Retrieval teams like Jawa were expected to venture out into the wider Galaxy. We had a number of contingency plans in place for things like being arrested by foreign governments, or attacked by pirates or slavers. Generally, those plans began with sending a general distress with a code designator on a particular frequency, then surviving long enough for a Ghost Team to extract us. Juan sent that Mayday from the Pirate Frigate, which we were no longer on, from the system we had been attacked in, which we were no longer in.

I assumed 'we', since the crew of the Turian Frigate had held us in separate cells throughout the trip. That more than anything, unnerved me. My prior life in the military gave me a rudimentary understanding of the intelligence process, and my limited training with the GST provided some measure of understanding the Sapient-Intelligence, or SapInt portion of intelligence gathering, so I knew this was an intentional ploy.

It didn't make it any less concerning as in this life, I actually had meaningful intelligence secrets. Not, 'the access codes to invade Earth' or, 'the secret lover of the Prime Minister of the SA Parliament' or any such nonsense. I knew the only real intelligence worth knowing: names. I knew the points of contact in any of a dozen settled starsystems that could be trusted to or were outright employed to feed the GST actionable intelligence. I knew several Ghost Team members on a first name basis, and that was the kind of intelligence that could topple governments.

Maybe the Turians sensed that, or maybe they were just generally suspicious until proven wrong. Whatever the reason they were treating us as criminals under suspicion, and that made me suspicious. Whatever the reason for our treatment, there wasn't much we could do beyond cooperate in as limited a fashion as we were allowed, and hope someone would come for us before the Turians decided to break out the Thumb-screws.

I was startled out of my ruminations when my cell door buzzed. I stood up from my thoroughly Turian cot with my hands open at my sides. The hatch slid open to reveal Lt. 'Grumpus' and a pair of armed Crewmembers. I was reminded of the Turian pacification units whose name sounded suspiciously like 'Hashishim'.

"Follow me." I had already learned that, outside of the designated interview room, Grumpus was not prone to chatting, so I didn't bother with any attempts at small talk. I was led through the ship, down to a hangar bay where a Hyrax shuttle waited for us. Only Grumpus and I boarded. The rest of the Marvin's crew were still nowhere to be seen, and suspicion turned to genuine concern bordering on anger.

"Okay, what the hell's going on? Since when does the Hierarchy military treat survivors of Pirate attacks like the enemy; especially when those survivors are from an allied government and have committed no crimes?"

The shuttle lifted off and drifted out into the middle of a great purple nebula; one containing a very familiar station. I'll admit I was awestruck; years into this life, and I was still amazed at the beauty of the universe I now lived in.

Grumpus snorted from the pilot's station. "And here I thought you were only capable of snark and disdain." I glanced over at the almost personable comment, thoroughly distrustful of the sudden camaraderie. "To answer your question, since ships started disappearing in that jump route with no evidence of what was the cause except the occasional SOS.

"Until you and your 'Marvin' not only survived, but stopped the pirates cold with nothing but an unarmed transport, a Suit-Rat-Rigged melee weapon, and whatever you could scrounge from your would-be captors."

When he put it like that, we did come off as more than a little suspicious.

"Now I'm not accusing you of collusion; I'm an old talon at pirate hunting, so I know the type. You and yours aren't pirates or slavers. But if you are just Star-Traders, then I'll hot-box a Volus." I had to choke back a laugh at the image that comment evoked and focused instead on the growing station.

"You four know something, and I will find out what."

He swooped in for a graceful dynamic landing that would have had Frans crying in envy. Our Bro's handling of the 'Tydirium' on Haleguese was amateurish by comparison.

That thought brought me crashing back to the here and now. People had died on this station; Ghosts had died here, as if the first time wasn't enough. Some had been brutalized, including Leo from GT Foxhound. Phoenix had died here. All at the sadistic hands of Ehyan Allah, the group we had been tracking when we stumbled on their Bird of Prey.

But instead of getting back in the saddle and tracking those deranged monsters down, I was stuck on the Citadel because this Pangolin-scaled Prick had an itch in his cloaca and wanted an answer.

I never looked at him, but he nevertheless picked up on my sudden change. He was out of his seat and in the back of the passenger compartment in a flash, talon resting meaningfully on his sidearm. The look on his face seemed mildly impressed for some reason.

"I suppose there is something more to you than I thought." He jerked his head towards the hatch.

I imagine he was as eager to deal with what was happening to his galaxy. Maybe it was just as personal as it was for me. It didn't really matter though, as I had my orders and I now knew where I was. Even after the EA attack, there was a GST presence on the Citadel. Just by being taken here, our likelihood of being exfil'ed shot up significantly. I schooled my features, and headed out the airlock and into the waiting talons of C-sec.

Though I'm a fan of the story of Mass Effect, I hadn't ever played the game. I had no idea where on the station I was except that it was one of the C-Sec station houses. I was processed, had my credentials entered (which, once filed, would immediately set off signals throughout the GST Case Officer network) had my holograph taken, and was promptly plopped back in a cell. Never once was a charge filed against me. While I knew it wouldn't be because I was some 'great and worthy hero of the cause', the political shitstorm Gurmpus had set in motion to get his information brought a small smile to my face as my cell door closed.

Two hours later, the cell opened again and a new pair of officers silently escorted me to an interview room. I was chained to the table while sitting in yet another uncomfortable Turian chair. I waited another half hour until my interviewer arrived. He was preceded by a wave of rancid beer and cheap cologne, and the human himself was a singularly unimpressive example; gangly, balding but trying to compensate with a bad combover, and all but oozing that special seventies sleeze that only career criminals and dirty cops seemed to master. He was wearing the long-tailed double breasted peacoat of the IAA, an Alliance Intelligence service Schultz had sent a security brief on to all deployed personnel. This one's name danced just out of reach though.

"Well aren't you just a precious little punk." His voice was a grating and nasal as the rest of his presence. He chuckled as he sat down across from me; maybe he thought it was menacing, but it just made me feel dirty. "You have no idea how much trouble you're in do you?"

"None."

He sneered at that. "Well let me explain-"

His name finally came to me, from an after action report by Nomad no less. "I meant I'm not in any trouble, or danger; least of all from you, as long as nobody lights a match near you anyway."

He leapt out of his seat and grabbed me by the front of my jumpsuit. "Fucking punk! You think this is funny?" Beer and liquor laden spittle rained across my face.

"No, but you are." I spat some of the spittle off of my lips. "You're Silas Goodman; one of Harkin's IAA flunkies. I'd heard that C-Sec was strapped for personnel, but I never thought Palin and Bailey would reinstate an alcoholic like you." He looked ready to hit me, so I went for the proverbial jugular. "How did you survive Chora's Den anyway?"

His eyes widened in shock as he pushed me back into my seat. We Travelers had promised not to reveal any potential future events, but this one had already happened... even if there was no way some random freighter crewman like myself could know.

"Did you hide behind some sturdy piece of furniture or under a corpse? Or is it like one of those high-speed accidents, where the drunk is the only one who survives because they are completely boneless?" His eyes frantically switched back and forth as if looking for any witnesses or a way out.

I crossed my hands on the table and leaned back. "Let's face it, Sly; you're here to play bad cop foil to whoever is going to walk through that door next."

I nodded at the only door in the room without taking my eyes off of Goodman. I just managed to hide my shock as next second, the door opened. Goodman was unable to hide his surprise as a Salarian with shorter than average horns in a business suit stepped in. He looked teasingly familiar. I really needed to get a hold of an atlas of 'Who's Who' in the galaxy.

Goodman stood to say something when the Salarian tossed a credit chit at him and shot him a disdainful look. "Get out."

Once Goodman was banished from the room, the Salarian settled into his vacant seat. We eyed each other over the table. His calculating gaze and my frustrated one dueled over the intervening space.

I didn't think of the 'game' as one either of us were actually playing at, so I forfeited in order to get answers. "I don't know you, but I think that I should."

That got me a head tilt. "Interesting; most humans and batarians play at a visual dominance game in this situation."

I shrugged. "It's been a long day, and I'm too tired for games at the moment." If he was willing to speak that candidly about past interrogations, then that was a start.

He squinted and leaned forward. "You owe me a starship."

His horns vibrated, accentuating their injury; an injury that looked suspiciously like frostbite recovery. Memories of a frozen world, and a picture on a contract came back to me.

I raised my eyes and smiled. "I don't see how I could owe you a starship. I mean, the only three ships I've ever been responsible for taking from someone in any way," I leveled a glare on the STG agent in front of me, "were all engaged in open piracy against me. As I doubt you were on either of the two from yesterday, then you would have to have been on the ship in THX-1138; the one lurking near a bait lure in orbit of a gas giant." His eyes hardened in turn. "The one that demanded we prepare to be boarded or face lethal force without ever identifying themselves. Are you admitting that was you, Captain Varn?"

His look shifted from a glare to a neutral expression. I hoped that meant he was considering his options and not going to try anything overt. "Neither that Frigate, nor that operation were under my command. They would not have ended so poorly otherwise." I snorted at the ego, though I was happy that I wasn't having another brain-fart about the names of important figures in the galaxy. "The ship you owe me is the one you used in a raid later that year."

"I used?" I chuckled while keeping my eyes fixed on his. "I think you'll find that any raids in recent history that would be of note were carried out by the 'Revolutionary Daughters of Selene'."

We seemed to reach a sort of detente at our twin 'not-admissions'. I didn't want detente: I wanted freedom for myself and the rest of the crew.

I relaxed my shoulders and smiled slightly, which caused him to tense up. "We seem to be at an impasse, though that is only personal between us. My actions may reflect horrifically against myself, and will likely draw the personal ire of the Council; but yours? An active member of the Military Intelligence service of one of the founding members of the Citadel Accords engaged in open piracy against a legitimate salvage operation? That doesn't look good for the Union. That's not lost prestige, that's every species questioning the legitimacy of the Citadel Council as a governing body."

His horns vibrated again. "Perhaps. Not my concern. My concern is what has been happening on the border of Alliance and Batarian space. My concern is what troubles of yours," he pointed at me, "are spilling out into the wider galaxy."

He relaxed and leaned back. "Though I will admit, that first mission was handled poorly. It was a black mark on my record, and the subsequent 'Wild-Goon Chase' after the Geth was entirely my doing."

I wanted to laugh at his strangely appropriate malapropism, but his candor opened a door for me. "Perhaps I can offer you a trade in information? Something I'm certain you have no leads on." If I could buy time, the GST would get to work on our freedom, but only if the business with Councilor Tevos' dirty secrets didn't get out before command was ready for, 'the Big Reveal'.

He glared at me. "But not on whatever this shadow war your people are fighting in our streets, I'm guessing?"

I shook my head. "No, something much more personal: the name and last known location of the individual the Blood Pack were supposed to deliver your head to." His glare evaporated in shock, and I nodded. "They had a contract with your face and directions to bring back your head to receive payment."

Varn's look became much more calculating. "Your price?"

"We each abandon our respective feuds with each other." I waved a still restrained hand. "I don't expect you to smooth things over with the Council, just stop looking for us."

His lip curled for a moment, then his face went placid again. "Done."

I looked at him, and saw what I hoped was sincerity. "His name is Drisk, and at the time we were all on that ice moon together, he was working at or frequenting the Starburst Lounge in Saefos Valley, Illium."

Lt. Grathus stalked through the halls of the Zakera Ward C-Sec command center. It wasn't that he was particularly angry, it was just how he moved when he wanted to remind people of who he was. Among the Turian people, only the Specter Corps warranted more respect; and after Saren's outing as a traitor, colluding with a terrorist organization that had attacked the Citadel itself, the Corps' reputation was no longer as absolute. That left the Black Watch as the most revered and respected military specialist unit in the Galaxy.

Which led to where he was now; stalking through the halls of the C-Sec station house. He'd long since dropped the recovered disc with an agent in the STG who owed him a favor, then he'd toured the presidium for a few hours to allow the human-heavy precinct to 'do-its-worst'. Maybe you really did need a human to shake up a human. He'd see when he got to the holding center.

He arrived at the processing officer's desk, said officer sufficiently awed by his command presence. "I'm here for the Human."

The intake officer blinked myopically as her mandibles fluttered in indecision. "Um... which human sir?"

It was his turn to blink. "I wasn't aware there was a selection to choose from?"

"To be fair sir, unless you said, 'I'm here for the Drell,' I'd still need you to be at least a little more specific. Perhaps a name?"

Grathus nodded in understanding; this was a police holding area in the ward with the most diverse population. "Yes. Lt Ailun Grathus."

She blinked again without typing. "I meant the detainee, sir."

All of his scales fluttered in embarrassment. This is why I'm staying career. He cleared his throat. "Hiram Abiff."

She looked at him like he'd been taken in a street game, but typed in the name. Her own crest fluttered as an entry came up. "Ah, here he is. Detective-Agent Goodman transferred him to..." She squinted at the holo-display for a moment, then typed in a few more queries. Her mandibles worked nervously for a moment before she looked back up at Grathus. "Could you take a seat over there for a moment sir?"

Puzzled but respectful of her position, Grathus went over to the bar-seats she'd pointed to and perched patiently. He heard her speak fast and low for a few minutes. Soon after, a grizzled human in the C-Sec uniform walked in.

The man extended his talonless hand out in the Human manner. "You Lt. Grathus?"

"Yes. You must be Detective Goodman." Between the suddenly iron grip on his talons and the flinch from the intake officer, he knew he'd made a grave error.

"I'm going to assume you are very new to the Zakera Ward and let that pass." The human settled into an almost inspection perfect parade rest. "I'm Lt. Bailey. I'm the duty officer for this precinct. What can the C-Sec do for you this evening?"

The sudden formality told Grathus that he'd likely need to burn at least one more favor to smooth things over tonight. "I'm with the Patrol Frigate Bright Talon. We...temporarily transferred an individual into your holding about four hours ago. A human named Hiram Abiff. Apparently this, 'Goodman' moved him somewhere. I need Mr. Abiff back."

Bailey frowned, or scowled, or had very bad gas; human expressions were so hard to read without frills and mandibles to read. "Goodman signed out sick an hour and a half ago."

Grathus went rigid while his mandibles buzzed against his jaw. As insufferable as Hiram had been, he had been right about his status as a survivor, not a suspect. If a human star-trader went missing after being unlawfully detained, heads would roll; starting with his.

"Is Mr. Abiff still on premises?"

Bailey looked questioningly at the intake officer who shrugged helplessly. "According to this, he should still be in Interview Three; but Sirs, Sgt. Lithian brought in a Volus on trafficking charges thirty minutes ago and he's also listed as being in Interview Three."

Grathus heard Lt. Bailey make a noise he generally only heard from people who had just been hit in the throat. He stabbed his Omnitool on. "Sgt. L'Dasha, I need a location on Agent Goodman; Now!"

Yessir; I'll have datacenter check his usual dives. There was a short break while everyone seemed to be lost in thought about this spectacular fuck-up. How does one human cause so many problems just by existing?

Bailey's Omni chirped. Got him, sir. He's at 'Muratho's Showroom.

Bailey growled openly. "What did you do, you sleazy sonofabitch?" He noticed Grathus tense up. "Not you. Muratho's is way outside of his pay grade. This smells of serious kickbacks. You want to come and ask your questions before I cut his Achilles Tendons and drop him in a pit of starving pyjacs?"

The Lieutenants made their way to the vehicle bay and took an unmarked aircar to the establishment in question. Grathus had assumed that Muratho's was a brothel, and he was proven right when they stalked through the doors. A mix of species were both in attendance and on display; all in varying states of undress.

A portly Batarian rushed up to Bailey. "Hey now, officers! To what do I owe this sudden and very visible visit?" There was a borderline threat tinged with fear in the owner's voice.

Bailey huffed while looking around. "Relax Ondrau; I'm here for one of mine, not yours."

The rotund pimp sagged slightly in relief. "Oh, him. He's out back in 'private showroom' three. I don't care what you do as long as you leave the girl and the furniture alone."

They made their way back to a series of small private studios, and Lt. Bailey threw open door number three. "Goodman!"

The balding human jumped out of the recliner, launching a nearly naked Asari onto the floor. "Lt! I was-"

"Sick; I saw the duty log." Bailey looked at the maiden. "You paid by event or time?"

"T-time?" She shivered, covering herself in a very unAsari manner.

"Then take the rest of yours and get a sandwich." She scurried past the two officers and shut the door to the sound-proofed room behind her, leaving Goodman alone with his pants around his ankles. "You are sick, Goodman; and you make me sick too. There's a quick cure for that, but first I'll want to know where Abiff is."

"A-Abiff, sir?"

Grathus was on him in a flash, pinning him down to the chair. "Hiram Abiff, you waste! The human you had taken to be interviewed!"

"Hey-hey-hey!" Bailey stepped up, and Goodman breathed a sigh of relief. "You heard the owner; mind the furniture."

Grathus looked oddly at Bailey. "Shouldn't you be trying to restrain me; Isn't he one of yours?"

Bailey scoffed. "What, Silas here? He's a treaty booby-prize foisted on me by the IAA. You can do what you want with him, just don't mess things up with the local businesses."

Ailun chuckled. "Silly me; you're quite right." He hoisted the now soiled human out of the chair and slammed him against a wall. "Now where was I? Oh yes: Hiram Abiff." The turian stretched his limbs to his full two and a quarter meter height, dragging Goodman up the wall as he did.

Goodman's feet dangled off the floor as he desperately grasped the Turians arm. "The Salarian! The Salarian took him!"

Bailey slammed a hand on the wall next to Goodman's head. "Which Salarian, you stain?! I don't have-"

"Did he have short, scarred horns?" Grathus' voice was soft and very dangerous.

Goodman nodded frantically. "Yeah! I know a killer when I see one. He came in a couple of minutes after I started to interview your man." He curled slightly at the twin glares. "He tossed a credit chit at me and told me to get lost, so I did-oof!"

Grathus dropped Goodman to the floor and stared blankly at the wall. "Lt, I owe you a debt and an apology for getting you caught up in this." He turned stiffly towards the door and glanced at Bailey. "If anyone comes asking about Abiff, direct them to me through the 'Bright Talon' Ops Officer."

Ailun Grathus stalked out to the taxi lot. He wanted to be left alone with his thought for the moment; He had only dropped the disk off with Saelen Varn at the STG monitoring station three hours ago, and never told him what it was about; so why come down in person and take the human away? What was so special about this human that a career STG operative would snatch him out of the C-Sec so brazenly?

He climbed into a recently parked cab. "Presidium, Aranj two. Now." He dropped a chit into the Volus' lap. The Aircar took off like a shot.

He stepped out onto the curb in front of an unassuming residence and walked in. He looked over at the clerk at the greeting-desk. "Where's Varn?"

The young technician blinked for a moment at the Turian who had now called on one of the senior staff twice today. "Capt. Varn finished analyzing the disk you gave us, then put in for a week's leave."

Ailun's mind was going a kilometer a second; whatever was on that disk set Varn on Hiram's trail, specifically. He needed to see what it was that Varn had seen. "Show me the finished analysis."

He was led to a back room where a holographic monitor displayed the contents of the disk. On a chance, he skipped to the last few entries, and was rewarded with a video log of the last battle of the Frigate 'Broken Pillar'. It was very edifying: two frigates had been lurking in the system, apparently testing some new disruptor torpedo, and jumped a strange modular ship. That ship's nose was the tapered canister they had found floating near the Batarian ship, so he assumed it was 'The Marvin' which Hiram served on. That ship wasted no time in trying to flee, though the way it maneuvered suggested they were more concerned with the strange discus ship flying with the Broken Pillar.

He was genuinely impressed when the Marvin made an in-situ modification to their Star-Drive and lanced the Discus with what he guessed was an Ionizing Laser. It didn't save them from the new torpedo which seemed to shut them down just as the Pillar's Captain fired on them in a panic. He continued watching as the Pillar docked and sent over boarders. Less than two minutes later the hull of the marvin burst, spitting out a Turian and a very familiar space-suited figure. The Marvin's forward model detached and drifted out of sight, and then the log cut as a bright flash originated from the stricken freighter's aft.

"Very clever." Grathus frowned at the frozen image on the log. He could see the elements of truth Hiram and the rest of that crew had used to shore up their lie. Which begged the triple questions: who were the Marvin's crew really, what was their history with Capt. Varn, and where had he taken Hiram?