he ordered as he handcuffed his captive and threw him into one of the chairs.

His order was soon realised as the lights of the freighter once more turned on, his night vision gear turning of as his HUD reacted to the sudden brightness.

Then he noticed the blood that was spattered on the ground behind the console array. Alien blood.

"What the hell happened here?" he questioned the man, who he was now certain wasn't aligned with the IFS.

"As I've said, go to hell," the captive smiled.

"I got no time for your stupid games," Hackett sighted. "Agincourt, we've got a prisoner. I'll sent him to the airlock. Over."

"Boarding party be advised, the squad sent to the engine room just went dark, no call for help, nothing. They are just gone. Over."

"Copy that Agincourt, I'll look into it. Over and out," Hackett replied as he looked at his engineer. "Get me eyes on the engine room."

The man jogged over to another console, typing command after command only for a red light to start flashing on the screen. "Security cameras are scrambled, I got nothing."

"Shit. Alright. Private Feng, you'll stay with the specialist and Ulrich," Hackett ordered one of his marines back from the door, Ulrich right behind her, the arm of the marine covered in blood from a wound now sealed by Medigel. The sword had cut straight through his armor and sliced deep into his arm. He was good for now but he'd start to feel the loss of blood sooner than later. However Hackett also noted the remains of Ulrich's SR-7, a clean cut having severed it into two pieces.

Interesting.

"Tenner, lock the door and prepare to to close of sections of the ship," Hackett switched his radio to once more connect with the Agincourt. "We've got no eyes on the engine room from here. I'm going to head down there myself. My engineer has the bridge, if I go dark as well, contact him. Over."

"Understood boarding party. Sergeant, those were nine marines in that engine room. Don't take any risks," his lieutenant advised him, the worry evident in her voice. Not knowing what happened to her men was bad, especially since they had most likely walked into an ambush. An ambush she had ordered them to walk into.

Walking out of the bridge he looked at the five marines that would accompany him. "Gerrad, you got the back again. Corporal Boman, you're in the center with the doc. The rest, diamond formation. I'll take point."

A chorus of five 'Yes, sir' followed Hackett's order and he began to walk through the now bright corridors, his weapon facing forward and looking for the slightest shimmer, a typical give away of active camouflage.

He found no such thing.

"Why did it have to be an invisible swordsman?"

"Missing the space spiders right about now, Gerrad?"

"You bet I am," the marine replied as he walked backwards, facing the parts of the corridor the squad had already passed by.

Hackett took a sharp left turn, the stairway leading down towards the engine room now in front of him. He began to walk down, the metallic sound of his boots hitting each stair sure to give him away. It couldn't be avoided right now. If there were injured, he couldn't waste the time to reduce the sound each of his steps made. This was most likely an ambush anyway.

"Get your game faces on people, this is it," the sergeant said as he stopped in front of the engine room, its door closed but not locked. He pressed his rifle into his shoulder and opened the door.

The sight of injured people was something he had gotten used to, he halfway expected to look at an even uglier picture to be honest. The sight of nine marines in various state of health was not what put him off.

It was the absolute lack of blood,the amount of broken arms and the completely trashed interior of the engine room that put him off.

"What the fuc-" Boman began as both the naval corpsman and he himself moved to the first casualty. However he was swiftly interrupted when Hackett caught a flicker in the corner of his eye.

"Contact left!" he shouted as he spun to the side, the single round he managed to fire with certainty jumping through the engine room at supersonic speeds and completely missing what he had assumed to be drell's position who had simply disappeared as fast as he had appeared.

The doubt of whether or not he had simply allowed paranoia to get the better of him didn't even have time to surface.

The figure, or rather a flicker of light, cartwheeled back into sight and Hackett managed to see the little purple ripples of biotic power just in time to avoid the shift in gravity that caught the majority of his squad behind him completely unprepared. Only his forward leap saved him from floating. Trying to realignhis sights with the target, Francis barely managed to track the fast moving drell as he began to run towards the exit of the engine bay, only Gerrad still blocking his path.

The marine, not caught in the singularity of biotic power, tried to stop the drell by swinging his weapon like a club, the momentum of the movement further increasing the force his muscles put behind the blow. The swing was sure to stop the drell should it hit.

Should it.

The SR-7 failed to connect its blow as the figure went incredibly low, incredibly fast. Now sliding across the floor of the freighter he pulled Gerrad's legs from under him and caused the marine to fall face first to the ground. The drell had secured his escape by taking out an opponent without even stopping.

"Agincourt, we got at least ten injured marines, no KIAs," Hackett informed his commanding officer as he began his pursuit.

"Gerrad, pick yourself up and follow me," he ordered as he began to dash after the figure, leaving the engine room just as he heard the singularity release his comrades, the 'pissed of but still alive' comment of Corporal Boman assuring him that they'd be fine for now just as Gerrad fell in behind him.

"This is a terrible idea," the man complained as Hackett focused on keeping the small flickers that betrayed the drell's path in sight. His task was made somewhat easier by the fact that the fast movement caused the camouflage to somewhat lose its effect, the flickers way more noticeable then before.

"I think that guy is the only way we'll get any answers," Hackett replied between his breaths, the drell's naturally faster pace allowing him to increase the distance between the two marines and himself all the while. "Besides something tells me he isn't with the other guy."

"The fucker got the engine room team good," Gerrad countered, sounding sceptical as they ran up the stairs. "He ain't exactly with us either."

"He didn't kill us," Hackett argued.

"Very reassuring Sarge."

"That's my job."

The two marines tried to keep up but Hackett knew they wouldn't be able to catch the drell, he was simply to fast for that.

Time to cheat.

"Tanner, shut the doorway to the escape pods," Hackett called, the red lights of the blast door just ahead closing rapidly increasing his chance of catching the drell with every centimeter it came closer to being sealed.

Then the drell once more outplayed him, a last second leap through the use of biotic powers allowing him to fit through the corridor just as the grey steel door separated the two marines from him.

"Shit," Gerrad simply commented, the force of an escape pod being launched traveling through the freighter. Then another and another.

"Agincourt can you disable the escape pods that just fired?" Hackett questioned.

"We'd most likely kill the individuals inside," the voice of the frigate's captain, not his marine lieutenant, replied."Shooting down escape pods violates military law, Sergeant."

"That guy is the only person that knows what happened here," Hackett countered. "We can't let him get away!"

"We don't even know in which on he's in, there's no poi-"

"Agincourt repeat your last," Hackett spoke.

Nothing.

"Agincourt come in."

"-ker. An unknown vessel just blitzed our systems. We can't pursue. Over."

Hackett looked at Gerrad only to receive an unknowing shrug.

"Sorry Sir, I don't follow. Over."

"Your drell had some buddies, a corvette sized vessel dropped out of nowhere and went after the low-priorities of our cyber security before picking up one of the pods. Then they jumped into FTL, they're gone. Get your asses back to the Agincourt, I want a full report on what exactly just happened. Over."

"Trying to figure that out myself right about now, Sir," Hackett sighted.

He did not look forward to that particular report.


3. March 2390 AD, Citadel, HSA Embassy

"What exactly am I looking at Director?" Alec questioned.

"Data recovered during a raid on an unresponsive freighter," something about her tone was off.

"There's hardly anything here Ma'am. What am I supposed to do with this?"

"A few days ago a freighter with most of its crew dead was found drifting towards the Hawking and its escorts above Elysium, after boarding the marine squad encountered a lone survivor of the crew and a drell. The drell evaded capture and the sole survivor hasn't reacted to any of our interrogation techniques."

"That's a strange case," Alec commented, "but where does Section 13 fit into this picture?"

"Aboard the freighter, a stolen hanar trade vessel, we recovered corpses of multiple species. All killed through biotics or a sword, the drell's doing," the Director explained with the same emotional undertone. "But what the freighter carried is what peaked Section 13's interest."

The pause was followed by a file being transferred. Alec opened it and the screen displayed a picture of a crate that had been opened by one of the recovery teams, its hanar origin betrayed by the writing still visible on its side.

"Cobalt-60," he spoke. "Being smuggled to Elysium. That's one thing I hoped to never hear again."

"Judging by your reaction you know what I'm about to say, don't you?" the director of Section 13 asked him bitterly.

"Kamarov is alive and he's got allies. People outside of the IFS if the mixed crew is anything to go by," Alec Shepard said as the memory of a nuclear mushroom forming over Illyria resurfaced, his radio connection to Jon Grissom being replaced by static at the moment of the detonation. The man had spent the last seconds of his life trying to get to the nuclear bomb hidden inside an ambulance, his curses still carved into Alec's memory.

It had been a dark day for Section 13, one of its senior specialists dying alongside millions of Illyria's innocent inhabitants.

However it had been an even darker day for the Widow Maker who had been in charge of hunting down the Butcher of Elysium, only a false lead preventing her from being incinerated alongside him, her suggestion of splitting up to cover more ground the sole reason she had survived the blast.

Alec knew he would still blame himself if his partner during the Fringe Wars, Redford, had died due to one of his calls. Survivor's guilt was basically guaranteed after such a situation.

"That's the assumption right about now," she replied.

"How did the bastard survive being shot in the face?" Alec asked. After Kamarov had met his supposed demise at the hands of his own right hand, the HSA had listed him as missing and presumed dead.

No one should have been able to recover from such a hit after all.

"A twisted joke of a higher power?" the director somewhat joked.

"Terrible sense of humor," Alec replied. "What does the Illuminated Primacy say about the drell?"

"Officially they have no idea what we are talking about." she mockingly replied. "They suggested that others employ drell for their skills as well. My guess is that this isn't the first ship that went missing so they sent one of their assassins to investigate who was stealing from them."

"What are the chances of tracking this guy down?"

"Slim to none, the drell live secluded on Kahje and the one we're looking for would never reveal himself to us."

"So that's not our angle then," Alec sighted. He needed some place to start. "Anything regarding the crew?"

"That's where you come in actually," the director replied.

"And here I thought you were just calling me personally because I was one of your favourites," he had already been waiting for her to tell him what to do.

"A turian had a card on her from a club in the Lower Wards," the director replied, this time not giving in to his humor at first. "Chora's Den. I'm sure you're familiar with the place. It's a strip club."

"I'm a married man Director," Alec countered, the jab he had waited for appearing later than expected. "I've heard some marines talk about it, never been inside though. The Lower Wards aren't exactly near the embassy either. What do you want me to do down there?" he questioned.

"We've got her omni-tool and the name she used when she was there," the director explained. "I'll transfer the data to you and you'll see what you can find."

"Will do Ma'am."

"And Alec?"

"Yes Ma'am?"

"At least try to keep a low profile," the director chuckled. "Unlike on Illium."

"That was all on Redford."


Two hours later, Lower Wards

After having told Goyle he'd have to take care of something outside of the embassy, he had spent some time looking over the data and taken the rapid transit, shuttle service using the X3M 'skycar' to move people around the Citadel, to the Lower Words, civilian attire replacing his usual dress uniform.

His clothing, fitting not nearly as tight as the grey HSAIS uniform, would've easily disguised a SIS-8 inside a waistband holster but after remembering the conversation some grunts had about the krogan bouncer, he had decided to go for a small knife, precisely one of the small ceramic blades Redford had given him as a wedding present.

It was easier to hide inside the brown leather jacket anyway.

As he walked through the Lower Markets Alec once more realised just how little he had seen of the Citadel and just how populated it was. This place was a far cry from the Presidium, the ugly side of the Citadel that no one liked to talk about. It was crowded, noisy, dirty and dangerous. Alec had already spotted heavily armed C-SEC patrols walking the premise.

It felt more real to him than the peaceful, clean presidium ever had.

Making his way through a crowd of all kinds of aliens, the sporadic human standing out because of their hair, Alec could already see the path that would lead him to Chora's Den. He took care not to bump into anyone and blend into the crowd, after all he was supposed to try and keep a low profile.

He took a turn and could already see a blue asari sign stuck to the wall in front of the club, a row of people waiting in front of it as music from the inside was audible through the open door, a krogan standing in front of it and pointing into the direction Alec had just come from, the disappointed sights of a mixed group betraying the fact that they had been refused access.

Getting in line, the scent of recycled air mixed with alcoholic beverages not exactly pleasant, Alec went over his plan again. He'd get into the club, ask the bartender about the name the turian had transferred money to and ask to talk to them. Whoever this 'Alihia T'esria' was, she was his only clue for the moment.

The line kept moving forward and the group in front of him,consisting of one hanar and five asari, now stood in front of the krogan bouncer, his plates a shade of green and his skin a light brown.

"How much did you pay them?" the krogan chuckled as he looked at the jellyfish like creature.

"This one does not need to buy company," the hanar replied, the weird echoing that accompanied their speech travelling towards Alec. "This one simply wishes to enjoy an evening with his friends."

"I'm afraid we're full on hanar today," the krogan stated. "Your friends can come in if they want."

"Are you not aware who this one is?" the hanar replied, sounding almost offended as it lifted one of his tentacles and pointed at the krogan.

"You hanar all look and sound alike, so no. Can't say I do," the krogan countered as he shoved the appendage aside. "You're not getting in here today. Sorry."

"You will regret turning this one away once it achieves its breakthrough."

"You staying with this loser or are you coming in ladies?" the krogan asked as he nodded at the asari.

Alec didn't really expect all five of them to make a disgusted face and turn around to leave with the hanar. Apparently they really were friends.

"Whatever," the krogan sighted as Alec moved up. "You look like trouble," he noted.

"Excuse me?"

"The scars, you don't get those by not being trouble," the toad-like creature observed.

"Relics of the past," Alec argued. "I won't trash your place, pinky promise."

"Pinky what?" the krogan asked.

"It's an idiom, it means you-" he tried to explain but realised that the three-fingered krogan wouldn't understand it. "Never mind."

"You're not drunk, you're not on drugs, you're alone and you're human," the bouncer observed. "I don't like that combination."

"How come?" Alec asked. Playing nice with bouncers usually worked.

"Last time I let a single human guy like you in, he beat up a batarian merc and his asari girlfriend lifted me into the air before leaving," the krogan described. "I floated around the dance floor for three minutes. Had to switch jobs after that, no one on Illium took me serious anymore. I still hear their laughter in my sleep," he confessed before snapping back to the present. "So I'm a little cautious since then."

Years of training and experience with being a spy were the only thing keeping Alec from bursting out in laughter. What were the chances?

"Well I've got no intentions of beating up a batarian and I don't have an asari girlfriend either, give me the benefit of doubt?" Alec replied, trying to sound as earnest as he could. He meant it, he didn't look for trouble.

"Don't make me regret this," the krogan said as he stepped aside.

Alec stepped inside the club, the big circular bar in front of a equally circular catwalk with asari dancers the first thing he noticed.

The club was not nearly as dirty as he expected it to be and the dancers were almost exclusively asari, a salarian bartender striking him as the best source of information right about now. Walking up to the bar, the red colored salarian didn't notice him at first since he was busy serving a bunch of turians who looked like they were trying to make the most out of their shore leave, their uniforms making them stand out among the other people inhabiting Chora's Den right about now.

Knocking on the bar, he drew the attention of the salarian who walked over to him all the while drying a glass with a piece of cloth.

"What can I get you?"

"I'm looking for someone actually," Alec said. "Does the name 'Alihia T'esria' mean anything to you?"

"She's a dancer," the bartender replied as he set down the glass. "She doesn't do private shows for strangers so I'll save you the time."

"I just need to talk to her really," Alec said as he raised his hands in defense.

"If she's talking, she's not dancing," the salarian replied. "I doubt she's interested in having a chat."

"It won't take long, just point me at her and let me worry about the rest," the specialist argued.

"Well it's not my time that gets wasted," the salarian said as he pointed at a purple asari with light-blue facial tattoos currently dancing in front of a table with another asari watching her, "that's her. Don't get your hopes up, she's here to earn money after all."

"Thanks," Alec said before striding through the club, already observing the surroundings of the table, just in case.

In the booth left to it a quarian and turian were busy viewing some sort of show, apparently uninterested in the dancer in front of them. The booth on the right however sported a rather dangerously looking krogan, his orange head plate cracked in the middle and several scars running down his right eye.

He might turn into a problem.

"Alihia T'esria?" Alec called, his voice managing to sound clear through the loud music.

The asari turned her head to look at him and after realising she didn't know him, she turned back to the other asari currently enjoying the view.

"There's something we have to talk about," Alec said not giving in to her attempts of ignoring him and bringing up his omni-tool and reading the name of the turian who's data led him here. "It's about Solaria Styx."

For some reason that particular name got her attention, causing her to once more turn to him.

"I'm kind of in the middle of something," she stated while performing a set of motion Alec was sure would result in a broken back should he attempt it.

"You are the last person we are aware of to have seen her alive," Alec simply countered, causing her to stop what she was doing, much to the disappointment of the other asari who turned to glare at the source of interruption.

"Sol's dead?" the dancer questioned, her expression surprised but not exactly very emotional.

"She was found dead on board of a freighter," it was technically true, he simply left out some details. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"You don't look like a cop. How is this your business?"

"Private investigator," Alec lied. "The shipping company hired me to look into the case," always keep it simple and believable.

"Is this going to take long?" the asari costumer asked sounding somewhat disappointed causing the dancer to look down at her and then back to Alec.

"You're probably better off looking for another table Ma'am."

"Goddess you humans ruin everything," the costumer sighted before standing up.

"What do you want to know?" the asari asked as she got of the table.

"Is there some place private we can talk?" Alec replied.

"Is this some setup to get me alone?" the asari countered with supiscion in her voice looking back at the costumer. "If it is, you just cost me a small fortune."

"No it's not. I've got pictures of Solaria right here if you want proof although they are rather graphic," that seemed to do the trick, the distrust on her face vanishing.

"There's a room for private dances, it should be free right now," Alihia explained. "That's as private as it's going to get in Chora's Den."

"Lead the way," Alec answered before following the asari, passing the salarian bartender in the process who simply stared at him in disbelief.

They walked through a small corridor, a series of rooms marked with a sign his translator implant read as 'private' and the asari opened one door to a room that certainly looked like it was meant for not just dancing. After they entered, she sealed the door, the orange hologram in front of its lock displaying the fact that the magnetic locks were now joined together.

"Well, I don't have all day," Alihia said as she set down on the red couch.

"How do you know Solaria Styx?"

"She came by regularly ever since last year," the dancer replied, "although I know for a fact that Sol never gave me her real name."

"How come?" Alec questioned. Of course he suspected it to be a fake name but he was rather interested in how the dancer had picked up on it.

"She picked up a call on her omni during a private session a couple of weeks ago."

"Do you recall what name she used back then?"

"Itari Zikrian," the asari replied. "I only remember it because it's a rather uncommon name with turians."

"Do you recall what they talked about?"

"It wasn't a talk really, she was simply saying yes or no to the person on the other line," so she was receiving orders back then.

"Was this the last time you saw her?" Alec asked as he typed down the name and the detail he had just learned.

"No that was seven days ago. She said she'd not be on the Citadel for a few days, told me that I could clear her usual hours for other costumers."

"Did she happen to mention where she was going?"

"She did not, we were occupied in other ways shortly afterwards," Alihia chuckled. "Although she did say something about visiting Hartan."

That name rang a bell, he had read that somewhere before. A low-priority security report about the Lower Wards.

"Hartan?"

"An elcor who hires security workers."

"So Itari was a mercenary?" Alec asked. It made sense, some unknown ally hiring a bunch of expendable mercs to hide their trail in case something went wrong.

"She preferred the term private contractor," the dancer corrected. "But yes, Sol was a merc."

"Where do I find this Hartan? Does he have an office or anything like that?"

"He doesn't live very far from here. If he's on the Citadel, he's in his apartment."

"Can you give me the address?"

"You're incredibly nosy, even for a private investigator," the asari observed as her omni-tool came to life.

"Well I take my work very seriously," Alec chuckled. "Besides, I get paid extra for solid leads."

"I'm doing this because Sol deserves some justice, she always tipped me good. If anyone asks, you didn't get it from me."

"Thank you Ms. T'esria, this will go a long way."

"Don't thank me yet, Hartan isn't exactly pleasant company," the dancer chuckled. "On your way out of here, pretend I gave you the show of a life time. It's good for business," she suggested before unlocking the door, the music from the outside once more flooding Alec's sense of hearing.

Alec walked out of the more private area of the club and made his way to the door. He passed by the bar again and smiled at the salarian, trying to look as satisfied as possible in the process. The bartender was once more perplexed by him. Going through the last few meters of crowd he finally reached the exit and found the krogan looking at him.

"You didn't trash the place," the bouncer observed.

"You sound surprised. I did say pinky promise," Alec replied nonchalantly

"The last human said he wouldn't cause any trouble either. Look how that turned out." the krogan said as he scratched his green head plate. "Tall guy, yellow fur. If you ever see him, tell him I'll kick him in the quad if his asari girlfriend isn't around to save him."

"Carrying a grudge isn't healthy," Alec replied. "But should I ever find this stranger, I'll let him know."

"You're alright human," the krogan chuckled.

Alec walked away with the adress of Hartan in his omni-tool that would eventually lead him to a place that would give him more answers. For now he had to report back to the director. He waved at the krogan and passed the crowd of people waiting to get into Chora's Den. Then, once he was certain the krogan wouldn't hear him, he began to laugh like an idiot.

Sometimes the universe had a fantastic sense of humor as well.


2131 CE, Arcturus Station

The humans had given her a place to stay on the condition that she'd share her experience with working for the Shadow Broker should the task force dedicated to him ever have use for it and help them with questions regarding biotics.

She just waited for the day they'd ask her to train human biotics. She had done some research on Eezo spills to confirm her suspicion. If humans were anything like turians or batarians, both species sharing similar life spans with her hosts, the first human biotics should manifest their powers sooner than later.

The apartment was located closely to the security hub of the station, she knew for a fact that this wasn't a coincidence. Neither were the semi-regular visits of Redford. They had a predictable pattern after all. She knew they were keeping tabs on her, they'd be stupid not to. But since Tela could hardly go back to her life on the Citadel or Illium, she wouldn't complain about it. All things considered the time since Tevos's trial had been rather pleasant although she was growing rather tired of the routine she had settled into, a routine Redford had sometimes broken by requesting her aid with something related to either the Shadow Broker or Biotics.

The knocking on her door, others simply using the doorbell, was the first give away it was him. This one didn't fit the pattern, he shouldn't have been here for another few days. She kept down her excitement at the prospect of actually getting to do something else until she was sure there would be something to do.

She opened the door to find the blonde human standing in front of her, his brown eyes looking down at her with a mixture of joy and focus.

"I did not expect you," she stated as he stepped inside. "What happened?"

"I can't just visit you without a reason? Come on Tela. Nothing connects people like a galactic conspiracy. We are basically family by now," he joked.

"You're terrible at playing innocent, you know that don't you?" she chuckled as he set down on the couch, dropping a tablet on the table in the process.

"Now that you mention it there is one thing related to work," he mockingly confessed as he ran his fingers along his jaw in a thinking expression. "Something about a bunch of mercs dying on a freighter full of stolen hanar cobalt at the hands of a drell."

Finally. Something to do, she thought. "You're thinking they are connected to the Shadow Broker?"

"I suspect it although we're not certain right now," he said. "Look at the third picture," he suggested as Tela selected the close up depiction of a tattoo showing a three pronged, red star with a white line cutting it from top to the button.

"Does it look familiar?" Redford asked.

"Seen it on some of the guys the Shadow Broker considers his go-to mercenaries," she recalled.

"So the people killed by the drell most likely worked for the Broker?"

"Could be, these contractors take other jobs as well. People with this particular tattoo are related to a group that calls itself the Final Wave."

"What's with the name?" Redford asked as Tela handed him the tablet back.

"They try to suggest that you won't need to send anyone else at the problem once they take it on. it is usually true," Tela had to admit to their abilities. If her memory served her right, which it most certainly did, the Final Wave recruited only the best contractors into their ranks.

"They are not really into all that usual mercenary business, are they? Never heard of such a group running drugs in the Terminus."

"The Final Wave doesn't have to, they don't employ nearly as many people as Eclipse did and they are the closest thing you're going to find to quiet professionals in terms of private security. They get paid a lot by the people who hire them."

"Like the Broker?"

"Officially they get their jobs through middleman, completely legal in Council Space."

"So they aren't based in the Terminus?"

"No, they even have an office in the Presidium."

"What are the chances of the Shadow Broker trying to make a move against the HSA?" Redford seemingly blurted out although Tela was sure that he had meant to ask that question for a rather long time.

"The Broker is a calculating gambler. If the risk was worth the pay-off, he'd probably do anything, why?"

"Because we believe he's aiding a new generation of separatists," Redford replied with a hint of worry in his voice. "If he is, we have to put a stop to it.

She had read up on the Fringe Wars in her free time, a conflict she knew Redford had experienced first hand. An experience that had left a clearly visible mark on the man.

She sympathized.

"The Shadow Broker has probably tried to contact me," Tela began. "if your superiors agree, I could always try to reach out to him. Set up a meeting with one of the middleman, maybe it'll help you in tracking them down."

"Tela, you're a political refugee. We can't possibly ask you to do that. We are responsible for your security, that was part of the deal," the blonde man replied as looked into her eyes.

"Grant," she said using his first name. "I was a Spectre for longer than you, your superiors and they superiors have been alive. I was trained to be an asari huntress since my childhood. I've spent nearly four centuries fighting fights, I can handle a bunch of thugs if it means helping out someone who's important to me," she argued as she noted the smile on Redford's face. "Why are you grinning?"

"You just called me important," he replied in a higher than usual tone. "I am flattered."

She almost said that she'd flatten him if he didn't stop the grinning but decided to lay of the snark for the moment.

"I'll bring it up to my superiors," Redford finally spoke. "But I still got some free time."

"So you're going to bother me, aren't you?" Tela chuckled.

"I clearly recall demanding a rematch for that horrible defeat you dealt to me in Kepesh-Yakshi the other day."

"You'll lose again," Tela said as she went to get the asari game centered around conquering the home world of the opponent.

"Well, I'll make it a costly victory," Grant Redford replied with confidence as he leaned back on the couch.

"We'll see about that," Tela said as she took on the challenge with a smile on her face.


5. March 2390 AD, Elysium

"Scanners confirm Cobalt-60 trails leading inside that shack. One of the containers must've leaked," a voice whispered from inside his helmet as they observed the house located far inside Elysium's unclaimed forrest. "They have no idea we're here, do they?" he chuckled.

"Don't you jinx our stealth, Icer," he warned his subordinate as he seamlessly blended into the green of the forest, his SR-8 hovering over an insurgents head, his finger still rested above the rifle's trigger guard. They were completely unaware of the four soldiers observing them. It was fitting considering the unit's slogan.

The intangible is indomitable.

"You're a buzzkill, you know that?" the man replied in an accented voice that betrayed his roots.

The buzzkill lowered his rifle and activated his radio. "Command, this is Predator. We've got eyes on the location, it's a positive, over."

"Copy that Predator, you're clear to execute the mission. Good hunt. Over and out."

"You heard it people, let's get this show going," he ordered as the members of his four man fireteam got into positions from which they'd be able to make their shots, their sights hovering over their assigned targets, a small red circle in his hud showing the two people he would dispatch, one of them smoking a cigarette, its orange glowing end betraying where his head would be even without the night vision gear inside his helmet. The other was currently minding his own business at a table visible through a window. He'd shoot him second, the sound of shattering glass would give away the fact that something was about to happen to any insurgent who would be alive to hear it. He wouldn't take that chance.

All in all there were exactly eight armed insurgents waiting in the immediate area of their target with an unknown number of armed separatists possibly acting as a quick reaction force in case of an assault on the depot.

They'd be gone long before that hypothetical QRF would be anywhere near them. This was the sole advantage of fighting terrorists, usually they weren't ready for an immediate counter attack.

The infrared laser pointer attached to his rifle came to live as he once more aimed at the head of the smoking insurgent, three other beams of similar nature finding their own marks. His finger crept from the trigger guard and pressed against the trigger itself, the pressure point coming ever closer to releasing a bullet.

"Execute," he whispered as he squeezed the trigger on the hybrid rifle, the bullet accelerated by mass effect fields and silenced by a suppressor hitting its mark and causing the cigarette to drop from the insurgents mouth as his brain was splattered over the ground.

At least he had spent the last seconds of his life looking at Elysium's night sky. A beautiful last thing to see.

Not a second later, his sights found the insurgent sitting at the table, his head turning to the general direction in which Icer had just killed one of his friends just as Predator ended his life as well, a well placed round drilling into the temple of the insurgent, the force causing him to flal backwards from his chair and hitting the ground inside the shack.

"Move up, watch your spacing," he ordered as he silently walked through the forest, the optical camouflage disbanding itself as he decided to save power.

The other three members of his unit appeared behind him with a short delay, four figures in light, camouflaged armor now walking out of the forest and towards the shack, the lack of gunfire or alarms marking another job well done.

He looked through the window and spotted the containers, his suit informing him of the increase in radioactive energy in his imminent area.

"Well at least we spared them the cancer treatment," Icer commented as he slowly opened the door to the shack, the Cobalt-60 containers now visible inside an isolation chamber.

"Health insurance covers that shit, you dick," Cosmo corrected him as the man lowered his rifle. "Our suits shield us from that shit though right?"

"For the sake of future generations, I hope they prevent you from ever procreating," the final member of unit joked as he moved past Predator.

"Shut the fuck up Basilisk," Cosmo stated as both of them disabled the isolation chamber's locking mechanism.

"Command, send in the recovery crew. We've got the Cobalt-60, over."


Codex: Final Wave

The Final Wave, founded in 1884 CE by a former asari spectre, a retired STG agent, a member of the batarian SIU and a turian cabal, is a security company operating inside and outside Citadel Space.

The company grew famous not only through the level of skill displayed by its contractors but also by their actions during the Geth War. Employed by the quarian government to carry out high-risk, high-reward missions, the company's contractors displayed a level of loyalty to the mission unheard of in mercenaries, completing all of the assignments, the last one being to cover the retreat of quarian civilians en route to a spaceport sending out ships to the migrant fleet, even in face of death.

The Final Wave draws it name from two sources, the first being the idea that they are the last people sent into combat since another wave won't be necessary after they complete the assignment and the other being that they are the last people to be sent if everything else has failed.

The company promises secrecy for all clients and remains one of the few legal mercenary companies within Citadel space due to its legal department being one of the most competent once inside the corporate world of galactic society.

Rumors claiming the Shadow Broker hires members of the Final Wave whenever a situation requires the skill of former special operatives are usually quickly disbanded by the company's PR department. An investigation into the matter by Council authorities failed to bring up evidence, the people working for the shadow broker being considered former employees by the Final Wave.


A/N: So, chapter 18. Setting up the new plot points and revealing some details of the past along the way.

I know there isn't a lot of action in this chapter but I hope you like it anyway. I'd like to point out that I made the Final Wave up myself. I hope you like it. Also I really liked the scene between Redford and Vasir, it's nice to write some 'normal' human interaction once in a while. I know most of Alec's scene was a bit on the silly side but I felt like doing it.

Let me know what you think, I love reading reviews.

Next up, an Elcor. That'll be fun to write.

As of right now we're at 129 Reviews, 307 favorites and 384 follows. We broke a viewing record with the last uplaod as well, reaching 2.510 views in ONE day. That's insane guys, I never expected Semper Vigilo to grow this BIG. Like I didn't even expect to get a fraction of that attention.

Anyway... as I said, review. I like to read them.

See you around next time.