Two days of patrolling Nakira solar space showed no return to the planet by Holder Moore or any of his slavers. Unfortunately, Melara's underground contacts also reported no word of Moore poking his greasy, evil head up anywhere else thus far. It made her simultaneously hope he had died on that moon after all- escaped the crash to blunder into a lava pit, perhaps; and worry that he was up to something even more nefarious than sneaking onto a sanctioned world in order to kidnap and torture fresh slaves.

She was starting to feel restless, agitated. Every molecule of her body was screaming at her to do something, yet at the moment there was nothing she could do. She could not report to the Citadel without knowing for certain they had the Prilekk alive or dead, and she could not chase after Moore with no leads.

She rose that morning to find that Dae was not in bed. Her bondmate had taken to shuttling back and forth to the research base on occasion. Melara knew why, but she said nothing about it, and never accompanied her. Lily had pretty much remained solely on the base, helping the doctors with their rakir patients and updated Mel as to their progress via QED.

The absence of her bondmate this morning irritated her more than it should have, and she looked over her endless reports with only half a mind to the work at hand. Not helping her mood was her repeated, failed attempts to reach her sister. Irie was not answering her omni-tool, and every query sent into the Oasis base only returned with 'Dr. T'Soni is not available to speak. We will have her contact you as soon as she's free'.

She had not been 'free', apparently, in two whole days. It was unlike Irie to miss the anniversary of their father's passing, and it was very unlike her to not even drop a hasty message to let her family know she was ok.

She doesn't call me by tonight and I am taking this ship to the Oasis base to see her for myself, she thought, then blinked as her console suddenly flashed with an incoming communication.

For a moment, she thought it actually was Irie calling, before she realized the small avatar was not her sister, but her niece. Accessing the call she said simply, "Report."

Lily blinked, a little taken aback by the clinical tone. "Mel, you will probably want to come down to the base. They have decided that the Prilekk's condition is stable enough to wake her and speak to her."

Mel straightened. "I will take a shuttle right down."

"Good. I will have them prepared for your arrival."

Lily met her at the door of the infirmary. Mel did not even glance in the direction of the infant's bassinette as she followed her niece within, the younger doctor already speaking.

"As you know we successfully removed her shackles yesterday morning. She is still very weak physically, but her hearts and her vitals are strong enough to risk the shock of waking. You spoke to her briefly in the shuttle when we rescued her. Both I and Neska thought it would be best for her if she saw you first again upon awakening. She will at least know, hopefully, that she can communicate with you. That may stave off any attempt to attack."

"You think she might attack?"

Lily looked at her dryly. "She's rakir. She's far too weak and we have her gently restrained, but that does not mean she will not attempt it. Right now physical exertion is not what she needs, even just fighting against her bonds."

"I see. Well, I'll do what I can. My rakiri is still only just above rudimentary."

"You just need to speak to her first," Neska said, overhearing as they drew closer. "We have a translation collar to put on her that will change galactic into rakiri and vice versa, which should handle any further conversation problems."

"Why not simply put it on her before waking her?" Dae asked suddenly, having drawn up beside Lily. Mel glanced over at her, not missing the fact that her bondmate had the infant bundled in its make-shift pouch and wrapped in her arms.

"Everything that has been done to the Prilekk since she was stolen from her home world has been done against her will," Mel said. "She was muzzled, shackled, and tortured. Nothing gets put on her again without her permission."

"Precisely. She has been violated enough," Neska agreed.

"I understand," Dae said softly. Mel met her eyes a moment, before she turned back to the biobed. The rakir upon it looked only slightly better than she had after being pulled from that wicked box they'd found her in. She'd put on only a small amount of weight and still looked sunken and starving. Her muscle tone was little to nonexistent. While her shackles and muzzle were now gone and the wounds treated, they still made ugly red slashes over her face, wrists, and ankles. Nearby, several other doctors waited nervously, along with a couple of security commandos. Clearly, Neska was taking no chances.

The matron nodded at Lily, who stopped the flow of chemicals keeping the rakir unconscious. Touching her aunt's elbow lightly she whispered, "It should not take long."

Only a few moments later Sihra started to stir slightly, her nostrils widening a moment before her eyes suddenly snapped open. Though fogged still with the remnants of the drugs, they focused quickly and with furious intent on Mel.

"Prilekk, nikoga," Melara said quickly. "Feshata ki aki no."

"Neroki po to posato," came the rasping response.

"Mi tami Melara," she said.

The rakir grimaced, glaring. "Detrak."

Neska looked amused. "I suppose we do look a bit like Nakirian detrak."

"Asari," Melara said to the rakir evenly. Then she gestured at the others, introducing them and once again reaffirming that they were not her enemy, before describing the collar.

As she spoke, Sihra shifted a bit, testing her restraints, before her eyes wandered around the room. She was clearly confused at what she was seeing, and that confusion strengthened her struggle a moment. One of the commandos started forward, halting when Neska raised a hand. Sihra, fixing on the motion, bore her broken teeth.

"You are not our prisoner," Melara said again in rakiri. "We rescued you from those who took you away from your people, the ones who bound and tortured you."

"I am bound now!"

"You are injured. You are restrained only for your safety, and we will remove the restraints if it becomes clear you will not attack us or cause yourself more damage."

Sihra grimaced. "And this 'thing'…collar?"

"I have learned some of your language, but only a few of my kind know it. The collar will allow you to understand us when we speak, and we you."

"Stunted magic…" she growled. "Why should I trust any of you?"

Melara lifted a brow, then reached out and drew a dagger from her belt, laying it over Sihra's throat.

"Because I could kill you now, and do not," she said with a glower. "Because we could have killed you in your sleep, and did not. And because we are your only chance to go home again, Prilekk."

Sihra snarled again. "Only cowards kill one weaker than themselves. Only cowards would kill one asleep or bound."

"And we are not cowards, Sihra," Melara said. "We are strong, and we are not your enemy."

Nostrils flared again, and Mel knew that the rakir was weighing her scent, searching it for lies. When she looked over at Neska, the Matron displayed the collar.

"We force nothing on you," she said in rakiri as well. "Your choice, Prilekk. Always."

"Put the damn thing on."

Moving gently, Neska fastened the loose collar around Sihra's neck, then activated it. A tiny ear bud broke free of the main mass and settled in the rakir's ear, making it flap with irritation a moment. Then Neska spoke in galactic.

"You understand me?"

The words were translated into rakiri in the Prilekk's ear, making it wave again in surprise. When she answered, her guttural tones were overlaid by clear and feminine galactic.

"I understand you. Now loose me!"

Neska nodded at Lily, who turned off the restraints.

"You're free, Prilekk. You will not be restrained again."

Sihra moved her arms, then confident it was true, she sat up. She was so weak she visibly trembled at the effort, but no one made a move to stop her or steady her. To do so would demonstrate that they thought she was weak- and it would be the gravest insult.

Fixing Melara with a stern look- having clearly decided through sight and smell that the asari captain was a soldier and a leader- she said, "You will return me to my Ubuut."

"That is the plan, Sihra. We want nothing more than to take you home, where you belong," Melara replied. "However, I have unfortunate news."

Sihra sniffed, then shook her head. "He is dead, isn't he?" she asked flatly.

"Yes."

She bore her teeth briefly, an odd expression of both fury and grief. After a moment, she schooled it. Her voice was low and full of vengeance as she spoke next. "Who is now Ubuut?"

Neska moved around to where she could meet the rakir's eyes. "Your niece is now Ubuuta."

"Sokka?" Sihra asked, then nodded. "She would have lead the One Hundred against the Ubuut's rivals. Good. I can serve Sokka."

Before Neska could say more, Sihra lifted her head again a bit. She was shaking worse than before, her entire body trembling with effort, but her eyes were sharp. "There is another rakir here. I smell a child."

"Yes," Melara said, then stepped aside slightly as Dae moved forward, still cradling the make-shift pouch. Seeing it, Sihra snorted in disdain.

"It is pouchless. Toss it in the rain. It is of no use."

Dae's gaze was instantly furious, and she clasped the bundle closer to her body before she looked at Mel. "I will be in the observation room."

Her voice was the deadliest calm. Without waiting for a response, she turned and left the infirmary. Mel glanced over at Neska, who nodded. She said nothing, but the gesture was clear enough. She and her staff could handle matters from here.

Mel strode after her bondmate, finding her in the small and quiet observation room nearby. As she entered, her wife did not even glance at her, knowing full well who had come in.

"Dae, you cannot be upset," Melara said gently. "Neska told you how the rakir would view that child. Her response is completely expected."

"That may be, but do not tell me I cannot be upset by it," Dae answered tautly. Mel sighed, then nodded.

"You're right. I'm sorry, Dae. Of course you have the right to be upset. Even so, you knew this would happen. That baby is never going to be accepted among his people-"

"Nor ours, apparently," Dae replied just as rigidly as before, making Melara stiffen.

"Daenys…Goddess damn it, you are a stubborn asari if ever there was one! I feel every bit as sorry for that infant as you do. Just because I am not eager to raise it on a damned warship-"

Dae turned and strode toward Mel, her face set, interrupting her. Mel half recoiled as Dae unfastened the straps of the makeshift pouch.

"No. Oh, no no no. Don't you-"

The straps came loose, and Dae firmly placed the bundle into Melara's arms, her gaze stone. "You hold him, and you look at him, Melara Shepard. You look at him and then you tell me it is impossible, that it is not the right thing to do."

Holding the tiny bundle awkwardly, Mel didn't look at it, but gaped at her bondmate.

"I said look at him!"

Mel's jaw tightened, the muscle rippling slightly, before she looked down at the bundle in her arms. Wrapped tightly in the cloth, the baby rakir was almost impossible to see, save the very end of his nose…which seemed so unbelievably tiny.

Feeling her wife's steely gaze still on her, she carefully shifted the wrap away from his face and looked at him.

He had clearly responded much faster to treatment than Sihra had. He no longer looked like a ragged doll made of sticks. His face and little arms had filled out, and while he was far from the plump look of most infants, he no longer appeared as if death might take him at any moment. The thinnest sheen of infant fur was as soft and golden as peach fuzz, and each of his ears was almost as big as the rest of his head.

Unable to resist it, Mel lightly touched that soft fuzz, as whispery as silk. When she did, the baby stirred and looked at her through heavy-lidded, milky eyes. His lips pursed a moment, as if he might cry. Instead, he yawned expansively, his tiny mouth widening like a little cave, exposing pink gums and the thin curl of a tongue no bigger than her pinky finger.

After a moment, Mel glanced up at Dae, who was watching her with an intent little smile.

"Damn you," Mel said softly, without malice, the ghost of her own smile appearing on her lips.

Dae leaned forward and gently rested her forehead against her wife's. "You really are so like your father," she said. "A great big softy deep inside."

Mel huffed and shook her head, before she sighed wearily. "This complicates…everything. You know that, don't you?"

"I know," Dae replied softly. "But it is a wonderful complication, and it will be worth it, Mel. I know it in my heart."

Before Melara could reply, her omni-tool suddenly beeped- the tone reserved for vital and immediate ship business. Shifting Aleu back into Dae's arms, she accessed the call.

"Shepard."

It was her XO, and as usual, Vina was all business. {Captain, we have information on the current whereabouts of Holder Moore.}

The two asari met each other's eyes, and Dae nodded. "Go."

Turning on her heel, Melara was already heading out of the room. "I'm on my way back, Vina. Get the Normandy prepped to leave solar orbit as soon as I'm on board."

"Report!"

Mel's voice almost preceded her into the CIC, her eyes going to her XO without question as to where the turian would be standing.

"We have reliable information that Holder Moore is currently aboard a small mercenary transport, private human registration flagging it as the King Lear. Level six stealth capabilities, no more than twelve crew compliment, but modified shields and weapons array."

"Threat to the Normandy?"

"Nominal."

"Current position?"

Vina drew up a holographic image of a world wreathed in thick brown and amber clouds. A small illuminated yellow circle flashed at one point of the northern hemisphere.

"Gratudy Prime in the Havikko system, less than two hours from here at our top FTL speed. The Lear is hiding in the upper atmosphere. It is a heavily polluted world, abandoned by the batarians a hundred years ago. There are high levels of CO2, nitrogen, and other greenhouse gasses. They are providing an additional stealth aspect."

"A poor one if our sensors can find them."

"Our sensors didn't find them," Vina told her. "The ship's exact coordinates were provided in the information packet."

Melara looked at her. "Which contact provided this information?"

Vina didn't bat an eyelash. "The Shadow Broker, ma'am."

"She was not one of my authorized contacts. Who pinged her?"

"No one. She simply messaged us on secure channels and provided the information."

"Out of the goodness of her damned heart?" Mel asked, furious. "Get me on the line with her. Right now."

Private Laws, standing at the communications station, immediately did so, passing the connection to Melara's main console. The moment it was answered, Melara drew the feed forward to dominate her display. "What the hell are you up to?"

{No hello? No, 'thank you for the intel regarding the vicious slaver I've been chasing for nearly a year now?'}

"And I am supposed to just believe you sent that information to my ship free of cost? How do I know that Moore is on that vessel, or that that vessel is even where you claim it is? Our sensors cannot penetrate both its inbuilt stealth systems and the masking of that particular atmosphere. We'd have no way to verify your information even if we were in orbit around that damned planet right now. We'd have to go in blind and watch for them out of a viewport!"

{The information is genuine-}

"And I just take your word for it? Your word? How stupid do you think I am?"

{I am well aware of your feelings toward me, Melara. This animosity you have is entirely one sided. I wish you no ill or harm. I had hoped by providing this information that it would be seen as a gesture of good will on my part-}

"You don't know what good will even means. What do you want? What's the 'catch', Athena?"

{In exchange for handing you Moore- and I do believe he has a full cargo of freshly captured salarian colonists on board- I was hoping for a single favor.}

"What favor?"

{That the next time you and I meet face to face, you refrain from trying to shoot me in the face or tear me apart with biotics, and instead hear me out like a rational adult.}

"That's all?"

{That is all.}

"And if I refuse?"

{You will still find Moore at those coordinates…at least for the next six hours or so. You will have him, and I will have nothing. You win either way, Melara. As I said, I hold no animosity toward you. If you agree to my terms we have a bargain. If not, you have the free gift of Holder Moore…and I have nothing.}

"Nothing save no excuse not to kill you on sight or send assassins after you, ma'am," Vina said to Melara in a low voice.

{Was that Vina? I see she's still as grumpy as ever. That stick up her ass must really chafe.}

Vina and Melara both scowled in sync.

{Look, take it or leave it, Melara. Moore is yours if you want him. If I hear on my feeds that he has been captured and brought to justice, then I will assume we have a deal and you will hear me out on our next meeting…whenever that may come about. Keeping your half of the bargain is entirely up to you. Broker out.}

"Permission to shoot the bitch on sight, Captain?" Vina asked.

"I'll consider it," Melara replied, though she would of course allow no such thing. It wasn't so much that she cared if her XO shot Athena, as she was far more concerned as to what Athena would do to her XO. As the daughter of the genetically engineered and artificially grown Eír- the most dangerous and powerful biotic extant- Athena was more than capable of tearing any enemy apart on a molecular level, if necessary.

She's right. She wouldn't bother trying to lure me into a trap- if she wanted me dead she'd come and kill me herself. She could also arrange a meeting with me at her convenience, and I wouldn't necessarily have to agree to it. She has more resources at her fingertips than I could even count. Like it or not, this is probably the best and most respectful way she has to ensure I at least listen of my own free will, as opposed to having me kidnapped and strapped to a table.

That made her wonder what it was that Athena wanted to say to her. Everything they'd had to say to each other had been said decades ago.

She straightened, deciding. "Set course for those coordinates. I want top FTL and full stealth- don't let them see we're coming. Laws. Message the research base and the Citadel, let them know where we are heading and that we have Moore on our scope."

In the end, it all came down to one thing. Melara could not in good conscious let Moore escape- especially if he truly did have a cargo full of freshly kidnapped salarians he most likely intended to be made into Grease. She didn't believe that Athena was lying, but even if she was, she still had to take the chance.

Moore had to be stopped. He had to pay for what he'd done and the endless lives he'd destroyed.

"Hey, let me out. Let me out of here, ok? Do you have any idea who I am? What family I come from? You can't do this to me! You have to-"

There was the whip of a heavy steel baton through air, then a dry and disconcerting crack as it collided into both bars and the fingers grasping them. The salarian screamed in pain, yanking his wounded hand back into the tiny cell. Without a stride lost, the wielder continued on the way through the cargo hold, the begging, threatening, and whimpering that had filled the air a moment ago dying down in the wake of the crack of those broken fingers.

Iron cages, each about four feet high and five deep, stacked five tall in the cargo hold. The iron bars were incredibly primitive when compared to energy and biotic barriers, but he preferred them. These beasts were primitive, after all. They deserved to be treated as such.

He continued to count as he walked, ending on seventeen. The number did little to ease his mood. Seventeen salarians, worth about a hundred and fifty million credits each in Grease, once they were processed. Small consolation for losing an entire ship and a unique specimen that would have fetched ten times that amount- once he'd finally broken her. Climbing the ladder out of the lower cargo hold, he emerged into the much cleaner upper hold, where several of his crew were working. Even though they were hiding in the masking atmosphere of Gratudy Prime, there was still work to be done. The hiding was necessary, at least until the heat was off. The salarians, frog-men though they were, had formidable ships and a distinct dislike of their citizens being kidnapped off a colony, gutted alive, and their organs boiled and strained to be turned into psychedelic drugs.

Not to mention that cunt asari is still on the war path. It would be a great shame if he had to kill her. He'd much rather have her in one of his cells…his to do with as he pleased.

He grinned at the thought. Breaking her and carving her into a thousand little pieces over weeks' worth of time would just about make up for his recent losses.

Down in the prisoner bay, the salarian with the broken fingers cradled them to his chest and whimpered, ignoring the puddle of sick he'd left beside himself. The pain that had raged through his arm was more vicious than anything he'd ever felt before, and he'd vomited from it before he realized he was going to. In his misery he completely missed the pair of luminescent eyes that drew near to the bars, lowering as the owner of them crouched to peer within.

The girl was a quarian, dressed in an odd set of armor that looked almost like a thick layer of oil that had been painted on and then solidified somehow. In stark contrast to the black of the armor, her blonde hair looked nearly white, only irregularly showing deeper shades of honey. She'd shaved it on one side down to skin. How long she'd crouched there silently watching him, the salarian couldn't say. As the pain died down in his hand from blazing agony to a heavy, red throb, he focused on her.

"Please, let me out," he said thickly. "My family is rich, very important. I'll do anything. They can give you anything you want. Just let me out."

She looked somewhat concerned, and he could see her weighing the idea behind her eyes. When she looked around and gestured carefully for him to come forward, he felt his heart leap with hope. Edging forward eagerly, he started to whisper.

"I always liked quarians. You're so smart and sensible. You're a sweet girl, I can tell. Please, I know you can help me."

"Shh, keep it down," she said with another furtive glance around herself. In the nearby cells, other salarians had started to creep close, trying to listen. She looked back at him and gestured at his hand. "He broke your fingers?"

"Yes," he said shakily. "It hurts very badly."

"Let me see. Maybe I can help."

Tentatively, he raised his hand, edging it toward the bars and then through them. She kindly and carefully grasped his wrist, as if cradling a wounded bird, and regarded the bent and smashed digits.

She hissed through her teeth in sympathy, then nodded. "I think I can help."

"Can you?" he asked hopefully. She gave him a tender smile, then looked back at his fingers.

"They need to be set," she said, then suddenly clamped on his wrist with a grip of steel. Grabbing one of the broken fingers, she violently wrenched it back into place, and then continued to wrench, twisting it the other way. The salarian bellowed in agony, immediately yanking back on his hand, trying to free it from her grip.

"Now, now, we're not done," she said gleefully, taking the next and doing the same, craning it viciously around until he heard it snap yet a second time. He screamed, beating frantically at the bars with his good hand, trying to tear away from her. She grabbed his middle finger and bent it backward toward his wrist, making sure the broken bones were grinding against each other.

"You feel that, froggy?" she asked, her voice a growl between her teeth. "Is that the help you wanted?"

"Letmegoletmegostopstopstop!" Tears were streaming down his face as he sobbed and begged and continued to try and yank away. She waited until he threw his weight back again, then suddenly released him. He fell back hard enough to crack his head on the bars behind him. Curling into a ball he sobbed, holding his hand tucked in safely. With a twist of her mouth, the quarian got to her feet, her luminescent eyes fixed on him a moment before she turned and walked up the bay toward the ladder.

As she emerged into the main bay, Holder zeroed in on her and strode her way, scowling. "Red. Finally. You were supposed to be up here ten minutes ago."

"Didn't realize I was on your schedule, Moore," she said with a glare, as half a dozen more quarians emerged from the lower deck, all dressed in the same odd armor as she wore.

"You're on my schedule when your recent acquisitions remind me of garbage and shit." He grabbed a case off a nearby hover cart and tossed it at her feet. "You wanna tell me what this trash is?"

"You pay us to find rare and valuable objects, Moore. Those are rare and valuable objects."

"Those are bullshit and you know it! Asari graken silk cloth? A krogan bingho statuette? The fuck you think I need these for?"

He kicked the box closer to her, then reached in his pouch, removing a small flat black rectangle. He waved it at her. "This. This is what I want, bitch! More of this useful alien tech, not fucking chatchkies from some frog's fucking mantle!"

"Then perhaps being a bit more succinct and explicit in what you seek would be helpful," she said coolly. "Perhaps instead of saying 'Red, find me some rare and valuable alien shit and I'll pay you,' you should say, 'this is the specific alien shit I'm looking for.' Save frowns all around, don't you think?"

"You listen to me, quarian." He stepped closer, thrusting a finger in between them, and completely ignoring the warning clicks of guns as her silent companions primed their weapons and aimed them at his face. "You-"

"You're a fucking blowhard, Moore, you know that? Did Shepard piss in your cereal again? You look about ready to pop a vein. Relax, would you? Relax and look at the pretty."

A hiss of metal came from her waist as she lifted a shimmering chain in front of his eyes. About an inch in width and less than a centimeter thick, the chain was made of interlocking links of flat metal and shimmered as she gave it a little wiggle.

His eyes widened and he lowered his hand, staring at it. "Where did you find that, you beauty?" he asked.

"Now I'm a beauty and not a bitch, hmm?" she asked. "Never you mind where I found this. I sent that box of useless junk because word is the Broker has been monitoring my shipments. I brought this to you personally to ensure it landed in your hands. Now say thank you."

"How much?"

"I didn't say that, I asked you to say 'thank you'. Then I'll say 'five hundred million credits' and you'll say 'done', and then we'll both leave happy and feeling good about ourselves."

Moore grinned. "Thank you."

"You see? I feel good about myself already. Pass the credits into my accounts, then you get this pretty shiny, and I can be on my w-"

The deck below them suddenly shook, rumbling ominously. Red immediately drew back, dropping the chain back into the compartment at her waist and sealing it, even as she drew her gun. Holder spun on his heel.

"The fuck was that?"

One of his men slammed in the bay door, panting and wide eyed. "We're under attack!"

"Attack? What the fuck...by who?"

"It's the Normandy," the man said, breathless. "I don't know how they found us but…it's the Normandy."