Bekenstein (10/01/2184)
Donovan Hock felt incredibly satisfied. Sure, it took enormous resources, time and investments, but he could feel he was on the right track. With Aria gone from Omega, the shadowy lords of the Terminus fought, schemed and bled to step into her place, and rally the others to their cause. At first, he would have wagered on Ilium taking over the traffic and duties previously done by Omega, yet there was quiet on that asari planet, and for weeks, he pondered on it, even while he made deals and moved assets. Then, it hit him: the powers of Ilium were simply waiting for a new status quo to come into being, content with their previous role and influence - after all, for them, it was just legitimate business anyway. He could respect that, to an extent, especially since it meant he had one less potentially deadly situation to deal with. And now, finally, he could make his move.
Looking out to the arriving and already present movers and shakers, he fought very hard to keep the smile off his face; after all, it would not do to seem gloating. The presence of so many influential players, in person or via trusted proxies was a sign of his rising status; finally he would get the recognition due to a man of his talents. And, what was even better, almost all of the attendees to his party had known enough to show their appreciation and allegiance by presenting a token of appreciation, some of which would certainly find their way to Hock's famous vault. Tokens, pieces like the one he was surveying right now, after he spotted the bit of trouble brewing at the entrance. Sure, security had to be tight and he took a certain pride in having such diligent staff working for him, but there were limits.
Clearly, the would-be party guest had a rather impressive gift for him - the larger-than-life, golden statue of Saren Arterius was not something he thought he'd ever see, especially after the Spectre went off the deep end. Then again, maybe that's why a human merc could get his hands on it. He shrugged mentally; the important fact was that the statue was here, and soon would be in his vault, keeping good company to all the other curios. Hock frowned, studying the merc, giving only a cursory glance to the curvy brunette arm candy at his side. The man's scarred face was familiar from somewhere, but he could not remember where he'd seen it.
"Do I know you?" He could see his security people tensing just a bit, spreading out quietly, unobtrusively surrounding them.
"Solomon Gunn, Mr. Hock." There was a shade of respect and a trace of humor in the voice. "I think I only got the invite to your party because of that recent article in Badass Weekly." He grinned, showing teeth. "It seems someone on your payroll has an eye for talent."
Hock narrowed his eyes, reassessing the man before him, upgrading him from mere thug to possibly useful asset. While he did not recall specifics about the article, he knew that the site had always done good research, and one did not get mentioned there without having some serious skills, or insane luck. And he could use people with those kind of qualities. He schooled his features into a cordial smile, and let his gaze roam appreciatively over the statue, then the woman at the merc's side.
"And that person would be correct. I must say, I appreciate your eye for intriguing … artifacts."
The merc smiled, his facial scars seeming to glow faintly with orange light; likely a recent cybernetic reconstruction.
"I'm sure Yvonne here would be amenable to spend time with a luminary such as yourself, Mr. Hock. Perhaps we can discuss details later? I would not want to keep you from your more important guests."
Hock nodded, and signalled his people to stand down. Still, there was something about the man that bothered him; a nagging sense of knowing, of faint recognition, but he could not have put another name or face to this Solomon Gunn. As he watched the swaying walk of the brunette at Gunn's side, he motioned for his bodyguard.
"Signal Roe, tell her to have Gunn watched constantly."
"Will do, boss. Shall I tell her to check his identity as well?"
For a moment, Hock considered, before shaking his head.
"No need. If he does start something stupid, I trust you'll put him down, with extreme prejudice."
The bodyguard's smile was eager as he nodded, his omnitool glowing as he relayed Hock's instructions to the security chief.
The party was in full swing; that is, there were conspiracies and deals being brokered every minute, backstabbing plots, assassinations and hostile takeovers were planned by the dozens - in short, things were running according to the plan, and there were no disturbances beyond a few allegedly drunken touchings and spilled drinks. Thus, Donovan Hock did not resist the impulse to flash a satisfied, smug grin as he stepped up to the center, spreading his arms wide, and launched into the speech he prepared for just this occasion.
"My friends, it warms my heart to see how many of you accepted my invitation." He focused on modulating his voice at exactly the correct pitch to make it resonate with them, quite a feat with the numbers involved. "You are all too aware of the prejudices and dangers inherent of our world, levelled against our task, as we keep the barbarians at bay, ensuring that the average citizens have the luxury of comfort, entertainment, love. They do not see the fragility of the galaxy, they do not have to worry about the simple luxuries they take for granted, and why? Because people like us do the terrible, ruthless, thankless tasks that keep the galaxy spinning." His voice rose, an undertone of pride and triumph worming its way into the hearts and minds of the audience. "This party is for us; the cleaners, the support structure of the galaxy, the ones who make the beasts of reality simply go away. May there always be a market for the things we do! Enjoy the party to your heart's content, my friends, and remember this day well!"
The enthusiastic reaction validated his efforts, even making it easier to ignore the fatigue and the throbbing in his mind and larynx as he smiled and moved to mingle with the guests, riding the high of pulling off this feat, cementing his future as the heir of Omega in all but name. He felt like a god among men, triumphant, glorious, untouchable in his power - until his omnitool pinged, with a very specific alert, and it took all his not-inconsiderable willpower to finish his conversation calmly, collectedly, before walking to the security center.
What he saw on the monitor made his blood boil, and he opened a comm channel unthinkingly, his mind sharpening into deadly focus, projecting all his fury, loathing and conviction into his voice, sending it out to resonate even within the vault.
"What the fuck are you doing, Gunn? If you dare touch anything in there, I will have your fucking bitch sold to batarian slavers after making you watch a goddamned Eclipse sister have her way with her - and that's before..."
The man on screen simply lifted his gun, and Hock choked on his wrath as a priceless antique was blown apart with casual barbarism.
"Do I have your undivided attention, Donovan?" Gunn's voice was calm, bored, as he gazed straight into Hock's eyes across the hologram. "I simply need one little artifact you have here, as a courtesy to a partner of mine. I am not interested in what else you have here or what you do otherwise, but I will be taking that greybox along with me."
Hock sputtered, trying to form a coherent sentence, wrestling with anger, then he paled as he saw the merc's expression change, and recognition flashed through his mind, as a dead Spectre smiled the Butcher's grin from Solomon Gunn's face.
"Remember, Donovan, it's not personal, just business. But if you want to play it hard, I'm game." And the picture feed cut out with that.
Hock then sent in his security people, as he headed for his personal gunship. After all, it would be so satisfying to be the one who killed this goddamned revenant of a meddling Spectre for good, and it wasn't likely that his guards, no matter how good they were, would be able to do the job. But there was no way two people could stand up against his gunship, especially not without heavy weapons. As he moved towards his personal hangar, he listened with half an ear to the sometimes rather brutal way his people were disposed of by just two persons, one of whom even he mistook for simple eye candy. Black spots swam in his vision as he tried to contain his fury at them, at himself, at the universe itself for doing something like this at the exact moment of his triumph. Well, it would not matter for long - and actually, in the long run, killing the bastard here and now would bolster his reputation to even greater heights. After all, few in their circles could boast of having ensured that a dead Spectre actually stayed dead…
He heard on the comm that the two reached the roof and the landing pad there, while he still was spooling up the gunship, to swoop down on them like an avenging angel; and barely half a minute later, he enjoyed their surprise when the shots bounced off the kinetic barrier built into his baby, and felt immense satisfaction as he engaged the weapon systems, the cannons locking on to the Spectre, ready to fire, the gun cameras focusing on the bastard's face, and … why was the man smiling? The oddity of the expression Hock saw on Shepard's face threw him for a second - and then, when he felt cold steel at his throat, he understood, just a second before the hooded woman with Asian features flashed him a vindictive grin, and pulled the blade across his throat.
Teltin facility, Pragia (18/01/2184)
Subject Zero followed her partner along the building's corridors when the alarms blared. The makeshift command center was crowded, yet everyone squeezed subtly or not-so-subtly away from Kai Leng, the sheer wrongness emanating from the man making even the masked phantoms squirm. A look at the tactical plot was enough even for her to realize that things were about to become real ugly, real fast - the incoming task force would see to that, and Cerberus did not have any vessels in orbit to repel a carrier supported by half dozen cruisers and twice as many frigates. Yep, they were likely pretty much fucked down here; at least the kinetic barriers of the base would stand up to bombardment from these ships. Of course, if the attackers brought in a dreadnought, that would be a very different story.
Zero did not really care about the controlled mayhem flooding the complex, as the Cerberus forces started to hastily erect defensive measures, somewhat unprepared for an impending ground assault. Secrecy and remoteness was always the main defense of the facility, and while it did have AA and GTS batteries and kinetic barriers, it was not designed or built with defensibility in mind. At least there were numerous barrier generators and deployable automated turrets that the engineers hastily turned into makeshift chokepoints under Kai Leng's direction. Even the scientists and researchers were given weapons - after all, it was highly unlikely that the attackers were here to get prisoners, and would, at best, summarily execute anyone on-site.
As she watched the progress of the invaders, saw them effortlessly demolish the lone cruiser in orbit, a fierce, eager anticipation started building up within Zero's mind. If these assholes were intent on coming down and trying to kill them, well, she'd just have to make sure to teach them the error of their ways. The work of Cerberus, of Leng, of Lawson was too important, and the two men considered her an important asset - and she would not disappoint them, even if the bastards coming to kill them wore human faces and SA uniforms; she banished the distant, tiny voice pointing out that little fact to the depths of her mind.
The rising, impotent tension of the next few hours was broken by multiple explosions as the attackers stormed the complex from several directions at once. Preceded by smoke- and flashbangs, with waves of electronic noises battering at the computer network of the complex, humans in full, armored hardsuits poured inside, kinetic barriers flickering under the hailstorm of bullets from the sentry guns. A few of them fell in ragged, bloody heaps, but the rest advanced behind pockmarked breaching shields. Biotics tore the guns, barrier generators, defenders apart with calculated brutality, as the leaders of the assault columns unleashed their power. She heard Leng's muttered curses as the ex-N7 commanded the defenders in an attempt to at least slow the attack, to no great success. She suppressed a snort at that - of course there would not be much of a resistance, most of the on-site personnel were non-combat staff, researchers, technicians, with just a few dozen security guards to keep unwanted visitors away. Sure, if more Phantoms had been left here, the picture would have been quite different, in her opinion.
Leng smiled at her, a nightmare of metallic razors, malevolence and humor, as his presence clawed and battered at the edge of her sense of self, always trying to drown her in terror and nausea. Zero ignored it, as always. She could see the man's fingers fiddle with the odd necklace he wore, the cold, calculating expression in his face, as the killers in SA uniforms steadily advanced towards them, leaving nothing alive. A Phantom stepped close, her head tilted inquisitively at Leng, whole stance radiating eagerness and just the smallest amount of discomfort at his presence. The ex-N7 frowned in thought, his gaze once more on the security feeds and the tactical plot, then he nodded.
"Go on, hunt." The ghoulish expression on his face twisted even more predatory. "Permission to release limiters. Scenario Scorched Earth is in effect."
A shudder of revolting ecstasy shivered along the Phantom's spine, as the female turned away after a nod, gestured to her companions, and Zero herself swayed on her feet as a wave of inhuman, soul-searing wrongness flooded from the group of females, seemingly draining life, color, sanity from the surroundings, carving blood-black phantoms into the edges of her vision, chilling the body and soul with the promise of oblivion. The siren song from the vortex of gibbering terror caused by Leng's presence picked up, as the wailing, distant chorus of female voices joined in. For a moment, Zero fought to beat down the desperate shrieking within, the voice wailing at the haunting similarities, then she was in control once again, her features distorting into an eager, bloodthirsty grimace as she saw the Phantoms tear into the attackers reeling from the psychic shock of the unveiled presences, then her eyes narrowed.
Yes, the camouflaged killers did surprise the marines. Yes, they were effective and killed quite a few of them in that whirlwind first contact. Yet, none of the groups broke or panicked, even though she could see the tell-tale signs of fear in their postures, reactions. There was no loss of unit cohesion, no blind-firing in wild abandon, not one of them was struck down by friendly fire. No, these units held together, and the Phantoms had to shift focus unless they wanted to be overwhelmed. One of the masked females reacted too slowly, and was torn apart by several bursts of gunfire. Another lost first a leg to a warp field, then the SA biotic simply pulverized her head with a punch. A third was badly burned by a hastily-flung incendiary blast, but managed to get clear.
A few heartbeats of silence, with only the darker than black eddies of terror, nausea, and wrongness lapping at the conscience of those within the complex, then Kai Leng, along with Zero, threw himself into the fray, composing a symphony of blood, screams, gunfire and flames, as the two of them tore into the SA marines, painting the corridors in red, as the well-lit complex plunged into darkness, which in turn gave way to the stroboscopic, eye-searing flickering of muzzle flames and exploding biotic fields. Zero's hyperedged, floating disks carved into armor and flesh alike, her barriers making a mockery of the gunfire thrown at her. Unlike the Phantoms, she could stand against such foes toe-to-toe, and tear them apart with the cascading shockwaves of her power, when she was not pulling down the ceiling on them, or melting their armor and bodies with warping fields. For a brief, eternal moment, she felt like a vengeful goddess smiting down traitorous heretics - then she howled in pain, conditioned reflexes barely saving her life as a short, hyperedged blade sliced a deep gash into her thigh.
A pulse of her biotics threw the other woman back before she could finish Zero off. A flick of Zero's wrist sent a shockwave in her direction, followed by three of her spinning disks, monofilaments hungrily lashing out for blood. The other woman - an N7, a faint, horrified voice somewhere in the back of her mind screamed -, gave ground, countered with her own shockwave, her shots blew up two disks, as she parried the third with the blade she obviously acquired from a downed Phantom. Zero's pulse sped up, her mind going into overdrive like on that day half a year ago, when she and Leng took on that asari with the drell bodyguard. Once again, she felt that fierce rush of exultation as she faced off against a worthy opponent, was forced to call up every trick and technique drilled into her mind and muscles over two decades.
A hurricane of biotic forces tore the corridor apart around the two of them, wind howled into existence as miniature artificial black holes were born and discarded with careless rapidity. Gravity itself went mad around the two women who became the center of a whirlwind of debris torn from the complex, from the people and dead around, from their own biotic powers, from the planet itself. The very air distorted between the combatants, the two women disregarding the explosions, the flames, the increasing shakes as they tore everything apart in their struggle.
A struggle that ended just as abruptly as it began, when a blade sprouted from the N7's chest, and Kai Leng shimmered into existence behind her. The woman coughed up blood, her face distorted from the pain, yet she sent Leng reeling with a biotic push. Zero raised her hand, blue fire on her fingertips ready to dissolve the N7 into her component atoms, then the tattooed woman swayed, the sheer wrongness of the situation blaring in her mind, as Jacqueline turned towards Kai Leng, her face a mask of wrath, ready to melt down that hateful, smug grin off his visage.
"Stand down, would you kindly?"
And Jacqueline was again thrown back into the depths of her mind, battering on the transparent barrier separating her from control over her body's actions, as Zero and Leng ran from the complex, flames chasing them every step of the way.
Lazarus Station, deep space (30/01/2184)
Liara felt apprehensive as she accepted the incoming call, wondering what the Illusive Man could want from her - and angry at the man for dragging her away from the cusp of a breakthrough with the stasis pod recovered on Eden Prime. Still, her rational self reminded her quite firmly that so far, the human had been honest and helpful with them, and did much, much more for their cause than the various governments. And he arranged for Shepard to be brought back from the gates of death. If nothing else, that warranted a measure of respect and patience. The young asari drew herself up, the long-ingrained lessons of her mother coming to the fore with rather more ease than she thought possible, as the aristocratic mask of a highborn fell over her features, just before the QEC lit up.
"Illusive Man" she inclined her head in greeting, her tone professional, conveying a measure of respect.
"Doctor T'Soni." his voice was even, as he reclined in that chair, blowing out a puff of smoke from one of those ever-present cigarettes. "Sorry to contact you with such short notice, but we do need to talk."
"So I gathered. Shall we waste time on pleasantries, or get quickly to the topic, so I can go back to my work?" Liara's voice took on a slight edge. "Or is that the reason why you contact me now?"
He nodded.
"One of them, yes." He took a drag from the cigarette. "I do realize that you are very close to awakening the Prothean securely, but I would like to ask you to reconsider, and focus your talents on another, more important task."
Liara stiffened, her eyes flashing with fury for a heartbeat, before reason and calm reasserted themselves. She knew well enough that the human would not make such a request without good reason.
"Elaborate." She took a deep breath. "You know quite well what this project means to me both personally and professionally, so you'd better have a very convincing reason for me to even consider shelving it."
"Trust me doctor, if I did not consider my reasons good enough, we would not be having this conversation." Another puff of smoke, as he leaned a bit forward. "For one, based on your last report, I suspect that the Prothean would be much less useful to our cause than we previously estimated."
"And why would you think that?"
The man flashed her a small smile, as he leaned back.
"Come now, doctor, it's nothing you yourself haven't considered; after all, you are one of, if not the best, expert on Protheans." His tone was light, mocking, but with an undercurrent of tension. "And you are too honest to fully keep your conclusions from your reports. While you would certainly like to portray them as wise scholars, you do not hide the data that points to a somewhat different conclusion when it comes to the one in stasis."
"Your point?"
"Simple, doctor. No matter how skilled, he would be another soldier at the front lines." A puff of smoke, a raised hand to stop her objections, to signal her to wait. "I do not question the value of him as a symbol - a precursor, a live Prothean joining the fight? That'd be almost on par with the effect we calculate from Shepard's return. But while we can be reasonably sure that Shepard's mind is intact, we have no guarantees for the Prothean. Shepard lost only a few months, and has been getting back on his feet quite quickly and well. The one in the pod would have to deal with so much more. Just put yourself in his shoes for a minute, and consider how you, or any organic would react to having literally everything and everyone ripped away from you. Even a krogan's mind could buckle under that strain - and I'd really hate having to put down a possible information source like that Prothean."
Liara would have loved to refute the words, to call him a liar, but she knew he was right - and that infuriated her to an extent, though that anger was directed at herself. Was she really that foolish, to ignore all implications and dimensions of such an issue? Was she really that obsessed with chasing her own dreams, regardless of consequences to others? The Illusive Man went on after a momentary pause, when he felt he had the asari's attention again.
"I admit, it is a very tempting prospect to revive him - even if he is unlikely to be a scholar or a scientist, he could give us a boost with regards to military tech." He took another drag from the cigarette, his eyes bored into Liara's gaze. "Just so we are clear, doctor. I do not consider your conclusions faulty, or dismiss them as a young maiden's inane dreams. I like to think that I am not that short-sighted."
Liara was surprised at the anger and disdain that crept into his voice.
"Then why do you want me to drop the work? We still have enough time to bring him out of stasis slowly enough to minimize the shock, we could deal with the mental issues, if not me then Matriarch Trellani surely..." Liara's eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed. "But you surely know all that. You have some new information that you want me to act on."
"Correct. I would like you to go back to Ilium."
The asari glared at him for a moment before speaking, her voice rich with sarcasm.
"Of course. Why didn't I think of that myself, I wonder. I'm sure the Shadow Broker would just love to put an end to the foolhardy, overconfident maiden who thought she could challenge him."
A puff of smoke, a nod.
"Exactly, Doctor T'Soni. I am fairly sure that's how the Broker's network will evaluate this step - with a measure of desperation on our part."
Liara tilted her head to the side, frowned, her thoughts racing.
"You are using me as bait."
"Correct." Seemingly genuine regret laced the human's words, as he shrugged. "We are somewhat starved of options, and we do have some promising leads on Ilium that might allow us to infiltrate the Broker's network. If I had any other agents who could blend in on short notice, I'd use them instead of you. As it is, I will do my best to provide you with adequate funding and support to avoid another close call with Kai Leng or someone on his level."
"Yes, because that assurance worked so well the last time."
"You are alive, aren't you?"
The maiden huffed, but conceded the point with a nod. With half-closed eyes, she considered, her mind evaluating merits, seeking flaws, trying to add options to the seemingly insane idea (not that she expected sanity from the humans; her time with Shepard has cured her of that illusion), and she locked gazes with the Illusive Man with a faint, cynical sneer.
"I certainly hope that you did not simply plan this little jaunt to remove the unwanted xenos influence from Shepard."
With a deep sigh, the man shook his head, before he took a drag from the cigarette.
"Now that hurts, Doctor. I expected that in light of the past few months, you would know better than that." A small, twisted smirk crossed his lips. "Besides, even if you don't go to Ilium, Shepard will have his hands full. The Collectors are moving once again, hitting small, distant colonies. The SA and the Council are not yet aware of this, and by the time they are able to move and intervene, I want Shepard to have a solid team - as well as a reputation to match."
The man's blue eyes glowed with an unidentifiable emotion, his gaze boring into Liara's soul.
"I want him to become the icon, the face of the resistance, the blade of Humanity, of the galaxy, wielded against the coming darkness. For several reasons, I cannot think of anyone better qualified. And you, especially, have to admit that for the Council races, he is one of, if not the best and brightest example of what Humanity can accomplish, when we really set our minds to it."
The Illusive Man tapped something at the console, and leaned back, as the display screen shifted and split, and Liara could barely suppress a small smile at what she saw. Though she was not an engineer or intimately familiar with shipbuilding, she could not fail to recognize the similarities - or understand the implications of the changed dimensions. She barely paid attention to the man's voice.
"And when Shepard leaves, I intend to provide him with adequate transportation."
After ending the call, the Illusive Man reclined in his chair, closed his eyes for an eternal second. It was getting more and more tiring, to juggle so many assets, to keep abreast of so many plots and variables. Still, he mused, it was what one did - and as he allowed himself to contemplate once again the intricate sigil of the ring he wore, he felt a certain amount of pride and satisfaction. Despite all efforts of their enemies, Mankind would endure.
A tap on his console brought up another display, and he once again re-read the message, from his oldest and most trusted partner, and once again, he found himself shivering as he agreed with the conclusions, terrifying though they were. Still, he estimated there was time left, and he had to ensure that not even tampering with his mind would result in the downfall of Cerberus and Humanity.
Citadel, Widow system (31/01/2184)
Despite his long and eventful career in C-SEC, Garrus would not have bet on ever being in such a situation - not even after the mess with Shepard. Though in hindsight, attending that insane opera with Bau might have come close to this. At least he once again had a chance to needle Tali a bit, that was always a bonus - even though he decided to be somewhat more circumspect in both words and actions, as she seemed to be somewhat quicker to anger and even more vindictive than before Tuchanka. Wrex must be so proud of his little niece embracing some krogan values so quickly. Still, before he could devote enough time to messing with the quarian, there was work to be done.
"With all due respect, Councilor, this is not something I would have expected from someone like you. Councilor Valern, maybe. Spectre Bau, certainly. But not you."
"That's the point, Vakarian." Sparatus grated. "You are well aware of how the turian Councilor works, how his mind ticks, how he prefers blunt, overwhelming force to solve problems." His mandibles flared in a savage grin. "If you make that mistake, hopefully others will, too."
"Fair point, Councilor. Still, this whole operation sounds rather shaky and haphazard."
"Because it kind of is. I am trying to limit the number of persons involved for the time being." Sparatus grinned, and Garrus felt his stomach drop. "Think of it as a deep undercover operation - you did those at C-Sec, if your service record is correct."
"Not on this scale, and not for such high stakes."
Sparatus glared at him, his stance predatory.
"Think, Vakarian. Try and pretend you are the promising scion of an esteemed family, heir to their ancient legacy, instead of a trigger-happy detective with an overdeveloped sense of justice." His grin turned mocking. "Or would you prefer for me to spell it out for you? Me, a desk-driving politician too timid to be anything but a pencil-pusher?" Garrus winced, practically hearing the air quotes around that appellation.
"Even the C-Sec detective can understand why we would need people on Omega, Councilor." Despite his chagrin, Garrus' voice carried an undertone of warning. "What I do not understand yet is why use freelancers and locals? Why not deploy a Spectre or two? Bau did a rather thorough job of cleansing their ranks." He tilted his head, thoughts racing. "Ok, it makes sense to have some people of the team coming from on-station, they know how the situation is … but that's obvious."
Garrus took a deep breath, before continuing.
"Why not leave this to the Spectres? Or Aria? Or if you need turian involvement, why not the Blackwatch, or some cabalists?"
Sparatus looked disappointed.
"I thought you, of all turians, would have jumped at this chance, Vakarian."
"Don't get me wrong, Councilor, I would not mind raising all kinds of hell on Omega, and put down scum like Garm and his cronies. But that was before they booted Aria off-station. That move needs some serious backing, and ..." Garrus' mandibles flared in a disbelieving frown, his eyes widened. "Spirits … you suspect the Collectors being behind the whole coup."
Sparatus nodded.
"Well, sending this team makes even less sense then. This is not vigilante action, but a military covert op, Councilor. You have served your time - you surely must be aware of the differences."
"I'm well aware, Vakarian. Use your brain a bit longer, it won't hurt. I'm sure you can figure out why I'm sending you, and not those you recommended." Sparatus grinned predatorily. "And if you even dare suggest something along the lines of expendability, I'll carve you apart." The Councilor frowned, held up a hand. "Well, admittedly, you are in some ways expendable compared to those assets, but that's not really a deciding factor. So, amaze me with those deductive skills of yours, Vakarian."
Garrus bristled for a moment, before he leaned back, his posture casual, confident. He considered for a few moments, nodding to himself as he contemplated Sparatus' likely reasoning.
"There are few enough Spectres, and you can't exactly go on a recruiting drive without alerting the populace and more importantly, the Broker and the Collectors to the incoming danger. Blackwatch members would likely trip all detectors with the amount of cyberware installed in them. Plus I would use them to strike at the locations marked by the recon team, as kind of a second wave. Cabalists are in a similar situation - excellent at eliminating singular, powerful adversaries, but this type of information gathering work is not exactly their preferred method." He grinned. "And let's not mention the fact that everything those groups can do, I can do just as well, but with style."
Sparatus cradled his head for a moment, before Garrus went on.
"Also, I suspect you are going to count on the fact that with my reputation, it's kind of plausible to cut ties with the politicians mired in red string, unwilling to do what must be done." He paused, tilted his head questioningly. "My past as a known member of Shepard's team may work against me, but I think you are considering it a worthy risk, and believe that the same status can be leveraged, sort of showing that you take the issue seriously."
Sparatus nodded, tilted his head questioningly.
"So, Vakarian, what's your decision? Are you interested?"
The answer was not in doubt, and the two were hammering out the details of Operation Archangel long into the subjective night.
Tali was slightly nervous as she stepped into the office of the quarian Councilor. She did not know Zaal'Koris personally, or at least not well, and her father always labelled the man as an eccentric, soft-hearted geth apologist - which, paradoxically, raised her opinion of the Councilor. After all, he could stand up to Rael'Zorah, even if his stance was unpopular and more than likely insane. Still, after surviving Tuchanka, she was sure she could handle one eccentric quarian ex-admiral, and if things went wrong, she still had the parting gift from Uncle Wrex. And the young quarian still could not fully believe how someone like her could become accepted by the krogan - and not just as an unofficial clan mascot, but as a valued member.
"Something on your mind, Tali?" The mellow voice of Zaal'Koris startled her, and Tali almost jumped away, her blush fortunately hidden, as she realized she got lost in her thoughts.
"Yes, that is, no, I mean, I'm listening, Councilor, just trying to figure out why you asked for me."
Zaal'Koris gestured with his omnitool, the privacy fields coming online, and a screen between them lighting up, before the Councilor paused the feed and turned to Tali, his whole body language screaming seriousness.
"Please feel free to scan and analyze the message and its contents. I could vouch for its veracity, but with what your father likely told you about me, I'm quite sure you would not believe me."
"I wouldn't… I just… I don't… " Tali's hands fluttered as she tried to articulate her fury, mortification, and intentions all at once, before she gave up, controlled herself with a few deep breaths. Then a few extras, when she realized that one hand instinctively went to the shotgun … come to think of it, why was she allowed to have a weapon when visiting a Councilor? Especially one who was so controversial even amongst his own people? And really, was he stupid enough to just trust visitors? She could have been an assassin masked with a cloaking holofield, or a modified infiltration unit, or really, some genhanced abomination that could…
A suspicious chuckle cut off her thoughts, and she glared at Zaal'Koris for a second, before her eyes widened, as she realized she must have spoken some of those concerns aloud.
"Don't worry Tali, the fact that you haven't noticed the security measures just shows that the MFM still has some skills that one can't pick up while vacationing on Tuchanka or chasing rogue Spectres." His voice was full of mirth, yet neither that nor his body language gave even the slightest hint of condescension or ridicule. If anything, he was projecting fond amusement, and Tali tilted her head to the side quizzically.
"So, Councilor, what is that message, and why do you need me to see it?"
"Because I consider you somewhat of an expert on geth - and this issue is in relation to them."
Tali's omnitool flashed, and the screen opposite the two quarians lit up. The oddly organic-looking geth on screen seemed to look straight into their soul with its lone oculus, raising its eyeflaps with disturbingly human-like timing.
"Greetings, Councilor Zaal'Koris. We are the emissary platform of the Geth Consensus, designated Legion. The geth wish to parlay with the Creators, to conclude the hostilities commonly referred to as the Morning War. The Consensus is aware that the recent actions of a geth minority designated as Heretics during the Saren Crisis reflect poorly on the geth as a whole. The Consensus is prepared to provide proof that the overwhelming majority of the geth desires an end to hostilities, and a re-establishment of relations with the Creators. Further, we are prepared to offer assistance against both the Heretic Geth and the coming Reaper conflict..."
Tali hissed, her eyes narrowed, as she swiped her omnitool with a furious gesture, vanishing the damn machine from the screen. She whirled towards Zaal'Koris, intent on flaying his traitorous hide with a blistering diatribe worthy of Wrex and Shepard both… then she sagged, her anger evaporating. Yes, she would have loved to accuse the Councilor with betraying the Migrant Fleet - after all, he was known to be a geth apologist. Yes, it would be so easy to bend to three centuries of tradition and history. Yes, it would be so nice to simply be a hot-headed teenage quarian. Unfortunately, after Shepard and Wrex, Tali could no longer afford that luxury - or rather, she liked to think that she grew up, and was able to think with her head, instead of her shotgun. Zaal'Koris seemed to sense her mood, and spoke calmly, quietly.
"The only thing you did not hear is the proposed location - Haestrom, in the Dholen system. An old quarian research colony." His body language showed rueful amusement. "And attached to the whole message is a verification code from a certain Professor Yildirim as well as what looks to be an N7 command level signature."
"That's it? No timeframe? No specifications on who and how many people we are allowed to bring?"
The older quarian shook his head.
"Nothing of the sort. Peculiar, isn't it? If not for the two human signatures, I would immediately consider this a trap. As it is, I suspect it has about a 30% chance of being genuine."
Tali's respect for the former admiral rose a few notches - at least he seemed to avoid twisting facts to fit his own personal mindset. The Councilor's head tilted slightly to the side, as he went on.
"I would like to send you with a detachment of Marines. You have quite the reputation, so the geth should be well aware that your presence is a sign of us being serious." His voice and demeanor cooled to a forced calmness. "On the other hand, if they betray us, you stand perhaps the highest chance of surviving and letting us know." He raised a hand to forestall her answer. "Even if you decide to agree to this, I will use some extra resources to give you and your team as much support as I can."
"With all due respect, Councilor, I'm not sure how quick that support could be that deep in geth space."
"Trust me, Tali - the support will be there on time. Your uncle would have my head otherwise." Zaal'Koris' whole stance radiated amusement and hope. "So, what do you say? I know it's a long shot, but in case the geth offer is genuine, it is a chance we would be foolish not to take."
Tali deliberated for a few more moments, before swallowing and nodding. Then she promptly and silently cursed Shepard and Wrex both, for making her reckless enough to shoulder such a responsibility and duty for the sake of one's people. And she was sure that damn cocky turian would laugh at her when they met later to compare notes. At least if he did, she could hack his favorite playlist, or mess with his visor somehow…
? (31/01/2184)
Henry Lawson rose from his meal with a sigh. He should have known that this would happen - and just when he finally got to the good parts. Oh well, scientific nourishment could wait a bit longer - and if the stasis pod worked well enough (and it should, he designed it himself), the specimen would be still more than capable of providing for him once he finished with the interruption.
It was tempting to blame Leng or his other lackeys for disobeying his perfectly clear and straightforward instructions - but it was thanks to those selfsame instructions that he knew they would not trouble him with trifling matters. No, whatever demanded his personal attention had to be important. He could think on quite a few issues that would qualify, certainly - at his level, one had to be prepared to deal with extensive, galaxy-spanning matters that could not be left to less perfect and capable individuals. Sure, his chosen cadre were rather competent in their ways - he would not have picked or created them otherwise - but for overall directives, for giving a goal and an identity to their group, he was the only suitable candidate. Of course, he would have been the best choice to uplift their whole limited, sorry excuse of a species as well, but Henry knew that the time for that was not yet right. Soon, but not yet. There were still quite a few stumbling blocks that needed to be eradicated before he could assume the position that should have been his by every conceivable right.
As he walked towards the secure comm room of his suite, his senses quested for possible disturbances on board of the ship - though he knew full well that there were precious few beings who could threaten him now, he was not willing to discount the lessons learned before his ascension. On that note, he wiped his face and hands - if he had to answer a video call, it would not do for the other party to see the remains of his meal fouling his visage. Though for certain people (like Warden Kuril), his culinary habits were of course an useful tool to persuade them with - either by impressing and enticing them, or by flat-out intimidating them, showing clearly the price and consequences of one failure too many.
He checked his omnitool, searching for any updates on the hunt for his wayward progeny - and once again he swore that both Miranda and Jack would suffer for challenging his will like this. Especially Miranda - he gave so much to her, created and trained her to be perfect for his needs, and the ungrateful bitch simply threw in her lot with that idealistic madman Harper; who in turn aided Miranda to vanish from Henry's agents. No matter - they would be found and made an example sooner or later anyway; his only concern was that his daughter took the most stable backup as well, no doubt to turn against him, or at least to deny him another asset. Shortsighted fools, all of them - and he had such hopes for both. At least their betrayal did not result in any permanent, irrecoverable setback or damage to his plans - and in time, he was certain he would show them the enormity of their mistake.
The omnitool also showed him the reason for the disturbance, and Henry made a note to commend the comm specialist for bringing it to his immediate attention, as well as attaching a swiftly updated tracker that should locate the caller, or at the very least give a way into its network. Another mental note was made to ensure that Kai Leng kept the specialist carefully and regularly checked - initiative and competence were useful, but tolerable only so far, and Henry did not want any ambitious, capable underling to try and ruin his perfect plans. Especially not when dealing with this particular contact of his.
He stepped into the QEC platform after a last check that his clothes were perfectly immaculate, just like his features - then he hit the switch, and the terminal softly hummed to life, the figure of an immense, heavily cyborgized salarian blinking into existence. His lips twitched into an involuntary frown - he needed to reach Tazzik's boss. Henry Lawson did not deal with flunkies, never mind how high on the totem pole they believed themselves to be.
"Tazzik. Not exactly who I wanted to speak with."
"Lawson. If you think the Broker will acquiesce to your whims simply on your say-so, you are stupider than I thought." The salarian grinned. "Do not waste his time, or mine, for that matter. You have intel, let's talk specifics and price. You know that I have the Broker's authority on signing off on quite a few things."
"I do not care for your self-aggrandizing boasting, Tazzik. The issue I want to discuss is for the Broker's ears only - I do not care if he shares it with you and the rest of his flunkies later, but I will only tell him."
The salarian blinked, tilted his head to the side, studied the human closely.
"Strange. In the past, you struck me as an intelligent person - well, as intelligent as humans can be, anyway." He flashed a quick grin at Henry. "What, did your precious heir take your brains as well as your most successful experiments?"
Self-control frayed. Politeness fled, along with reason and sanity. The terminal warped and moaned where the human's hands clawed into it, vapors rose where flecks of drool ate their way into the deck plating with a sizzling hiss. The being that was once Henry Lawson bared its maw at Tazzik, his glowing eyes boring into the salarian's gaze across the impossible, incalculable distance.
"Do. Not. Dare." The undertone and harmonics of Lawson's words seemed to distort the air as well as the connection between them. "Get me the Broker, Tazzik, or you will wish you had only disappointed him and not me."
The salarian blinked, its skin fading to an ashen pallor, as the sheer wrongness and malice of the Lawson-thing seemed to hit him even across the QEC comm, with all the implications of what would happen if the two were ever to meet in person. The nominal human swallowed a part of his fury, regained a semblance of control, and glared at Tazzik, who shifted, opening another connection invisible to Lawson, but not before sending him a small smirk as the tracking program was rebuffed from the Broker Network. Henry clung to the vestiges of his calm while the salarian finished his call and turned back towards him.
"You are a lucky bastard, Lawson. The Broker will talk to you. Audio only. Stand by to receive incoming connection."
Henry suppressed a spasm of hungry wrath with an effort, and nodded. He could work with the audio connection; the little packet he injected into the comm call (and which seemed to slip by the Network's notoriously sophisticated defenses) could still lead him to the location of the elusive Broker. Admittedly, that bit of information was as dangerous as it was useful - yet he estimated the potential benefits worthy for the risk.
The comm panel lit up.
"Report, Operative Lawson." The mellow, soft tone was not what he expected - the title, even less.
"I am not your underling."
"You wanted a direct communication." A deep bass rumble. "You have some information you want to sell to me." A smoky contralto. "Only my operatives do that." A high-pitched screech.
"Impressive voice alteration software." Henry allowed himself a cold smirk, amusement seeping into his voice. "Can you dispense with the childish games, and talk face to face? I assume you have a facial alteration program that's at least as good as the voice synthesizer you have."
"Why are you so keen on seeing me face to face, Lawson? You do know that one does not see the Broker so and live. Unless you work for me, and even then, it's extremely rare." The mellow baritone again.
"Because everyone knows that there are a few organizations your agents can barely infiltrate, thus getting very little intel. Sure, you do have some idea and insight into the STG, Blackwatch, or the N7s, but those are sporadic, one-off instances." He held up his omnitool, information scrolling over it. "I have quite a few classified N7 Delta files on me - agent roster, documented abilities, profiles, the works. Dossiers on past members and affiliates. The unfiltered, full accounts from Irem and Leng."
"The full truth?" The Broker was suppressing laughter, Henry was sure of it. "My dear Lawson, you cannot even begin to comprehend the scope of that inane statement." A chuckle. "And in return, you want my cooperation, as well as see my face, am I correct?" The human ground his teeth at the smile in the Broker's voice. "And do not bother trying to track my location. Your program is quite an inspired piece of coding, but far from perfect."
Lawson's eyes glowed with rage, his maw yawned open to deliver a scathing remark, but the other preempted him.
"If it's that important for you to possess the illusion of having spoken face to face with the Shadow Broker, I suppose I can make an exception."
The comm panel flickered, and the Broker's image sprung into existence. The being that was once Henry Lawson before its ascension reeled back with a muffled cry, as the kaleidoscopic torrent of visages flashed before him, his conscious mind only able to pick up disjointed fragments and images. A well-built human male with dark skin and regal bearing. An immense, horned alien with a triple maw, wearing an immaculate suit. A vicious storm lashing the countryside. A slender female, her features obscured by a fan. A pale man in faded jeans and cowboy boots with a denim jacket. A black-skinned horn player. A black void lit by a three-lobed burning eye. And more. So many more. Dozens. Hundreds.
Lawson fell to his knees, and vomited.