A/N: Hey, gang.
While I have a list of emails to give people access to the chapter, I'm going to be busy for several days. My cousin (a mailman) was clipped by a truck while doing his job. He's alright – out of the hospital, some minor fractures at C6 and C7 – but he's going to be taking it easy for a few days and I'm going to hang out at his place for a bit.
Since I won't be able to grab the updates and put it up until late next week I just pushed this chapter out.
Chapter moves around a bit, but I hope it addresses some things that people were asking about. I know this is all a bit slow, but in the game things were needed to go fast to keep up the impression of urgency – here, I have time to explain it all.
'There can be no rights allowed for a mob that are forbidden for an individual, nor moral stances that are valid in the name of revenge but not justice, unless one lies to one's self. Self-deception is the tool of all dictators, vigilantes, and idealists throughout history.'
-Saint Victor Manswell, 'The Second Fall of Eden'
Shepard woke early the next morning, after pausing to incinerate the OSD of 'Citadel' Joker had left in her room last night. She'd actually enjoyed herself, after talking with Joker and telling him to stop blaming himself for her death. Fleet and Flotilla was certainly not what she had expected. Then they'd pulled out the 'movie' the Alliance had made of her battle against Saren and Benezia, and got a sinking feeling in her stomach as Joker began to cackle.
She'd forced herself to watch it, accompanied by the hysterical laughter of Joker and half-drunken giggles of Tali, up until the 'fight' with Saren.
It wasn't bad enough that the Alliance had turned her death into anti-geth propaganda, or outright lied about her past. It wasn't bad enough the actress they'd chosen to play her had breasts the size of a small colony and the same sort of acting ability as found in a table lamp.
No, they'd had Saren and her fight it out in a vast underground ice cavern, with explosions everywhere, fighting with goddamned gun-fu, made up martial arts, and cheesy lines.
Of course, Joker had completely lost it when 'Shepard' and Saren had uttered the movie's most cringe-worthy lines.
"Give up, human! You can't beat a Spectre like me!"
"Ha! I eat Spectres for breakfast – and since I skipped it this morning, I'm very hungry!"
Shepard had watched this (and Joker falling out of his chair in complete laughing meltdown) and face-palmed. "I can't believe this macho bullshit."
She sighed as she pulled on yet another loosely fitting jumpsuit after finishing her shower. Her new body was weird – she didn't really sweat unless she wanted to – but habits like showering died hard. She was still amused at how easily her hair fell into place after a just a few passes with a comb, instead of the hopeless tangles it had gotten into while she was still alive.
She exhaled, exiting and heading to the living section of the base to pick up breakfast. As she slowly ate her food, frowning and wondering how in the hell Cerberus had managed to restore her taste buds and how the fuck they got their hands on real bacon, Miranda sat down across from her with a cup of coffee.
Shepard arched an eyebrow at the slightly bleary-eyed look of her XO. "You look like you didn't sleep real well."
Miranda sighed. "I did not. Hardly unusual. I've been coordinating various supply efforts, submitting reports to the Illusive Man, working with our financial coordinators to provide additional equipment and with Mr. Ezno to remove the last bits of incriminating materials from the base. And now, this morning, we have a ship coming in with the first batch of living soldiers and techs that will be working with us."
Shepard nodded, sipping her orange juice and pushing back a lock of hair. "Do these people know they're going to be working for Cerberus? Most of the ones I approved had no Cerberus connections."
Miranda shrugged. "They know they are going to be working for an independent mercenary outfit, and our people hinted – delicately – that it would be one doing work on the frontier and going after slavers. We had each one monitored – visual and electronic, with Vigil looking over their communications and extranet activity – and they're all clean. The first batch is a handful of soldiers, about fifteen techs, and a few scientists. I'll be handling the latter. I need you there – in full armor with your helmet on – to deal with the former."
Shepard nodded. "Yeah."
Miranda pulled a pad from the wide pockets on the coat she wore over her jumpsuit, pushing it across the metal table surface. "These are the first run of participants. You'll notice a common theme. Based on what you said you wanted… Chambers suggested you would approve. "
Shepard reviewed the names, then slowly smiled. "…I'm surprised some of these people signed up, especially considering what they've already been through." She tapped two names. "Although these two are still crazy."
It took two hours for the ship to arrive, time Shepard mostly spent reviewing her next plan of action with the intel people in operations. So far, the Citadel had flat-out lied about who had taken out Freedom's Progress, and dispatched Delacor and Tela Vasir to take her down. The combined Spectre strike group was busy investigating wildcat colonies, along with a C-Sec Special Investigations team looking into investments into said colonies.
Shepard was completely baffled by this, but Trudy Menrows, her senior intel analyst, had merely snorted in amusement.
"Based on the information we're getting – most of it fragmentary – the Citadel seems to think the Butcher is a threat. They've also decided that Cerberus is acting against the Collectors mostly to boost our cachet among the wildcat colonies in some kind of plan to take them over. Delacor and Vasir are there to 'catch us in the act' at either Horizon or New Caledonia, the two biggest colonies in the wildcat group. Thanks to Vigil, we've already intercepted and decrypted hundreds of calls to banks and investment houses trying to figure out a pattern. Of course, there isn't one, since we aren't doing that. I have no idea who thought that would be our goal…"
Shepard had rubbed her forehead. "…Called it. Pick the stupidest goddamned action for the worst possible reason and go with that. Is there any reason we'd need to go to Horizon or New Caledonia?"
Trudy shook her head. "No, unless one of them gets attacked."
Shepard nodded. "Let them waste their time for a week, then send a self-destruct armed FTL drone with a message for them – I'll meet with the Citadel when I damned well please, and that they're making themselves look like fools. Make the FTL drone approach from the direction of asari space."
Her next few days would be eventful – meet with her new soldiers, then head to Dirth to talk to a few people. Once done there, she'd swing by Kuril's station and extract Jack, along with whatever intel Kuril had on the Blue Suns operation on Korlus and their activities on Omega. After she put a slug into Okeer and got the intel she needed from him, TIM should have found a way to make contact with either the salarian doctor, Archangel, or the Sisters of Vengeance.
Zaeed would be arriving in a week or so, and this Goto woman would send a message when she was ready for pickup. Given that the Collectors did not usually raid more than once month, she felt pretty secure in the fact that they would have most of her initial team line up ready to go when the Collectors attacked next.
She also had to meet with Trellani at some point – the asari matriarch would be arriving tomorrow, a few hours before Shepard left for Dirth, and said she wanted to train her how to do something involving biotics. With a sigh, Shepard copied her plans and notes down to her omni-tool as quiet alarms began sounding.
By the time she'd gotten to the main receiving bay, Miranda was already there along with Tali, Joker, and Trellani herself. Also present, on the high balconies that held extra supplies, were two squads of sniper-equipped mechs. Sixty more flanked the edges of the docking bay, blocking the way to the rest of the base.
The ship that entered the bay was elongated, matte black and surprisingly sleek looking, a converted small cargo hauler retrofitted to carry passengers. The armaglass viewing bays were sealed with armor plates, and as the ship touched down, Shepard glanced to one side, where Chambers had just walked up.
"Miranda tells me these people don't know they're working for Cerberus. Was that wise?"
The redhead shrugged. "They aren't working for Cerberus, Shepard. They're working for you. They won't have any insight into the organization or how it works, both for their protection and ours. One reason we made such an effort to… compartmentalize everything is that you may be forced to cut ties with us in order to convince the Council or Alliance to listen."
Shepard gave her a dubious look, but realized the psychologist could hardly see it through the mirrored faceplate, and settled for a grunt, turning back to look at the ship as a side cargo bay door swung open and down, forming a ramp. About thirty five people slowly descended down the ramp, glancing around at the ranks of the war robots nervously.
Leading them was a muscular, broad shouldered Hispanic male with his head shaven, his thick mustache bent with the shape of his frown, wearing a gray SA t-shirt and rip-stop canvas combat pants. He was flanked by two males almost as big, each one wearing black leather jackets with a DACT logo and the words 'Jump up, Jump Up, And Get Down' on the sleeves in red satin thread. Behind them was a tight grouping of atheletic looking men and women, many with cybernetics, and a second group mostly in more refined civilian clothing, looking nervous.
The big man in the front came to a stop about three meters away from Miranda, glancing over the people behind her, then fixing his eyes on the figure in white armor.
Senior Chief Emilo Vega scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, your recruiters told us we would have all this shit explained once we got to… wherever the hell we are. So how about some explaining."
Miranda gave a nod, glancing over the group. "That is correct. Each of you was contacted independently due to a number of factors, the primary factor being your separation from the Systems Alliance in one fashion or another. Some of you, like Doctor Jales, were thrown out by the current administration from important positions based on your stance. Others, like Mr. Kenneson, were removed from your jobs due to political issues."
She smiled thinly. "And many of you, including you, Senior Chief Vega, were cashiered from service with extremely restrictive warnings and orders against speaking of what you saw when you traveled with Commander Shepard."
A thick-set man with a head just as shaven as Vega's folded meaty arms. "Lady, get to the point."
Miranda smiled thinly. "Of course, Sergeant Ownby. You have been contracted to serve with someone who is doing good for the service of humanity. You have been contracted because we feel you are trustworthy. Once you hear out what we are offering if you choose to leave you can get back on that ship and it will return to the Citadel."
Shepard really doubted that. The very faint muttering of Tali next to her was almost darkly amusing, and Shepard cleared her throat. "If you don't mind… I'll handle the rest."
Miranda stepped back as Shepard walked up, still clad head to foot in white armor. "I am guessing you boys and girls know who I am?"
Chief Haln nodded, as did others. "You're the Butcher."
She smiled. She'd never thought the man would walk again after the shit he'd been put through on Virmire. "That's right. And many of you are Shepard's Marines, from the Normandy or the Kazan. The rest of you – doctors, scientists, whatever – you'll understand in a moment why you are here. Before I say anything else, though, I want to be blunt."
"The organization I am being backed by is Cerberus."
The reaction was interesting. The people out of the group she didn't know – the techs, she guessed – seemed nervous, while the Marines – to the last man and woman – glared hard at her. Vega spoke. "Look, I know you're some kinda asari badass, so why in fuck are you working with a bunch of racist assholes?"
Tali stepped forward, with Joker behind her. "Hello, Senior Chief."
Vega blinked at the voice, then blinked again at Joker, before shaking his head. "That you, Cutie Pie?"
She nodded. "Yes, it is me. Tali. The fact I'm here, wearing this" – she pointed to the embossed Cerberus logo on her shoulder – "should tell you they've changed. You were down there when Shepard found out from the Illusive Man how to take out the Cerberus leadership."
Vega folded his arms again. "Alright. But this still ain't what I signed up for. The person feeling me out made it sound like a mercenary work gig, and a chance to avenge the Boss Lady. Now I find out I'm working with the Butcher and Cerberus."
Shepard held up a hand. "You wanted to avenge Shepard?"
Vega turned to face her."Yeah. A lot of us did. The SA shitcanned the entire Normandy crew because we'd 'seen too many sensitive materials'. Had Commissars give us a debrief, heavy on the flamethrower jokes. Dragged our own Commissars off to God knows where. The XO quit, most of the crew quit, after being interrogated for six weeks. They still think one of us sabotaged the Normandy. Can't get a decent job anywhere."
Another man spoke, dark skinned and heavyset. "And some of us were not associated with Shepard, directly. I'm Roland Taylor. Corsair program is being taken apart and… weird shit is happening to it. With the batarians gone, fielding us against geth is just fucking stupid. Most of the captains are being stipended off and told to run as merchants, but some of us wanted to pop a cap in the ass of a few more slavers. And, like him… Corsairs aren't well liked in the civilian sector. Too dangerous." He snorted, then gave the bay a distasteful look. "Don't mean I'd sign up with Cerberus to get a job, though."
Shepard nodded. "I understand. Here is what I will tell you all. The geth did not kill Sara Shepard, and slavers did not take the wildcat colony populations."
The room felt silent, and the woman standing next to Ownby rubbed a heavy scar on her arm. "What?"
Shepard smiled behind her helmet at the sight of Sergeant Haskins. "Shepard was killed by the manipulations of the Shadow Broker. Cerberus was the party that helped… with the events at Omega. They've been the one trying to find out who is really behind the colony abductions. And they went off the rails because of orders from the SA when they were an unofficial black ops unit."
Shepard folded her arms, letting her weight fall back onto one hip. "The truth I'm about to show you all is going to be hard to take. Just keep in mind… you should have known better."
Vega frowned. "Better than what?"
Shepard tapped her omni, and her helmet split and retracted into the armor. She smirked. "That anything could actually fucking kill me, Emilo."
The bay was dead silent for a long moment before Ownby spoke. "…I am never, ever buying weed from shady quarians on fucking Pilgrimage again."
Tali snorted back laughter, while Vega's eyes narrowed. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"
Joker shook his head. "Nope. It's really her."
Shepard faced the group. "The details… you don't really want to know. Suffice it to say that it took billions upon billions of credits and technology that should make you sick to think about to bring me back. I'm more machine than human now."
One of the engineers from the Normandy in the group stepped forward. "We saw the wreckage of the Normandy when they went in. NOTHING could have survived that crash."
She tilted her head. "I didn't."
Haln frowned. "You can't bring back the dead." Many muttered agreement, but Vega held up a hand, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes further.
"Something like Huerta, I'm guessing?"
Miranda snorted. "Please. Much more complex than that. Assuming you all agree to work for her – and please keep in mind you would be working for Shepard, not Cerberus – you can have the simple version of the details behind her resurrection."
Haln nodded sourly. "With all the crap Cerberus was up to back in the day, I shouldn't be surprised. Then again, technology like you're talking about…" He paused. "If we had that kind of technology, wouldn't we have seen more cases like this?"
Shepard shrugged. "Matt, from what they told me, they could have built a damned carrier task force with armor and ground support for the cost of my cybernetics alone, not to mention all of this." She spread her hands around the cavernous flight bay. "The technology they had to come up with – inventing most of it from scratch – and for the rest, well, they had help."
The spherical form of Vigil erupted into view, and Vega snorted. "Ha. I guess that would do it, based on what we saw on the Citadel." He turned to face Shepard directly. "…Since Tali and Joker are here, I'm guessing no one else is going to pull off miraculous resurrections?"
Shepard's gaze flicked away, her jaw tightening. "No, Senior Chief."
He nodded slowly. "…I'm sorry, ma'am. Do you know who killed her?"
She nodded. "Shadow Broker. Tetrimus." She exhaled. "I still have a mission. Stop the attacks on human colonies. And stop the Broker from whatever bullshit he is doing. There's also a likelihood that the Alliance has its fingers in some shit that it shouldn't. I'll have to stop that too."
She looked at the group. "The big ship at the Citadel that nearly took down the combined fleets of all races, Saren's flagship – that wasn't the only one. There are more of those things, a lot more, and if we don't do something to get ready for them, we'll be sitting ducks. You saw what just ONE did."
Ronald Taylor's eyes widened. "The geth have more of those things?"
Tali shook her head. "It isn't the geth. The ships ARE the threat themselves. A type of AI that is responsible for killing the Protheans and lots of other races. And they want to kill us, too."
Vega rubbed his eyes tiredly, then glanced back over the group. "This is a lot to take in."
Shepard nodded. "I know. And I don't expect it to be something you take in all in one day. I had my staff put together a lot of drinks in our eating area, so we can talk some more there. Miranda, can you please handle the people you added to the list, in terms of briefing? My Marines can follow me."
She felt her smile widen as the words 'my Marines' made each and every one of them straighten just a little bit, walk a bit taller. She gestured toward the big double doors set into the far wall and they were about to start moving in that direction when the far door opened and Jacob Taylor stepped through, a frown on his face. "Sorry I'm late, but we had high impact traffic come in. Mordin Solus is on the move, and we think we know where he is going. Not sure when he'll be done, and even if he left today he won't hit a place where we can intercept him for five days."
She was about to reply when she heard a choked cough from behind her. "J-Jacob?" The voice of Roland Taylor sounded strained, and Jacob just gave him a wave.
"Oh, hey, what's up, pop?"
O-TWCD-O
Briefing – and drinking – with the Marines took another two hours. She was amused when Jacob's father put him in a headlock for not telling him he wasn't actually dead, and she herself spent most of her time being quizzed by each of them about small events only the real Shepard would know about.
Still, it didn't take long to convince them that she really was alive, although the ramifications seemed to trouble Vega more than the rest. A strong Neo-Catholic, he had very direct questions about what death was like.
Shepard gave him the best answer she could. "I remember dying, and then waking up. If there is a Heaven or Hell… I didn't make the trip or don't remember." She smiled wryly, tapping her temple. "Or I'm a soulless cyberzombie. Take your pick."
Once they got past the idea she was alive, she told them a simplified outline of what was going on and the goals she'd set. Blowing up the Broker was a big part of that – not only did the bastard kill the Normandy and everybody in Ops Alley, crippled Pressly and killed Shepard, but he'd been involved in the deaths of Liara, Garrus, Telanya, Aethyta and was quite possibly working with the Collectors.
The Collector angle was a new one for the Marines, as nothing even hinting at that angle had hit the extranet. Shepard made a mental note to have her ops people start extranet rumors and pondered releasing the video footage Veetor had taken, but decided to hold off on that.
Her jobs for the Marines were two-fold. The first was to have living, breathing people on the new Normandy. Vigil's robots were excellent, of course, but privately Shepard wasn't sure if the Inusannon AI could be trusted 100%. It definitely had its own agenda, even if it never spoke of it – and in any event, as she said out loud, going up against Collectors or worse might mean Vigil being knocked out of commission somehow.
Her second reason was more personal, and she found herself having to steady her voice as she spoke.
"I won't lie. The biggest reason you're here is I know you. I've fought with you and got nearly got most of you killed. What I'm going through – this whole being alive again thing – is not… easy. It's not something I can do alone. And we may not be close, but I trust each and every one of you with my back. I need that, to… keep myself going."
It was the DACT pilot, Florez, who spoke first after that. "…Well, shit, Boss Lady. Say no more, you know we got your back."
Shepard smiled. "When Miranda told me you two lunatics had somehow survived and were actually going to be coming along, I had my engineers work on something for you two."
The two DACT grinned, and Vega shook his head. "If I had any doubts, they are now gone. Only you would encourage these idiots."
She nodded. "I have another request, but only for one of you. Tomorrow, I'm headed out in disguise on a mission. Lawson has been my executive officer of this operation, and she'll continue acting in that aspect in many ways, but the Normandy herself needs an XO, and someone to teach her the ropes of doing the job right. I need someone to tag along on a trip I'm making to fix that."
Vega frowned. "Where you headed, Boss Lady?"
She folded her arms. "I'm headed to Dirth to talk to Pressly."
Haln winced. "I've spoken to him a few times. He's… not the same as he used to be."
She shrugged. "Well, now. Neither am I, Chief. Neither am I." She downed her scotch and smiled, leaning back. "Now who is coming with me?"
Haln sighed. "Since I know him the best, I should go. I've got family on Dirth anyway I can check up on."
She nodded. "Thanks, Matt." She poured herself another scotch, and looked around at her Marines. "Look on the bright side, boys and girls. The new Normandy has an elevator that is fast and a real kitchen. Beds for everyone."
Ownby snorted. "It doesn't have a bar."
Shepard chuckled and drank. "Actually, Mike, yes it does."
O-TWCD-O
"Welcome to Makana, doctor. The SIX appreciate your rapid response to this issue."
Mordin Solus's nostrils widened slightly as he stepped off the small passenger shuttle, the scents of strong disinfectants and the tang of UV-seared air battling for dominance. He adjusted the fall of his coat as he stepped forward, eyes narrowing slightly. "Thanks unnecessary. Situation on Omega is stable, despite chaos from Archangel. Erash useful in that regard, even if stubborn about not revealing Archangel identity."
It had been more than few years since Mordin had ventured within the Salarian Union. In the aftermath of his work with the STG, especially his final missions, he found himself with far too many moral dilemmas and questions to continue such actions. Retirement from the STG was hardly unheard of, but usually this was done only after a male was chosen to breed or was getting too old to be of active service with no wish to push paper or coordinate teams.
Mordin, on the other hand, heavily criticized the entire planning process of the STG, eventually coming to serious conflict not only with STG Command but with his own sister, the dalatrass of Clan Solus, over it. While Muvai claimed she understood where he was coming from, the clan needed him in the STG and to keep quiet – and he wasn't willing to do such. When she warned him such independence would result in his removal from the breeding lists, he'd tattooed his face with the mark of the Lythari and bade his family farewell.
That had been a painful thing to do, and in the years since he'd left his sister had sent a number of messages to offer reconciliation. He had replied politely to each one – he loved his sister more than anything else in life, after all – but had stayed firm on remaining outside the Union. He kept in touch with various STG contacts – his old captains, Kirrahe and Anoleis, and made a few reports of events on Omega – but aside from that he had disconnected himself completely.
Working as an independent medical contractor and then opening his own clinic on Omega had given him a since of satisfaction untainted with questions of right or wrong. Helping those others ignored, seen by many as sentimental and foolish, helped him deal with the millions of stillborn krogan whose deaths could be laid at his door.
The models did not lie; the only choice had been to continue the Genophage. Looking over the ancient notes left behind by the original STG team and the strange krogan doctor, Okeer, he had agreed with the need for continuing the Genophage But he had also seen the living cost, the sorrow of krogan females who could not bear healthy young killing themselves in shamed failure. The brutal fights over the few fertile females between clans struggling just to feed and shelter themselves.
And he'd seen the cost to the salarians, the mental strain on his assistant that nearly broke his sanity, and the edgy anger of Kirrahe. It was too much to ask for anyone to stay sane and whole in the line of such horrific tasks, and if he ever went back he was sure the Union – or the STG – would simply want him to do more unsavory things.
No, better he stayed away. It left him at peace, let him help those who needed it, and allowed him to pursue the kind of research he always wanted to do. At least, until today.
He grimaced as he stepped forward. The trip he'd just taken had been counter to the past decade of his life. The message he'd received from his sister had been more than urgent, it had been almost frightened sounding. The SIX were discussing something she desperately needed his advice on, and she all but begged him to return.
His sister's stiff pride would not have allowed such a thing unless the situation was ugly. And despite his misgivings, he knew he could not simply abandon his sister in such a thing. He'd been provided paid transport to the edges of the Traverse, stopping on the human mining world of Therum to transfer to a sleek, fast Union diplomatic shuttle. Expecting to head to Sur'kesh, he was unpleasantly surprised to instead land on the desolate moon orbiting the verdant world below.
The shuttle bay was built into said sterile rocky moon that orbited the world of Makana, and was liberally festooned with defenses and armaments. The only mass relay into the system was surrounded by dense belts of IFF antimatter mines, with a dreadnought standing off at long range with prepared firing solutions. Swarms of automated fighters tore silently through the dark, while powerful scanning equipment searched ceaselessly for any possible intruders.
Mordin took in the form of the STG officer in front of him, along with the two Shieldbreakers in matte black powered suits by the doorway. He frowned when he realized the STG officer was in a full containment suit, sans the helmet.
This did not look good. At all. He surreptitiously checked the hold-out pistols in his bracers as he folded his arms to regard the officer.
The officer, Lieutenant Tarola, gave a shallow nod of the head. "We have a briefing ready for you, if you would follow me. Hopefully this won't take much of your time and you can get back on station at Omega with a minimum of downtime."
The doctor frowned. "Relationship with STG informal – not assignment. Done with that now. Focus on healing, not espionage." He followed the younger salarian through a heavy armored portal, noticing the UV flash that sterilized the air before they entered.
Lieutenant Tarola shrugged. "I wasn't made aware of your particulars, doctor. Only that you would be arriving to provide input on an important situation of the highest priority to the SIX." The lieutenant turned to the left, down a black-armored corridor. Automated flame turrets dotted every intersection and sprayers marked with printed warnings about basic chemicals and corrosion were every six meters.
Mordin glanced around, following calmly. "High level of disinfectants. UV cleansing." He took in the bulky frame of one of the air-vents. "DETA filtration. Fixed defenses. Ominous."
The lieutenant shook his head, touching one of his horns in a sign of apology. "Everything will be explained shortly, doctor." Walking a few more minutes, they reached a heavily armored door and the lieutenant slid a keycard from his belt through. "In here, sir."
Mordin shrugged and stepped through into the room beyond, the door sliding shut behind him silently.
The room was fairly large, with an overhead vaulted armaglass window directly observing the planet Makana. Large holographic displays to either side reported the readiness of multiple combat units, several powerful nuclear devices, and a host of VI monitored anti-hacking baselines. The center of the room was dominated by a circular plinth, atop which a control panel of some kind curved, and a single chair.
The chair turned around to face Mordin, revealing the hooded, masked figure of a salarian of indeterminate sex. Silver cybernetic arms and legs gleamed under the dim lights as it gestured to a chair to one side.
"Sit, Operative. Information critical to the Union has been uncovered and you will provide clarification."
Mordin's voice was agitated as he sat, eyes glancing about. "Unexpected to meet STG Master here. Indicates much higher importance than indicated in message. Suspect was not sent by my sister at all."
The STG Master inclined its head. "Correct. Apologies for the ruse, but we predicted you would resist otherwise. The alternative was forcible extraction. It was judged this would be a better utilization of resources and time. Cooperation is not optional."
The doctor's voice was wry sarcastic. "Typical. STG Master not known for random chats. Explain."
The Master touched one of the controls on his panel, the far holoscreen blanking. "The human wildcat colony Freedom's Progress was recently depopulated. The Citadel is putting out a story that it was done by pirate elements from the Black Rim."
Solus nodded. "Had heard. Unlikely, Black Rim corsairs would not venture close to Aria's domain. Fabricated cover story… but for what? Systems Alliance action… no. Too broad. Biological plague? Illegal weapons testing?"
The Master inclined its head again. "No, something more unusual. The entire population was simply gone, their extensive defenses bypassed. A Spectre in the area arrived on the world, only to find that the Butcher had landed and obtained… information the perpetrators behind the assault." It clicked a control, and grainy video displayed the scene of the Collectors landing and the swarm assault on the colony.
Fascinated, Mordin leaned forward. "Collectors. Much larger ship than scouting models used for trades. Not wearing robes – battle armor? Unusual for them to act so openly." He glanced at the STG Master. "Experiences with Collectors already documented – all knowledge was conveyed in reports."
The Master shrugged. "The trade you conducted with the Collectors is not the only reason you are here, but it is one. For now, the SIX have deemed this a Collapse-Three threat. Collector hostility appears limited to human wildcat colonies. But STG elements were on-site in forensic analysis of the colony. Damage to several sections of the colony was done by way of super-heated, highly accelerated plasmatic slurry, similar in power and function to the weapon utilized by another ship."
Mordin frowned as the image of Nazara was flashed on the screen. "The geth flagship?"
The STG Master inhaled sharply. "What you are about to hear is classified Black-Collapse-Nine." He folded his arms as Mordin's eyes widened at the highest classification level in the STG. "The ship you see here was not a geth flagship. It was an AI-controlled platform theorized to have been one of many like it responsible for the destruction of the Protheans, Inusannon, and many previous species."
Mordin was silent for several seconds. "Troubling implications. Collectors either in contact with or serving AIs?"
The hands of the STG Master spread, tiny motors whirring. "Possibly. We are unsure. We are operating in a large information deficit. While we have an information source, we are unable to… confirm… what it says is true or false. And we have no way to insert observers into the situation as it develops. That is where you come in."
Mordin suppressed an irritated sigh. "Specialty in forward scientific deployment, medical and biowarfare, not infiltration."
"Yes. However, the situation is complex… and may fit such specialties." The STG Master tapped another control, displaying a pair of humans in black coveralls and the chest armor of old Onyx suits, in the Lower Promenade of Omega near his clinic. "Station assets on Omega indicate these two have been asking questions about you. Intelligence is drawing a blank on the younger, darker woman, but the older woman we have identified as 'Rasa,' a known agent of the Shadow Broker who defected to Cerberus."
Mordin inhaled sharply. "Cerberus destroyed. Or at least…"
The STG Master spread its hands. "The destruction was incomplete… and the Illusive Man provided much of the intelligence needed to destroy the organization. We suspect he was clearing the nest, and now there are faint signs the organization has returned, albeit with a different focus."
Mordin's frown faded, his tone thoughtful. "Cryptic. Why would Cerberus wish to contact me?"
The thin metal mask was featureless, but inclined a fraction of a centimeter. "We have reason to believe Cerberus is connected, on unknown levels, to the Butcher. And while some disagree, our own analysis of her actions indicates the Butcher seeks to oppose the taking of human colonies – and thus, the Collectors. She would require information on them, which is rare. Of those who have met with Collectors, the majority are either of dubious repute or beholden to… certain interests unlikely to be favorable to private contact."
The Master tapped another control, displaying the paper Mordin had written about his contact with Collectors, trading genetic samples of the Collapse disease prion and possible treatment options for enhanced biotechnology to filter air. "You are the only well-known scientist to have worked with them. While we have no clear indication of motive or purpose, it is likely Cerberus is looking for you to provide them with assistance in dealing with the Collectors."
Mordin frowned. "Does not explain why I am here."
The Master stood. "Actually, it does. Ironically, the technology you obtained from the Collectors was put into use below, for the project here. You were briefed on the plant creature on Feros?"
Mordin nodded. "At the time, yes. Still have connections, found news of interest. Fascinating possibilities. Shame it was hostile."
The STG Master gestured to the planet below. "We have found another. And it is cooperative. It claims it has knowledge of the Collectors and of the AI threat, but we are unable to verify what it says is true. You will communicate with it and learn what you can, cross-checking with your own data and experiences."
The STG Master turned to face him fully. "Once that is done, you will return to Omega. We have deliberately leaked the fact that you were recalled… and our assets picked up the following pair trailing you." Another image flashed up, that of a slender Asian male and a bulky black man.
Mordin's expression soured even further. "The 'Odd Couple.' Wonderful." Why did sac-shit of this magnitude happen to him?
The STG Master's voice was neutral. "It is suspected that you will be intercepted when you land on Therum for the switch to a liner that heads to Omega. If they extend a job offer of some kind, take it. You will be acting in deep cover with no communications with STG forces – we will place evidence on file that you were unhelpful in our research and that your disagreement with your sister is more serious than it appears."
Mordin folded his arms. "Cerberus is extremely anti-alien, vague reports of working with Matriarch Trellani aside."
The Master shook his head. "They have apparently changed. Reports indicate at least two asari working for them – the Butcher being one of them – as well as an exiled quarian. And despite the risk of being exposed, they left the quarian team they found on Freedom's Progress alive, instead of killing them. The SIX – particularly your sister – are extremely loathe to place any trust into them… which is why this is not an official request."
Mordin examined the Master closely. "Why me?"
The Master shrugged. "You have detailed knowledge of the Collectors, and you are fully capable of assessing the threat Cerberus provides. Additionally, you remain, despite your age, one of our most powerful operatives. But mostly – Cerberus is interested in you. Despite the risk. We will never have a better chance to infiltrate Cerberus and get some idea of what they are up to."
The unisex figure made a gesture with one hand. "And there is no danger to the Union. As you are not an active agent and not authorized for back-channel contact, should this be a ruse, STG security remains safe. Your ocular security devices will be reactivated once you are done on Makana to prevent any… issues."
Mordin glared hard. "Served my time. Did distasteful, sickening things. On Verthos, on Tuchanka, on Dalrias. Told I was done. Not acceptable."
The Master leaned forward. "You do not understand, doctor, what is at stake here. You have not been told the full truth of the Benezia Incident, but you will. Everything – all life in the galaxy – is at serious risk of annihilation. Compliance is not optional. You will serve, or you will be chipped, mentally adjusted, and serve anyway."
Solus leaned back. "Extreme sanction. Operating without permission from the SIX. Highly illegal and dangerous contact with known terrorist group. Do not see personal upside."
The Master exhaled. "I am willing to be extremely generous. Full access – once you are done – to STG databases. A guarantee you will never, for any reason, be activated again. Paid consultancy fee of several million credits, cutting-edge medical equipment to refit your free clinic on Omega, and a better assignment for your nephew. Further compensation can be negotiated upon mission completion."
Mordin hesitated. Truth be told, while he liked the easy nature and rewarding feeling of healing, Omega was getting almost boring. The Archangel had crushed so much of the filth once making the station a hellish place to live that he had only a few touch-and-go cases every week, instead of every day.
His assistant could run the clinic without his help, and being able to find out more about the Collectors – as well as talking to the tree-creature the Master had mentioned – were spiking his curiosity. And he was intrigued at the idea of actually speaking to the Illusive Man – a master hand in the shadows even the STG admired.
Despite himself, Mordin grimaced and nodded. "Will comply. For now. Explain situation involving AIs that is so critical."
The Master leaned forward. "The AIs are called… 'Reapers.' "
O-TWCD-O
Several hours later, clad in a multi-stage environmental suit and escorted by flamethrower carrying Shieldbreakers, Mordin entered the 'Preserve,' the environment of the Makana Tho'ian. His mind was still racing from what he had learned, an unusual chill seeming to set into his body, despite the environmental systems of the suit.
The idea of a race of genocidal robot warforms with the power to obliterate entire galactic societies for millions of years was haunting. No wonder Saren and Benezia cooperated with them – probably hoping for some accommodation. He had seen Prothean and Inusannon ruins in his youth, and both races were theorized to be far more advanced than current galactic culture. If they had failed, then it was unlikely force of arms would solve their problems. Not that it ever did – it usually helped decide the fallout of a problem one way or another, but only after some other method solved it.
As usual, the salarian answer was to know the enemy first. Hence why the salarians, upon discovering the Tho'ian on Makana, had bargained with it instead of incinerating it. Placating its desires with captured vorcha slaves and data dumps, the Union had learned a great deal from the creature.
Makana was a lush jungle moon with an atmosphere so laden with carbon dioxide and other poisons that no life beyond plants had ever developed. Ancient stone ruins dotted the otherwise unbroken forests, gigantic and ominous even in their ruin, waxy black stone still immaculate after tens of thousands of years. From the intel file, Mordin knew the planet had been an ancient Tho'ian colony, destroyed well over a hundred thousand years ago by some sort of huge power plant explosion – it had been destroyed before the Reapers had destroyed the Tho'ians themselves.
The fact that the creature had survived a blast that wiped a third of the planet clean down to bedrock gave testament to its durability, if nothing else.
The salarians had isolated the Tho'ian, and created a space of some sixteen square kilometers, surrounded by a thirty-two-kilometer-wide firebreak festooned with defenses, around its location. The entire area was covered in kinetic barriers and robots, walled off by ten-meter-thick durasteel walls topped with flame units and lye sprayers. Within, five slender towers and a hab-dome took up a corner of the area, while the center was given over to the Tho'ian.
Mordin was fascinated as he approached, varying his attention between the briefing documentation he'd been given and the towering form before him. Supported by a delicate latticework of metallic spars hooked to sensors, the Tho'ian loomed a hundred eighty meters high, with dozens of flesh pods dangling from tangles of rootlike limbs that burrowed into the ground. The vegetation itself was twisted into some kind of symbiosis with the giant tree-creature.
Hundreds of vorcha, shot through with greenish tendrils and with explosive collars around their necks, toiled endlessly around the ground – planting trees, operating machinery to keep the area cool, or building large, low plinths of black stone inset with growing tendrils. The briefing indicated these were some kind of Tho'ian computer, used by the creature to store information.
Mordin came to a stop at the marked area on the steel-plated road, heavy lines of red paint forming a box. As he did so, a single vorcha jerked slightly and approached, its eyes gone and replaced with slowly writhing masses of greenish moss.
The vorcha jerked again, before making a curious gesture with its arms. Its voice was low and rough, undercut with a wet, raspy gurgle. "Greetings, child of forgotten stardust. I am Two-Stars Binary Impulses. Welcome to my garden."
Mordin surveyed the vorcha briefly before staring up at the great tree, aware the vorcha was just a mouthpiece. He triggered the suit speaker. "Greetings, Great One. I am Healer-Scientist Mordin Solus. I have questions for you."
The vorcha twitched. "Solus. One of the ruling clans. Interesting. Normally only the wandering eye of your STG speaks to me. But no matter. I know much, provided you have the proper payment for my vast knowledge."
Mordin had been told the creature liked to barter for its knowledge and did not respond well to threats. Still, he had an idea, based on vague reports of what happened on another Tho'ian. "Understandable, but information required is to protect you."
The vorcha shivered, a tendril of green erupting from its mouth. "How… altruistic, child of stardust. Explain."
Solus triggered his omni-tool, sending the video images of the Collector attack on Freedom's Progress to the computers he was told allowed the creature to process visual images. "Collector attack on human wildcat colony. Suspected link to Reapers."
The great tree made a very low frequency booming noise somewhere within. Vorcha all across the area stiffened, as another vorcha – this one with eyes – was moved toward the video display, watching it carefully twice.
The speaking vorcha turned its empty, mossy gaze back to Mordin. "Your 'Collectors' are corrupted Protheans, child of stardust. The form has changed – the wings are new – but the four eyes, head shape, and legs have not."
Mordin folded his arms, setting aside that stunning revelation for a moment. "Citadel agents reported Saren and Benezia slew one of your kind on Feros, and were working for the Reapers. Spectre Shepard submitted video that Collectors attacked and nearly destroyed another of your kind on Eingana. STG reports one dead on Minshim from similar weapons as deployed on Freedom's Progress. Hostility clear."
The vorcha's rough voice became somehow… smooth. "I see. The threat is subtle but of course, still there. Cooperate or perhaps you will rescind my protection?"
Mordin shook his head. "STG acknowledged your usefulness. Merely require information, but would appreciate you acting in self-preservation as opposed to further compensation."
The vorcha was quiet for a long moment before giving a jerky motion with its head. "Very well, child of stardust. There is little I can tell you that will be useful."
Mordin shrugged. "Any knowledge better than none. Details on swarm creatures and capabilities of Collectors most useful."
The vorcha spat. "The swarm in your image that subdued the colonists is a known weapon of the old Prothean Empire called 'Servility Devices.' They were originally used by the core Prothean species to subdue resisting or revolting subject races. They operate using a form of mechanically induced biotic manipulation, powered by ambient heat, to generate a stasis effect on the target. The second function injects powerful suppressants into the target system."
Mordin transmitted the files the STG had collated on the previous attacks on wildcat colonies. "Earliest attacks resulted in dead asari. Later attacks left asari alive, but with memories gone."
The vorcha paused, then spoke. "The Servility Devices were originally single target machines – they cannot be configured to subdue multiple races at one time. Secondary functions included a method to kill or incapacitate using injected venom, designed to disable or kill anything that does not fit the primary function's programming."
Mordin frowned. "Weaknesses?"
"They can be easily destroyed by conventional weaponry, although such masses would require area-effect explosions to take many of them out at once. They work poorly against beings augmented with cybernetic systems. A powerful biotic can block the effects of the stasis or keep them at bay for some time with a bubble field of biotic force."
Mordin nodded. "Capture of devices possible?"
"They can be deactivated with standard EMP, but have a tendency to self-destruct once deactivated. Ironically, a biotic stasis on the device itself would be best. The workings of mechanically induced biotics were not something I understood – even our old allies the Inusannon could not use machines in such a fashion."
Mordin nodded. "And Reaper threat?"
The vorcha knelt. "As I informed your masters, I was obliterated before the Reapers attacked my own Empire. I was able to deploy a handful of thralls off-world during the Prothean conflict, but my information is only conjectural. What I can tell you is that if they were the winners in a fight against the Tho'ian-Inusannon Alliance, they would wipe your pathetic species away in seconds."
The confines of the environmental suit felt tight. With a deep exhalation, Mordin nodded again. "Required information has been received. Informed you have standing request for more vorcha. Will attempt to convince superiors to comply."
The vorcha tilted its head. "Good, child of stardust. It is appreciated. One final… suggestion, if you will." The vorcha's mouth opened, teeth stained green and dripping with ichor of some kind as it hissed in what would be amusement for a normal vorcha. "The files you sent indicate that each of these colonies was attacked and subdued in short order, but that you can find no pattern. I can see one."
Mordin tapped his omni-tool "Listening."
The vorcha shambled over to a console, where another vorcha stood and began tapping controls. A green tinted holomap of the galaxy appeared. "The mass relays have several functions your species have not figured out yet. While we did not trust such devices – anything that makes light go faster cannot be natural or good to travel through – the Protheans had no such reluctance. There is a series of relay switches that allows for 'bounce' travel – rather than one relay to another, you can continue straight through several relays in a row without emerging in any but the last one. This function is only present in primary relays, and there is a limit to how far one can travel using this method."
Mordin's eyes widened at the strategic and economic potential, but the Tho'ian's thrall continued to speak. "However, doing so requires a powerful engine system and complicated software, as well as the correct knowledge to do so. Each one of these wildcat colonies hit is within striking distance of a relay that connects to the Omega-4 chainpoint. Based on that, only five of the remaining fifteen wildcat colonies are vulnerable."
Mordin's mind raced. Knowing future targets made it possible to set a trap – but the use of such a technology offered tremendous possibility. "Possible to replicate or use this technology?"
The vorcha hissed definite laughter this time. "Not for your level of technology. The buildup of gravitic forces without the proper manipulation would blow your ships apart after the first jump. I observed the Protheans using this method many times, but did not investigate – perhaps some surviving ruins or artifacts describe it more fully."
The calm voice of the STG Master clicked across the comm system. "Extremely useful information, Two-Stars. You will be compensated thusly. Operative Solus, your exposure is at SF10. Return immediately for sterilization and debriefing."
Solus nodded. "Would like to return, talk history, biomedicine."
The vorcha shambled back to its duties. "We shall see, child of stardust. Flower well and fully."
As Mordin walked away slowly, his comm implant clicked. "Now you begin to see the larger danger, Operative. You will comply… or shall I send for the obedience installation teams?"
The salarian doctor sighed. "Comply. I dislike coercion."
The Master's voice was almost tinged with amusement. "As a being coerced since I first drew breath, Operative, I find myself lacking empathy for your situation. You will be briefed on current intelligence regarding the Butcher, Cerberus, the Illusive Man, the Collectors and the current theaters of operation once you have been through quarantine and sterilization. You will have at least another day to review all current intelligence on the situation and a preliminary briefing on the Butcher and our best guesses as to her identity."
Mordin sniffed, as he approached the main tramway leading away from the Preserve. "And then?"
"A leisurely trip back to Omega with stops at Dikana in the Silver Rim border, then Therum. There is a high probability you will be intercepted at the latter stop – if not, return to your clinic and await contact from Cerberus. If they fail to reach out to you within a month, we will communicate our reaction."
Mordin looked over his shoulder at the vast bulk of the Makana Tho'ian. "Difficult to explain source of knowledge regarding Collectors to Cerberus."
The voice of the STG Master was definitely amused as he spoke, Mordin decided. "The chance that Cerberus is not aware we have a Tho'ian is… very low."
O-TWCD-O
Garrus looked out from the top of the refinery tanks, hidden from sight by shadows and his cloaking field, his hands caressing the lines of his super-heavy sniper rifle as he adjusted his position. Seconds passed slowly, his entire world narrowed to the slender view from his scope as he made a dozen minute adjustments.
His mandibles quivered slightly as he slowly exhaled, then pulled the trigger. The powerful round flew through the smoke and smog choked air of the lower Expanse, smashing into the temple of the human clone-legger a second later. The man's dusky skin was splashed with blood as his head turned into a fine pinkish mist and a few chunks of bone, before his shattered corpse tumbled from his balcony to fall almost ten stories to the filthy steel-plated decking below.
He came apart in a gory splash of bones, blood and torn clothing, screams ripping through the nearest bystanders, even as the small army of security he'd thought could protect him screamed orders and drew weapons.
Garrus hated anyone who would kidnap people for their organs. But cloneleggers – vicious, sick tork-shits who used genetypic manipulation to clone people and repeatedly harvest the clones for organs – were even worse. A flash clone's organs would decay too quickly to be of use, so cloneleggers used fully viable clones, grown in isolation tanks and minds chipped up to wander in a fantasy land as their meat bodies were butchered.
The filth he'd just executed had murdered over ten thousand clones – and the spirits only knew how many other people – over the years. He was rich enough to buy up enough security that he felt even the Archangel couldn't get him, and refused to leave the station, stating openly that if Archangel wanted him gone he could come and try to kill him.
And the moron was in literal walking distance of their hideout. Not that anyone knew that.
The turian smiled to himself. "Challenge accepted, sirefucker." He peered through the scope, making sure the target was truly down, then tapped the control on his omni-tool to detonate the palm-sized drone-mines Erash and Butler had managed to sneak into the security of the clonelegger.
Explosions rocked the Lower Expanse, blasting mercs off the heavily fortified top of the clonelegger's posh mansion tower. A single merc staggered out, blazing from head to toe in burning white phosphorous, screaming as he tripped and plunged off the edge of the tower to fall to his death far below.
Garrus amused himself by putting a pair of shots into the aircar the mercenary team leader was trying to leave in, snickering as the aircar spun out of control and smashed into a nearby building which he knew was a Blood Pack training station.
Doing a final sweep for targets, Garrus then tucked back further into the shadows, the only sign he was ever there was the slight wisp of friction smoke from the barrel of his weapon, which contracted as he put it away and began to move away from the top of the refinery tank to the rusty ladder running down one side.
The past few weeks had been drowned in blood.
After the stunt he'd pulled using the data gathered from the Shadows, the gangs on Omega (or the 'mercenary combat teams', as the Blue Suns styled themselves) had myriad reactions to the event. The Shadows pretty much ceased to exist – between the rampage of Archangel and less than ten minutes later, the arrival of a very pissed off krogan high on red dust, less than a dozen Shadows had survived the massacre at their headquarters. Those few unfortunates didn't even make it halfway to the docks before Angel's people took them out with a mix of booby traps, ambushes with hot-shotted shotguns, and the occasional sniper shot.
The formidable Mr. Hands managed to make it all the way to the docks, fighting most of the way, bleeding badly and somehow evading everything thrown at him – only to run smack into Aria herself, smiling and slowly unfurling the eezo whip Jona Sederis had given her as a sign of grudging respect.
Aria had only spoken coldly and said he'd violated Omega's first rule when his failures allowed for her defenses to be violated. As wounded and exhausted as he was, he couldn't even dodge as the whip lashed out.
The slender greenish wires had wrapped around the unfortunate salarian crime boss as Aria's smile only widened, even as the eezo whip activated. Held in place by a kinetic field as every part of his body was slowly consumed by warp-fire and torn inch by inch by conflicting and overlapping pulls and lift fields, Mr. Hands had died screaming before exploding in a wave of burning, smoking body parts and cyberware melted into slag.
Garrus didn't like Aria very much but there were times the old girl was beginning to grow on him.
Most of the lesser gangs had simply splintered – some fleeing Omega entirely, others throwing down their flags, sashes, scarves or whatever marks of identity they used and seeking the protection of larger gangs. While there would never be a shortage of datahax and hackers on the station, the Shadows had gathered up many of the best, and their messy demise in the course of one night left gangs and businesses scrambling to shore up their own defenses.
Sensat and the tech team had spent forty hours straight hacking, sleeping in shifts and abusing stimulants to get the best they could out of the window of weakness and opportunity. While Garrus rested and Angel made calls to the few people he could trust on the station, the rest of the team scouted locations and prepared for the inevitable backlash.
Garrus grimaced as he climbed down the refinery tanks. Angel was right, retribution would be coming. They had broken most of the power of Omega's gangs over the people and shattered the worst of the 'businesses' operating out of the station. Spirits, even legit businesses were starting to trade here. But that didn't mean Aria was happy about it, and rumors were flying that she'd told the gangs that if they thought they could kill Archangel, they could certainly try.
And that was dangerous. While the attack they'd pulled off by hacking Aria's own defenses and turning them against the gangs and slavers had been devastating, it didn't do much to deplete the forces of the so-called Big Three – Eclipse, Blue Suns, and the Blood Pack. Each of them reacted slightly differently. They still each had hundreds of soldiers on the base and millions of credits worth of equipment, not even counting off-Omega assets they could bring in.
Each one had reacted differently to Aria's suggestion.
The most striking result was that of Eclipse. Jaroth and the number three in the gang, an asari known to the public as Relli's Kiss, had a nearly-lethal fight, resulting in Jaroth and a small number of Eclipse sisters leaving the station to head to, if rumors were correct, Tuchanka, where Jona Sederis had setup shop.
Part of Garrus was disappointed that Jaroth got away, but only a part of him he'd rather not think about. For the co-leader of a group like Eclipse, Jaroth was (mostly) sane and fairly reasonable, if one overlooked the fact he willingly slept with a lunatic like Jona. Jaroth was, of course, still evil slime – he engaged in and pursued the expansion of Eclipse into sex slavery, selling sentient beings for food, and drugs. But he seemed to draw the line at enslaving children or preying on the truly down and out – not that he was a good person, but he was at least a little less revolting than most of Omega's inhabitants.
Since Eclipse had been 'shut down' and 'founded' over fifty times in the past thousand years by Jona Sederis and whoever she was sleeping with, splinterings like this were hardly uncommon. The only branch of Eclipse that had survived all that time was the one siding with Jona, but as Jona was gone from Omega there was lots of talk that Relli's Kiss would take control of the larger part of Eclipse operations – maybe even challenge Jona herself.
As Garrus finished coming down off the tower, he moved quickly and quietly into the abandoned clutter of yet another eezo refinery. He picked out a segment of the wall near the edge of the district and slid along it until he found a narrow gap, barely wide enough for him and the suit.
As he slipped past, coming down in a short hop that landed on top of a second refinery tower, he almost wished he could see her try to take out Jona, if only to see just how fast, how painfully, and in how many pieces the Relli's Kiss would die.
As for the Blood Pack, the death of Garm turned out to be less of a blow than Garrus had hoped. The new leader of the Blood Pack, one of Garm's many sons named Durm, was a lot more troublesome, going so far as to call for the Blue Suns and Eclipse to sit with him in a Crush to figure out how to rid themselves of the danger of Archangel. Since Garm had boasted he would kill the turian himself, Durm's approach shocked many. Durm's response was distressingly sensible: "Vengeance tastes better than honor". Durm was flooding the streets with packs of tracking varren and vorcha, hoping to pick up a trace of some kind of scent.
Given that Garrus and Angel had taken precautions against any sort of thing happening from the very first, Garrus shook his head at the stupidity of the tactic, but it meant nothing could be left to chance. Even the slightest wound could leave a trail, forcing Garrus to increasingly sideline the rest of the team from anything approaching battle.
The cowardly leader of the Blue Suns, Vido Santiago, had fled the station months ago, and his second in command, Tarek, decided to take control of things locally. The Suns were bringing in heavy ordinance – heavy mechs, gunships, and lots of off-world Legionaries well equipped with heavy weapons. Holed up in their tower in the Black Walk, they were far too close to the center of Aria's power to even think about taking out with a direct assault.
Garrus was the most worried about Tarek. Relli's Kiss was a lunatic so blown on red sand that she couldn't live without a medical respirator, and Durm, while smarter than his father and more willing to work with others, was still a berzerker with the tactical skill of a rabid dog.
Tarek, on the other hand, was cunning and smart, and had eluded every attempt to take him out that Garrus had made.
Coming down from the second refinery tower, Garrus walked along the rusted, battered lattice of support catwalks high above the main industrial districts of Omega. The old asteroid was simply riddled with abandoned mines, service tunnels, and older abandoned sections given over to vorcha or worse. By the simple expedient of utilizing such areas cloaked, he could move about sight unseen right under the noses of both Aria's greensuits and the gangs.
Still, mobility wouldn't help them. Erash had heard enough captured comms to determine that the Blue Suns hackers were relentless in trying eventually pinpoint their location, and that the Blue Suns had brought in expensive forensic equipment from off-station. Eventually they would localize a scent, or a tell from the suit, and then the varren of the Blood Pack would start to hunt.
It might take days or weeks, but it would happen. All they could do now was prepare.
They had fortified the warehouse as much as possible, but the ugly reality was they would be trapped with no real way out if its location was ever revealed. They'd dug in and reinforced the walls, planted heavy accelerator turrets and stockpiled as many missile launchers as they could. The best they could hope for was a direct assault across the main bridge – a killing zone that could only be bypassed through the air.
Operating a gunship in the tight environs of the warehouse's area would leave it unable to use its maneuverability to avoid counter-fire. They could withstand one, possibly two such attacks.
Of course, if the gangs ever found their escape tunnel, they'd be trapped with no way out. But Garrus was confident that wouldn't happen. The best-case scenario they had was being pinned, leaving a handful of mechs to keep up the impression of someone staying behind to fight, and fleeing. Reaching the end of the escape tunnel would give them a chance to make it to the shuttles they'd stashed. If they could get off station and out of the system…
He shook his head. He knew already there was no getting out for him. He'd buy time and keep the gangs focused on him while the rest of the team got away and restarted their lives, and blow up the warehouse around his enemies when they finally defeated him, killing them with him.
Then he could rest.
Garrus triggered the flight system on the armor, jetting down almost thirty meters to a lower catwalk and frowning inside the heavy armor. Angel had repeatedly warned Garrus he was getting carried away with his assault on the gangs. He was, after all, not invincible. The SKYTALON's flight and stealth ability made him dangerous, especially when striking from stealth or in close quarters. But enough firepower would blow the shields and the armor itself, while very tough, was not immune to damage – especially against high-impact armor piercing rounds.
But the rest of the team had no such protection. And Garrus was beginning to realize his tactic of doing all the heavy lifting (and killing) was only going to make things worse for the rest of the team when it came time for them all to fight. While most of them could certainly fight if they had to, only a few – Vortash, Butler and Montague – were truly hardened killers. Melenis hated combat, Mierin and Sidonis were okay soldiers but hardly truly experienced, and Krul – while fierce – was not really a stellar combatant.
Angel could also hold his own – he'd done so long before Garrus had arrived, after all – but against the kind of tark-shit the Blood Pack and the Blue Suns would be throwing, even he wouldn't last long. So, their last stand wouldn't be much of one – mostly Garrus blunting their assault and buying time for the rest to flee. There was no guarantee they would be able to do so successfully.
Most frustrating of all, even after wrecking the Shadow Broker's operatives and operations for weeks, Garrus had no leads and no real clues to follow. The Broker was reeling on both Omega and on Ilium, but the few rumors he'd been able to get a hold of seemed to believe the Broker was pulling out of the Traverse somewhat.
The data the Wind Runners had in their ship indicated the Broker was funding wet-work teams to try to go after Archangel, but they didn't have any clue as to who he was or where he was operating from. Even so, even a few such teams, working alongside the Blood Pack and Blue Suns, would turn the situation very ugly – and if he was sending independent assassins, it was unlikely he would ever find out more about the Broker from Omega.
Garrus sighed, clambering down a narrow access tunnel toward the abandoned mining galleries just below Niftu District. He checked to make sure he'd not been seen or followed, then walked down fifteen meters of ruined tunnel toward a dead-end cutaway where mining power systems had once stood.
He didn't have any choices, though. He'd been able to survive and vent his rage on Omega only because Angel had saved him. And while he felt he'd done a lot of good here none of it made up for Telanya's death. Angel had warned him at the outset it was a stupid idea.
Even if he could talk the rest of the group into continuing to go after the Broker, where would they go? Archangel's group was only able to remain hidden on Omega due to a fluke and careful hacking, and (as Angel suspected increasingly) possible favors from the STG due to Erash. But getting out of Aria's empire in shuttles would be hard enough. They would have to abandon most of the loot and cash they'd made, and while Garrus had made sure everyone squirreled away credits in their own private accounts and they could carry a few things, they'd be starting from scratch.
No, it was best everyone went their own way and got away clean. If he somehow survived this mess, he'd go to Ilium and see if the Sisters of Vengeance needed a good killing machine. And if he didn't…
Revenge was beginning to turn to despair, and he often wondered if he was being a fool. His mother was slowly dying, her condition made worse by thinking he was dead. His sister – who knew if she was happy or not?
He sighed, and reached the end of the long cutaway. Carefully concealed in the cutaway was a cleverly hinged sliding door, leading into the lower tunnels below the warehouse Angel and the team had taken over from the weapons smuggler whose crashed ship had provided the suit Garrus now wore.
He pushed the panel open, grimacing as it resisted before swinging wide, and stepped through into the blackness beyond. He shut it behind him, sealing off the last of the light, and turned on the suit's low-light mode before moving deeper into the cramped tunnels they'd created leading to the base proper.
He had to see if the rest of the group had any better ideas.
