Notes:

CGC - Center for Galactic Cooperation

CO - Commanding Officer

FTL - Faster Than Light travel

Grá mo chroí - love of my heart (Gaelic)

QEC - Quantum Entanglement Communicator

Siame - "one who is all", a loved one cherished above all others (Thessian/Source: CDN)

SpecOps - Special Operations

To Catch a Killer

Knight Shade, at Large – 28 Sep 2188

As the Spectre team made their way back to the docks with Councilor Osoba, Samantha Traynor was monitoring the Alliance Security band and had been calling out updates, so those aboard were already aware that Hackett and Trost had both died and that Trost's Deputy, Malcolm Leiker, had been automatically elevated to the position of Prime Minister. Ambassador Hoffman had miraculously squeaked through uninjured, compliments of Zoë Lawrence and Atlas, so Jatok and Team 2 had made their rendezvous and were now headed toward the docks, their destination being the Council Shuttle.

The entire facility had been placed in secure lockdown within seconds of the shot that had nearly killed Councilor Osoba; none of the guests remaining inside the exclusion zone around the building would be going home until each and every person in attendance was vetted… one at a time and with extreme care and attention to detail.

"Jatok. Please let me know as soon as all of you are safely aboard."

"Got it, T'Soni. Just entering the docking area now. Be there in under three."

"Jiris is inbound, Liara." Traynor glanced up from the display and noted an unusual tenseness in the Asari's usually graceful form; the Shadow Broker was upset… angry, even. Haven't seen that since… Hell! A really long time… Since the end of the damned Victory Tour. "The captain will be fine, Liara."

Steely blue eyes darted over to meet hers, and Traynor felt a shiver run down her spine as the icy stare lanced into her very soul. Liara noticed Samantha's posture stiffen in response; quickly dropping her gaze to the deck, she drew in a deep, calming breath. Forcing herself to smile slightly softened her facial expression as she looked at the specialist again and said, "She will be… but I can tell she's injured. Thank you, though, for the reassurance."

At Liara's words, Traynor's eyebrows rose; she opened her comm relay and spoke hastily, "Dr Yandle. Report to the docking bay, please… Shepard's coming in injured. Ambulatory, but details unknown."

"Understood. I'll be waiting."

Liara gave her a grateful look before facing forward once more. "Lusmeni… You have the Bridge. I want us in the air and enroute to Palaven as soon as the hangar bay is secure."

The Bridge Operations Officer looked at the XO. "Jatok and I have this, Liara. Go find Shepard."

Offering nothing more than a quick nod of thanks – her throat feeling as if it was going to close and steal the very breath necessary for words – Liara turned and left the Bridge, heading toward the Med Bay to find Shepard, who was undoubtedly already on her way there.

She felt the shift in gravity under her feet as she approached the Med Bay entrance; the ship had lifted off and was transitioning from straight and level flight over the Pacific Ocean to a high-speed, vertical ascent. In the space of a few minutes, they would be headed for the Charon relay in the relative safety of FTL travel. She noticed Councilor Osoba hovering near the outer hatch as he turned to her and observed, "Doctor Yandle isn't letting anyone in while he treats Shepard."

Liara simply raised a brow marking and responded coolly, "He's not letting you in while he treats the Captain," as she waived her omnitool through the edges of the haptic interface; the translucent red immediately turned green and the door noiselessly slid open. As the Asari disappeared inside, the door slid closed behind her and the lock shifted quickly back to red, leaving the humbled Osoba staring at the door in bewilderment.

"Hey Blue." Shepard winced as Derek withdrew another sliver of metal from the back of her head. She was sitting on the table in only her underwear; her armor and mesh having been hastily removed and piled to the side. She held her right hand out, steering Liara to her uninjured side. "I'm glad Aethyta thought to put our spare sets of armor aboard. My backplate shield generator and bio-computer are pretty screwed up… maybe beyond repair."

"So is the back of your head, Shepard," Yandle grumped. "Though, unlike your armor, your skull is definitely fixable… and your hair will eventually grow back and hide any scarring. Still, you are very fortunate that shooter was a significant distance above and behind you; the distance and downward angle saved the back of your head from being completely shredded by these little buggers."

Liara's face held a worried, sorrowful expression as she held Shepard's hand and noted the matted blood in Samantha's hair – at least, the portions Dr Yandle hadn't trimmed close to her scalp – as well as the oozing trails of a multitude of wounds on the back of her left shoulder and upper arm. "Your armor can be replaced, Siame… You cannot." Her eyes narrowed in concern as she watched Derek extract a shiny sliver of golden metal from Shepard's scalp.

Yandle held up the forceps so Liara could get a good look at the offending slip of alloy as he said, "She only took one shot, but that single casing held many, many of these… I have no idea of the total quantity, but the firing angle meant that the majority of its energy was directed downward. If this had hit Osoba, unarmored, these things would have shredded every damned organ in the man's torso."

"What, exactly, is Shepard's condition?" Now that Liara had time to take in the view before her and realize that Samantha truly would be fine, her curiosity got the better of her. "And why have you not applied medigel, or anything to stop the bleeding on her arm?" Liara's eyes met those of the doctor as she explained, "I am not questioning your treatment choices, I am simply curious as to the reason."

He smiled at the Asari and replied, "Because that arm is riddled with slivers just like the one I showed you. Any form of bandage would simply shove them in deeper… and medigel would seal them in, either option making extraction all that much more difficult."

"Nice try at a distraction, Liara, but I can sense you're blocking the link, which tells me you know something very bad has happened… something you don't care to share with me just yet." Shepard sighed, "I imagine Trost is dead… and I suspect poison, from the way he looked when we last saw him." Her green eyes caught stormy blues, awash in extra liquid as she unblocked their link; the knowledge of Hackett's murder roared through, hitting her siame like a charging Yahg. Reacting with an involuntarily jerk of her head, she howled in pain as the sudden movement buried the sharpened tips of Dr Yandle's extraction tool in her scalp.

"God damn it! Hold your head still, Shepard!" Derek swore as he quickly glared at Liara. "I'd ask you to leave, Dr T'Soni, but you and your damned link aren't cut off by simple physical separation. What in Hell was that all about?"

Shepard answered for Liara, her quiet voice filled with the agonizing pain of loss… over the senseless murder of the man who had led the Alliance through the worst conflict in the history of Humankind. "Steven Hackett is dead… Shot point blank by one of his own damned Marines."

"Well, shit!" Derek's hands fell away as he looked up to meet Liara's eyes, full of tears that overflowed and streamed down her face. "Devastating news of that sort is kind of important to know. I'm sorry I yelled… but perhaps, if you ever again have to share similarly bad news, please… ask me to stop what I'm doing first so I don't further aggravate Shepard's injuries. I just impaled the back of her head with these forceps." He let out a deep sigh and dropped the tool into the sterilization tray; picking up a fresh one, he resumed his work. "So… both Trost and Hackett are dead, with Hoffman and Osoba on their way to Palaven? What in Hell are we doing? Even if they come to an agreement on the Treaty, who's left to approve it?"

Liara bruskly wiped away her tears and answered, "The Deputy, Malcolm Leiker, was automatically appointed as the interim Prime Minister upon confirmation of Reuben's death. He has already contacted us with instructions to proceed, stating he refuses to let terrorists dictate Systems Alliance policy."

"Damn straight." Derek continued working, dropping the second pair of forceps into the tray and picking up a stitching wand. "That's it for your head, Captain. Let's get this closed up so I can start on your arm. Seeing as it's the back of your arm and shoulder, I'll have you lay face down on the table; it will be easier and faster that way.

Once Derek was done with the stitcher, Shepard slid off the table and reached out with her good hand, caressing Liara's cheek in a futile attempt to wipe away the streaks left behind by the Asari's tears. Liara could tell Samantha was furious and the dichotomy that was Shepard amazed her yet again; the Spectre was undeniably angry about what had happened yet, somehow, she still managed the tenderest of strokes across Liara's cheek as she said, "We'll avenge him, Liara." Continuing to growl softly, she added, "I swear to you that every last one of the bastards having anything to do with this fucking conspiracy will be brought to justice… but, right now, I need a huge favor from you."

Liara could sense that Sam was devastated, both in heart and soul, by the death of yet another adopted father figure. In spite of their differences and prior occasional conflicts, Shepard had still very much trusted and respected Admiral Hackett. To have him ripped away by someone who was supposed to be one of their own was the ultimate betrayal. As always, Liara would do whatever her bondmate asked of her, if it would help ease her pain. "Anything, Siame."

"I imagine today's events are all over the news, but I don't know how they're spinning it, so I need you to get on the QEC and call my mother as soon as we drop out of FTL at the relay… which should be relatively soon." Samantha sighed sadly. "I need Mom to know what really happened… that we're okay, on our way to Palaven, and that we'll be there soon so she can see us in person and know we're not lying to her in an attempt to spare her any further anguish."

Liara leaned forward and kissed Shepard very gently on the lips before carefully touching their foreheads together. "As you wish, Sam. Please join me on the Bridge when you're done here… Not only will your mother be concerned; the crew needs to see that you are alright as well."

"I'll do that… As soon as I take a shower and get into my spare armor." They separated, and Shepard smiled softly. "Thank you, and I'll be up there as soon as I can, Grá mo chroí."

Alliance Military Headquarters, Vancouver B.C., Earth – 28 Sep 2188

Groaning from the intense pain like a mortally wounded animal, Zoë was attempting to look around when a gentle hand cupped her cheek. "Ma'am?" A man's voice, seemingly calm but authoritative, momentarily brought her back to the here and now. "Miss?" The voice was insistent, forcing Zoë to focus her attention on the concerned face hovering above her own. Blue eyes so pale they looked nearly white gazed down at her.

The Alliance sergeant that had been part of Hoffman's escort detail kneeled beside her as a young woman, a Marine corporal that had probably been in the audience, carefully cut and peeled away the fabric of Zoë's under-armor mesh between her left hipbone and the bottom of her ribcage. "Ma'am!" Using a loud voice, the sergeant said, "Stay with me, Ma'am! You cannot go to sleep just yet!" This last was said with a grim smile, as the corporal on the other side of Zoë's prone body attempted to work some medigel into the long, bloody wound in her side.

Looking up and around, the young Marine asked in a loud voice, "Does anyone know who this woman is? Anyone!?" Turning her eyes to the sergeant, she said softly, "She's likely bleeding internally; extracting this knife would probably make things worse. Do you know who she is?"

Tim Stafford came trotting up to the group, followed closely by a quartet of base MPs; a pair of med techs carrying a hover-litter were following several meters behind. Addressing the pair of Marines kneeling beside Zoë, Tim told the corporal, "Her name is Zoë Lawrence. How bad…"

The sergeant immediately looked back at Zoë, saying, "Hang in there, Ms Lawrence… we're going to get you to the base hospital." Setting the litter down beside her, the techs carefully placed the bleeding woman on the stretcher, activated its mini-mass effect generator and – followed by two of the four MPs – carried her away for treatment. The corporal that had helped Zoë laid a blood covered hand on Tim's upper arm as he started to follow the litter bearing his friend. "Hold up there, Sir. As it appears you know Ms Lawrence, these MPs are going to need some information from you." Splitting her attention between the sergeant and Tim, she said in a reassuring tone, "I will follow Ms Lawrence into the infirmary, make sure she gets priority treatment."

The sergeant nodded to the corporal; after visually confirming that Hoffman, still accompanied by his second Marine guard, was moving towards the designated exit for evac, he returned his attention to Tim. Sticking out his hand, he said, "Sergeant Vassili Maddix, Sir. Do you work with… you said her name was Zoë?"

"That's correct, Sergeant… Zoë Lawrence. Is she going to be alright?"

"Don't know, Mr…?"

"Tim Stafford. Zoë is… a colleague."

"Looked like she knew how to handle herself." Maddix was interrupted by one of the two MPs crouching beside the would-be assassin; he asked Tim, "Excuse me for a moment?" After a nod from Stafford, Maddix turned to the MP, saying, "Corporal?"

The MP had finally found and disabled the cloaking generator, allowing the form of the would-be assassin, sprawled in the grass in the center aisle between chairs, to become visible. "You ever see this guy before, Sarge? He seemed Hell-bent on killing Ambassador Hoffman."

The form that had emerged from the light-bending effects of the cloaking generator was a slim man, with the wiry build of a long-distance runner. There was a bit of blood matted in the hair at the back of his head, no doubt where Sergeant Maddix had blindly kicked him; moreover, his labored, exhaled groans of pain were accompanied be a whistling confirmation that his larynx had been partially crushed.

With the assassin's cloaking shield disabled, Tim's eyes had widened in recognition. Speaking softly into the near silence, he said, "Sergeant, I know that man." Surprised, Maddix looked around at Tim as he continued, "Frédéric Klein… formerly employed by Cerberus as a skilled assassin… as a blade specialist."

Maddix turned back to the MPs. "Not trying to tell you how to do your job, Sergeant, but it would probably be a good idea to look for another blade. I seriously doubt the knife he left stuck in Ms Lawrence was the only one in his possession. Once the doctors have dealt with his injuries, make sure he's kept in a high-security area. Brass will want to know who sent 'im."

As the MP pulled the lanky man's arms together behind his back and clamped a pair of binders on his wrists. Maddix turned back to Tim. "I'm not going to ask how you know this bastard's identity, Mr Stafford. As for Ms Lawrence, this base has top-flight physicians. I'm sure your friend will receive the best of care. Now, if you will wait here, I believe these MPs will wish to have a word or two with you."

Before Maddix could leave, Tim stepped up beside him and said, "Sergeant Maddix? I actually need you to relay some information for me." In a quiet voice, Tim added, "Since I do not have my omnitool, I would appreciate it if you would contact Spectre Samantha Shepard for me.

"And why would I want to do that, Mr Stafford?"

"It appears that my escort…" he motioned to the MPs behind him, "… will not be allowing me to leave the premises. Spectre Shepard spoke with Zoë and me during the tour last week; she sanctioned our presence here for today's dedication. Notwithstanding the able protection offered by you and your partner, Zoë Lawrence put her life on the line to keep Frédéric Klein from pushing 19 centimeters of stainless steel into the ambassador's chest." Tim paused; continuing with a grim smile, he added, "That knife he left in her side was meant to end Hoffman."

"We have to accompany the ambassador back to Palaven, Mr Stafford, so I will personally deliver your message to the Spectre as soon as I see her there."

"Thank you, Sergeant." Tim watched as Maddix turned and began jogging towards the gate in order to catch up with Hoffman and the corporal. With a sigh, he turned towards the MPs standing silently behind him.

Vancouver, B.C., Earth, At Large – 28 Sep 2188

"NorthAm Bank. Disturbance on the southeast corner!"

Sharon heard the call from one of her agents stationed outside the perimeter. "Scanner picking anything up?"

"No, Ma'am… but passive detection has identified a moving void, headed south-by-southeast in a straight line. I'm running the glideslope now… I'll have an approximate landing area in a sec."

"You heard the man." Sharon's lips curled into a snarl. "Start moving to box the southeast quadrant… I want that asshole caught!" Even with the lack of responses, Sharon knew her teams were on the move. She could only wait and hope they didn't arrive too late.

"Vancouver General!"

Shit! Sharon thought about the level of traffic in and around the major hospital on any given day. "Hustle it up, people! If he touches down and gets on public transportation, we may never find him again!"

A chuckle was present in the voice that came back. "No worries there, Colonel. I have active facial recognition tied into the system. That's the best thing he could do for us, because I can track him the entire time until he departs the system."

Ladner, B.C., Earth – 29 Sep 2188

After taking extreme care while making his way from the hospital to the old, forgotten safehouse in eastern Ladner, the subject of Sharon Culver's search slammed the outer sides of his tightly-clenched fists down on either side of the haptic interface before him. His efforts to bring his frustration under control were in vain; after making all the plans, doing all the work of getting himself and his massive weapon into an optimal firing position, taking the shot and making good on his escape, Douglas Walker realized that Saracino had reneged on paying his completion fee… because the man he had really wanted dead hadn't died… hadn't even been scratched.

The 'shadow' Walker thought he had glimpsed in his scope, just before releasing the weapon to deal with the security forces coming out of the offices, turned out to be bloody-fucking-savior-of-the-galaxy's-aliens Spectre Shepard; somehow, the squid-fucker had managed to place her armored back in the path of Osoba's bullet an instant before it arrived on target. Denied the now obvious necessity of a follow-on shot by the arrival of the armed security team, Walker had been forced to abandon his rifle and shooting position in order to deal with their interference, so he could take flight – literally. Wearing a customized wingsuit had allowed him to depart the building in a way very different from how he had so painstakingly arrived. Should have stayed and killed them all… just because. Couldn't have turned out much worse than this… and I'd still have at least some of my equipment!

Although the continuously changing news releases held few details concerning the attempts… and two deaths… at the dedication, Walker knew one thing for certain; his customized M-98 was now just another piece of evidence, along with all the gear he had left behind in the storage compartment near the terrace. It was quite likely the weapon was now secure in some storage locker inside the Alliance's Vancouver headquarters building. Fortunately, there was nothing in or on the weapon that could tie it to him… nor on any of the other equipment and trash he had left behind… but replacing all the gear – particularly his massive rifle – would cost him dearly.

The only thing left for him to do at the moment was to shelter the creds he had been paid; he needed to scatter those funds among his rather numerous secure accounts. Logging into his job account as 'Wintergreen, Damien', he filed three transfer requests, each for fifteen percent of his payment, before converting another ten percent directly to credit chits. He would have converted more, but the safehouse only had so many blanks available, and denominations that were too large would draw unwanted attention that he could ill afford when he went to use them. After allowing a few days to pass, he would transfer the balance to his other accounts. Have to move those creds someplace else before the miserable bastard reverses the damned transfer… assuming the fucker isn't already working to do just that! Shit! Of all the miserable bad luck, this tops everything!

Once again having credits in his pocket, Walker relaxed just a bit as he sat back and thought about what came next. His first stop had to be the Vancouver Landfill; the safehouse had an evacuation plan that held the access codes for a small personal transport, hidden somewhere amongst the carcasses of other craft that were worth nothing but the occasional part a salvager may need to locate for some out-of-production model. He snorted and spoke to the empty space around him. "It will just be a continuation of my shit luck that someone has already found it, bypassed the access security, and stolen the fucking thing."

He stood and made his way to the door, reviewing the security screens for the external cameras before opening the door. Seeing nothing unusual, he shut off the lights, opened the door and stepped out into the night air – a comfortable twenty degrees Celsius – confident, as always, in his ultimate success. Nice night for a walk.

As soon as Douglas opened the door and stepped outside, orders came from Colonel Culver. "He's on the move. SpecOps-1… stay on the rotating tail. SpecOps-2… I want you silent and in and out of that house in less than five. Grab what you can without detection and get out. If all goes well, you'll go back in for more once we apprehend Walker… but I don't want you inside if he has some type of failsafe on his person. Do not reenter until you receive the all-clear. Is that understood?"

With positive responses from both teams, the operation to capture the elusive assassin began in earnest. Walker strolled along, seemingly headed nowhere in particular. Heading eastward, out of Ladner and into the open countryside, it was difficult for the team to rotate the person tailing and remain hidden. Frustrated, one agent whispered angrily into his comm unit, "What in Hell is out here? Where is he going?"

A member of SpecOps-2 responded smugly, "The landfill. He is expecting to find a ship there… We lucked out and found the damned ops manual in the house! It contains a general location and the access codes for a small transport… FTL capable."

"You're shitting me, right?" The SpecOps-1 lead cursed and questioned, "Colonel?"

"Don't let him board that ship, Blaze." Culver drew a deep breath, knowing this was it; success or failure would be theirs… likely within the next five or ten minutes. "But I need you to let him find it; it's probably full of useful information which we can't afford to lose if we don't have to."

"Understood, Commander." A quiet, confident whisper came back and continued, "We'll get it done, one way or another."

They moved silently through the salvage portion of the yard, one team member or another in constant visual contact with their target, who was seemingly unaware of their existence. Blaze was starting to sweat, knowing the longer it took Walker to locate the ship, the greater their risk of someone on the team making an error that would tip off their presence, when Walker suddenly stopped and spun around at an unexpected noise.

A scrawny orange tabby raised its back and hissed at the intruder, causing Walker to chuckle at himself. "Stupid cat… you nearly made me piss myself." He bent over and picked up a rock, throwing it hard and causing the cat to scamper off into the darkness. Walker's eyes travelled past where the cat had just retreated, and he whistled quietly. "Well, I'll be. Guess I owe you one, you mangy furball." He smiled and walked eagerly toward his awaiting ship.

Alliance Military Headquarters, Vancouver B.C. – 29 Sep 2188

"Ms Lawrence?" A man's voice – gentle but insistent. "Ms Lawrence?" Zoë stirred slightly, attempting to shake off the fog in her mind. She tucked her chin down on her chest in a partially successful attempt to shield her eyes from the red-tinged brightness she could see through her tightly closed eyelids. After a moment, the light dimmed somewhat, prompting her to raise her head and slit one eye open. She squinted up at a shadowed face, which refused to come into focus.

"Ms Lawrence, I'm Doctor Noah Stegmann. Do you know where you are?"

Shit! If it's a damned doctor, I must be in Hell, she thought, as she croaked out "Hospital?"

"Good guess. What gave it away, my impressive good looks or the open back gown you're wearing?" When she didn't respond, he continued, "Ms Lawrence, you were seriously injured yesterday during an altercation after the dedication ceremony. Do you remember what happened?"

Why the Hell is he asking me? "Cloaked assassin… Hoffman… target," she croaked in response, prompting Doctor Stegmann to gently lift her head with a hand under her right cheek.

She felt the edge of a cup touch her lips as he said, "Here's a couple of ice chips for you, Ms Lawrence. Unfortunately, I cannot give you anything to drink… not just yet, anyway. You said Hoffman was the target. The 19-centimeter blade we pulled out of your side probably belonged to the man you tackled… it did some pretty significant damage to your kidney and stomach, not to mention the slices in your oblique muscles. I stitched them all back together after repairing your stomach wall, but your kidney was severely damaged by the blade… too severely to be repaired. I'm sorry."

Why the fuck was he sorry? It wasn't his goddamned kidney, was it? "Assassin? Dead?"

A wry chuckle, then, "Unfortunately for him, he's still alive… very much so, but it wasn't for lack of you trying to crush his windpipe. As is, he's being treated for a severely fractured larynx, along with a moderately severe concussion. Seems a Marine Sergeant kicked him in the head in order to get him off you… probably the only reason you didn't succeed in crushing his windpipe… and, quite possibly the only reason you're still alive, Ms Lawrence."

"Hoffman? The others?"

"I can only generalize, Ma'am. There were fatalities, yes, but I'm not at liberty to divulge their identities… not yet, anyway."

The doctor's tone told her all she needed to know. Zoë closed her eyes. She had failed… Atlas had failed. Tears began leaking from her tightly closed eyes as she felt her heart clench. There was another… "Osoba? What about Osoba?" she groaned. Doctor Stegmann started to dab at Zoë's tears with a tissue, causing her to turn her head away in surprise. Oh gods… I am surely in Hell. All the pain… all the deaths I have caused… are finally coming home to bite me in the ass! She repeated, "Osoba?"

Stegmann placed his mouth next to Zoë's ear and whispered, "Sniper targeted him… Spectre Shepard managed to save him by placing herself in the way. Bullet hit her in the back, threw her into him; she took the councilor down with her as she fell."

"Shepard… fell? As in… dead?" Zoë's eyes continued to leak moisture. All I've done to protect her the last year… for nothing? Damn it all to Hell!

She was greatly relieved when Stegmann answered, "No… Shepard literally fell, blasted over by a high-power anti-personnel round… but, seeing as she was in full armor, she is very much alive, as is Osoba."

"Maybe God exists, after all." Zoë brought up a hand, both to cover her eyes and massage her temples. "I have friends out there… can they visit me? I really need to speak with them…"

An unseen woman spoke up. "Sorry, Ms Lawrence, that's not going to happen just yet."

Zoë's unhappiness with her perceived failure, combined with not knowing how her team had fared, made her reply sharper than intended. "Who the fuck are you, and why in Hell not?"

"Whoa… stow the attitude, lady, please? I'm in your corner. Name's Medina… Corporal Gracelyn Medina, Alliance Marines. I tried to slow your blood loss out on the parade grounds, Ma'am. My CO assigned me to stay with you until you've healed sufficiently to be moved to the secure recovery wing, while we investigate the assassination plot against Admiral Hackett, Dominic Osoba, Arthur Hoffman and Reuben Trost."

Zoë uncovered her eyes and squinted up at the Marine; noting the concern in the young woman's eyes, she swallowed hard and attempted to soften her tone. "My apologies, Corporal. I remember you trying to keep me from bleeding to death on the parade grounds, and you have my gratitude for that, believe me." After a pause, she continued, "Does the Alliance think I used a straight blade to carve my own kidney out for the fun of it?"

"My apologies, Ms Lawrence, I didn't mean for you to get that impression from me… You are most definitely not a suspect in what is now being referred to as a conspiracy. Hell, I saw you tackle that cloaked bastard before he could reach the Ambassador. As far as I'm concerned, you went above and beyond what most civilians would be willing to do." Medina huffed as she added, "We've suffered a serious breach in our security, Ma'am. You and your friends will be guests of the Systems Alliance Marines until things settle down a bit. We'll be interviewing everyone we've detained in order to discover what went wrong with our security, and to determine who is responsible for the attack." She chuckled slightly, adding, "By the way, it's probably not a good idea to tackle a cloaked individual… at least, not unless you're sure they don't have a knife up their sleeve."

"What about that bastard, Corporal? You have him, don't you?"

Medina huffed again. "We do. He wasn't breathing so well… doctors had to repair his larynx. He's cuffed to a secure bed with a full-time guard monitoring him. Hasn't said who he is or who he's working for, but we'll get to the truth about him, never fear."

"You said my friends were being detained?"

"I did. Their credentials were forgeries… they weren't even close to matching the real owners' bioscans or records… so, we detained them in order to discover why… initially, they'll probably be charged with trespassing and possessing falsified documents… with 'other' charges pending, depending on what our investigation uncovers." She closed her eyes for a moment before adding, reluctantly… or so it seemed to Zoë. "We discovered that your credentials are forged as well, Ma'am. Is Zoë Lawrence really your name?"

Zoë attempted to smile, but the sharp, aching pain in her left side transformed it into a grimace. "That truly is my name, Corporal," she sighed. "Do you know how long I'm going to be in here?" Medina looked at the doctor, standing on the other side of the med bed.

Doctor Stegmann shrugged as he replied. "You'll be leaving intensive care tomorrow morning, but I'll repeat what I just said… you suffered a pretty traumatic injury, Ma'am, so we'll keep you in the hospital for at least ten to fourteen days in order to monitor your recovery. There's also the matter of a replacement kidney for you. It's standard procedure to sample your damaged organ and grow a replacement for implantation; since you were injured in a successful effort to prevent an assassination on Alliance property…" here he paused to glance at Corporal Medina, "… despite being here with forged credentials, we are still obligated to make you whole again."

Medina said in an earnest tone, "She really needs to be in a secure area, Doctor."

Doctor Stegmann replied in a calm voice. "Where the Hell do you think she's going to go, Corporal? I guarantee the pain she would feel if she attempted to stand up and walk out of here would put her on the floor before she could take two steps."

The corporal was silent for several moments before offering, "I don't honestly believe she'd attempt any such thing… I simply want to ensure everything is done by the book, Doctor Stegmann. Along with the rest of her compatriots, Ms Lawrence here… and that freaking assassin… are the only people we have detained for cause. The damned sharpshooter is in the wind, and Corporal Hamilton used his M-11 to blow the top of his skull off, so we need to ensure this woman is protected from possible retribution by whomever ordered simultaneous hits on our four VIPs." She used the fingers and thumb of one hand to massage her temples before continuing softly, as if to herself, "Yesterday was totally, completely fucked."

"Okay. Just so we're clear, Ms Lawrence is the one that came in here with an assassin's blade sticking out of her side. This woman is my patient, Corporal. As long as she's under my care, I will do all in my power to keep her from further harm, meaning she will remain in this hospital until I feel she can be safely released, understood?

"I'm sorry, Dr Stegmann… I wasn't implying Ms Lawrence should receive anything but the best of care from us; I want to insure she remains safe as well. It's just there are people on this base… military people… that share the 'Humans first at any cost' philosophy of Terra Firma and Earth-First. She would be quite vulnerable to an attack in the general recovery ward."

Having heard all this, Zoë clamped down on her emotions. I'm not going to waste any further energy mourning the people that died. I thought Cerberus would be hunting me after I killed Jack Harper… apparently, there are a few outliers in this facility that could be aware of my former identity. Just have to plan how to get my ass out of here and out of harm's way.

Tim Stafford submitted to the whole-body omnitool scan with as much patience as he could muster; along with Rich, Boris and Émiléda and Melina Cousineau, he had been detained by the Marine guards after Zoë had been moved to the base hospital on a hover-litter. As the three men had employed forged invitations and credentials in order to attend, and the Cousineau sisters had been vetted and hired after furnishing forged citizenship credentials, the officer in charge of base security had ordered all of them detained until their stories could be verified.

They had been separated for processing – this included having to completely strip down under the watchful eyes of a Marine guard, undergoing an omnitool scan of their bodies, having all their clothes confiscated for inspection, and being issued standard, bright orange prison scrubs. Once they had gone through the humiliation of being treated like the common criminals they were assumed to be, each of them had been locked in solitary three-by-three-meter cells to await questioning. After learning that retired Admiral Steven Hackett had died from his wounds, and that Reuben Trost had been asphyxiated after ingesting a deadly allergen, Tim was surprised they had only been charged with trespass and possessing forged docs.

Tim had the unfortunate luck to be chosen for an interview by a Marine sergeant named Diane Häberli. Sitting down across from the sergeant – obviously a career soldier, if the hash marks on her sleeve were a valid indication – Stafford could detect no sympathy in her demeanor or expression as she started asking questions, beginning with how long Tim had been a member of Cerberus. Stafford knew full well he was not required to answer any of the questions directed at him – he didn't even have to acknowledge his name. He had also refused to answer Häberli's questions regarding his association with Zoë Lawrence. Apparently, Häberli expected Tim to simply roll over out of fear and answer any question put to him; that he remained stubbornly silent wasn't something Häberli had been trained to deal with.

After having been escorted back to his cell by an obviously hostile Sergeant Häberli, Tim looked around the bare interior and sighed. Sitting on the rock-hard bunk, he leaned back, rubbed his wrists where the restraints had been placed and thought about how badly yesterday and today had gone. He was worried sick about Zoë, having heard nothing since the med techs had hauled her away on a hover-litter the previous day. It appeared they were going to hold her and the rest of the team members incommunicado until they were interviewed by the Alliance. He thought briefly about Häberli, wondering if the overtly hostile woman was merely upset about yesterday's events, or if she was a true adherent to the ideals espoused by LEAP or Terra Firma.

Didn't seem as if she was upset that the Prime Minister and his military advisor had both died within minutes of each other, came the thought. Is she a former member of Cerberus… or LEAP… that eluded our net? Mentally shelving the question until he was once again able to use Atlas resources, he stretched out on the hard metal of the bench to gradually retreat into sleep.