Chapter Seven

Patches of Red

-

The corner of Tenth Street was deceptively pleasant. The pavements were relatively clean and quiet, and instead of imposing, grey apartment blocks the road was lined with rows of small houses. There were even two trees on the corners, just starting to grow green as the approaching summertime battled the air pollution. Shepard had never been so close to the infamous street. To wander around in a gang's territory was foolish. Of course, now that she was a member she had so such qualms, but she wondered if perhaps she was being watched.

Being without a weapon in this place made Shepard wary, but she had been instructed not to come armed. She told herself she would not need a gun here as her standing with the Reds was good. Her adaptability, stealth and patience made her an excellent thief and she had carried out several missions for the gang in the last two months. With the ever-obnoxious Blue Jay keeping tabs on her, she was offered specific jobs and drop-off points once or twice a week. This allowed her the rest of her time to relax in the Kost Mart, which as promised had not been invaded a second time. It bothered her that Jay knew its location but she trusted the Reds to leave her alone. The first night after his surprise appearance she had not slept but lately she had developed a new sense of calm.

Every house on the street had a shiny, sleek car outside. Most streets were too congested or too unsafe to allow such flagrant behaviour, but this street had developed a reputation. There were three or four street gangs operating in Glendale, and while the Reds had only a modest territory, they had begun to expand into the neighbouring streets. As she glanced quickly and discreetly at the houses, Shepard couldn't help but feel like she was in Phoenix. Clearly the occupants of this small street were rich and confident enough to flaunt it. Aside from the lack of technological advances, this street could easily pass for a nice little part of the big city suburbs.

Shepard was looking for house number seven, belonging to Nathaniel Cross. She knew little of the man beyond his name and that he was important. Now she had his home address, which could only be a sign that she had earned his respect. Normally a meeting like this with a young thief would take place in some dark corner or abandoned building. She found the house quickly at the end of the street and checked the time. She was fifteen minutes early, but it was perhaps better to slightly inconvenience Cross than to loiter on Tenth Street. To stall her arrival a little more, Shepard checked the time again, felt inside all of her pockets and then moved her hand very slowly over to the door bell. She had always preferred to be by herself. Her association with the Reds, with all its benefits, forced her into social situations. Although she was getting better at meeting and dealing with people, this was somewhat different.

The door was opened by a clean, smart young man in a white shirt and tie, looking for all the world like an upmarket junior office worker. He gave her a slightly questioning look.

"It's… my name's Shepard?" she said, wondering who she was speaking to. In reply the man nodded and stood aside for her.

As she passed by him she noticed a pistol tucked into the back of his belt, a sight that strangely put her at ease. Now he looked like he belonged. Presumably he was some sort of personal bodyguard. He coughed in a quiet, polite manner as he closed the door behind her, then pointed into the next room. "This way," he said with a surprising gruffness in his voice. She moved on, admiring the tasteful modern décor of the house. Every gang had its own unique style. Some of them took this to extremes, making themselves deliberate stereotypes or even enforcing uniforms, but the Reds thankfully tended to be reserved in their appearance, favouring smart clothes in private in order to display their wealth, and simple, muted tones while they were working. She had heard Jay refer to his coat and slacks as 'civvies', as if he were a professional soldier.

"Ah, good evening Miss Shepard. I'm Nate Cross," said a crisp, New England accent from behind a door. Due to the formation of the Alliance and widespread online communication, strong accents of any kind had become rare, but Arizona's citizens seemed to exhibit more old accents than most. Shepard liked to hear a distinct voice and hoped they would not die out completely.

"Good evening," she replied, trying to mirror Cross' etiquette as she opened another door and saw his face. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties and wore a surprisingly understated suit. He held out a hand, which Shepard shook while maintaining eye-contact.

"You're a little early, you know."

"Sorry." He didn't seem upset, but she made a mental note to be more careful with timing on any future visits.

"It's fine. Have a seat."

Shepard found a comfortable leather chair whilst Cross poured himself a moderate serving of some unlabelled brown liquor. When he was done, he sat himself down opposite her, with a small glass table between them. She guessed his not offering her a drink was a symbol of his superior social status, and she shrugged it off. Still, she felt distinctly underdressed and kept wondering if her shoes were clean.

"I wanted to see you for myself, Shepard. I keep hearing good things about you and I wanted to get a look at you." This was a relief. Shepard sat back a little easier. It was good that this man was impressed by her, but she would rather have lived out her career quietly in his shadow.

"Good work bringing in that shipment for us from the space docks," he told her, nodding curtly. As he did he bent slightly to the left to touch a small metal crate by his side. Shepard had not noticed it there, but recognised it as the package he had mentioned. Manipulating the fiddly, disc-shaped opening catch with his fingers, Cross opened the lid and left it resting on its hinges.

"I've got your money for the job here, and a little bonus too," he said with a reptilian smile. He looked like a naughty schoolboy showing off for attention.

Reaching into the box, the well-dressed boss found a small and neatly-bundled stack of credits. Shepard didn't even need the money at this point; the job was paying her more than her extremely simple lifestyle warranted. She wondered if she should try to distance herself from the gang for a while and live on her profits. But then she would miss the adventure and the thrill of it all. It was satisfying to return home and know that her job, even a dishonest one, was well-done. She had missed that feeling.

Shaking her thoughts off, she accepted the money with a quiet 'thanks' and a nod, then slipped it into her pocket. Her eyebrows sank downwards though when Cross returned to his strongbox and came back with a small plastic bag, about fifteen centimetres in length and half that in width, filled with a fine, salmon-coloured powder. She had never seen the substance before, but it was obvious to her what she had stolen.

"This is good stuff, and it was supposed to go to an alien mercenary group. There isn't much in here and it's been cut. Looks dyed, too, but it's still better than some of the shit that gets sold. The only reason I wanted this stolen was so I could make things a little harder for the freaks." With this, Cross swore to himself a little more, apparently angered by the mere thought of aliens taking the drug. When he regained control of his emotions, he threw the bag to Shepard. She caught it instinctively.

"Here you go," he said. "Bonus. Cut, like I say, but you'll like it and it's on the house."

Shepard didn't know how to react to this. Red sand was a popular stimulant and she had known many users in her time as well as one addict. She had always viewed the substance with disinterest and never particularly wanted to partake. Shepard didn't need the hassle of an overly stimulated nervous system. Depressants had always been much more to her taste, and there was a ready supply in liquid form back at the Mart. She took the bag with a faux-sincere 'thank you' and hoped the meeting was concluded.

Unfortunately it was not. Not daring to make her excuses she sat and listened as Cross spoke about himself and the gang. He used vague, open-ended questions, hoping to get her talking and get a measure of her personality. Shepard recognised his technique in attempting to learn about her, and saw no way out but the truth, or at least a garnished version. He proceeded to ask about her history and her skills at decryption. Then he inquired about her shooting aim. She told him she had used guns plenty in the past, which was quite an exaggeration, and that she was a good aim, which was true. When she mentioned the brief period she had spent trying to live in Phoenix he interrupted her.

"Let me tell you something about Phoenix," he said. "I could live there if I wanted to, but you know what? I don't want to be anywhere near those alien-loving sons of bitches. If I moved out there I'd be in jail within a week. They got turians just walking around the streets, spending money they took from our fathers after they slaughtered our fathers' brothers. Just walking around. I don't go to Phoenix for any reason, because I know I couldn't walk past an alien without shooting him dead. And I don't want jail."

Shepard nodded, pursing her lips together a little. There was a brief silence as Cross stared her down, looking for a response. She chose not to, hoping desperately that he would not ask for one. Finally he relented and nodded at her, as if acknowledging some hidden message.

"You do good work, Shepard. You keep to yourself, which is okay, and you've got a head on your shoulders."

This sounded promising. Shepard was scared now, and really hoped this meant the interrogation was over. But again he continued to talk, this time congratulating her. When he was done he retrieved another 'sandbag' and slit it open with a stiletto knife he seemed to make appear from nowhere. With the easy grace of a master craftsman he poured a little onto the glass table and used the knife to separate the fine, light powder into lines. "To a good future!" he declared before leaning over and dusting-up.

When his head arched back to the chair he was smiling and once again cursing to himself. Shepard knew it would be expected of her to join him in this bizarre toast, so she clenched her teeth together in frustration. The experience was terrifying, but not because she feared the effects of the drug. Rather the power of the strange, manic boss bothered her, and she was beginning to wonder what she had gotten herself into. She feared the loss of control.

Bending her back, she snorted the pink substance, making an ungainly snoring noise as she did. The sound immediately gave her away as a newcomer to the drug, as she had not picked up the 'art' of taking it delicately, but Cross chose not to mention it. The sense of euphoria hit her fast as the dust shot up through her nostrils and dissolved against the lining of her nose, but it did not last long as it was chased away by ten seconds of paranoia. For a moment she thought she could see patches of red in her field of vision, as if she were looking at the room through a red-spotted gauze. The experience left her with a slight dizziness, but she had to admit that she had enjoyed the initial feeling intensely.

"Not bad at all," Cross said, too loudly, to his bodyguard. Then to Shepard, "Told you!" He laughed to himself as the high seemed to wear off in him.

A small part of Shepard wanted more. She could feel a curious sort of itch building in her right elbow, crawling toward her wrist. She felt her arm warming up and jiggled it up and down a little bit. It felt better, but she wanted more of the sand. She scratched her arm a little, which did nothing, gave up and moved the sandbag Cross had given her into her deepest pocket.

"How d'you like it?"

"It was good," she told him, and it was true. The initial high had been great, but the various after-effects she was still dealing with made her uncomfortable. It had left her with an uneasy lack of control.

"Well you keep helping us out the way you have, and there might be a couple more bonuses in store for you. Listen, there's a job going down tomorrow. Nothing big, but you might be able to help out."

Shepard wasn't listening to him. There was something wrong in her arm, and it was making her panic. Suddenly, she flicked out her wrist to the side. The involuntary seizure felt horrible to her and jerked her head back too. Without wanting to, she curled her fingers into a familiar shape and felt them stiffen. Then she thrust her hand forward and inhaled sharply. The itch that had been building in her left her that moment and her muscles relaxed. It had felt almost like a sneeze.

In the direction her hands had been pointing, Cross' window blinds ruffled as if hit by a sudden breeze. Shepard stared at them, unblinking, while his eyes were firmly fixed on her.

"Well… I didn't know you could do that," he grumbled, still leering at her.

Shepard finally met his gaze, unable to speak for a moment. "I… I've never… I don't know what…"

Cross smiled wetly. "I believe you," he said. "I could tell from your, uh, reaction there! Don't think I've ever seen a biotic so scared, and I've seen biotics beaten to within an inch of their lives!"

Shepard hardly heard him after he got to the word biotic. It stuck in her mind and forced her to think about what it meant, forced her to remember a little hobby in her childhood. She had only heard the word used frequently in the last ten years or so, and it was almost always used as an insult. She had heard that biotic abilities were common among the asari and some of the other aliens, and that there was now some sort of third-party training facility set up in space where humans were being trained up. Those humans were about her age, she thought. The Alliance had been recruiting the graduates as super-soldiers. But on the streets, in the South, biotics were unwelcome. She knew Cross was not exaggerating; once she had watched a young man in fancy Alliance uniform dodging stones and litter that was thrown at him, his eye and cheek bruised as he ran limping from an angry crowd. Biotics were modern-day witches who glowed blue and manipulated the elements with their minds. Some said they were alien-lovers and some said they were an affront to God, but everyone agreed they were bad news.

Cross was still looking at her. Shepard shivered, and as she did she began to fear that another involuntary bout of telekinesis was about to happen. It did not.

"Don't worry, girl," Cross said. "Don't worry. I'm not going to harm you. I'm not a bigot."

"I've never done that before," she stammered, still suffering the shock as memories began to flood her mind. Suddenly she felt as if she was lying.

"That's because you've never used sand before," he explained. "It does that to people with your, eh, abilities. Gives you a little charge for a few second, just like those amplifiers they use in the Navy."

Shepard nodded. "But I didn't even know that I could… I mean… I don't…"

Cross interrupted her and she was thankful. "Let me ask you something. How old are you?"

The girl began to relax as a slight frustration came to her. She was sick of being asked that question. "I'm sixteen," she told him.

"Uh-huh. So you were born in…" he mulled it over, clicking his tongue against his gums.

"Twenty-one fifty-four," she answered quickly, hoping to silence the unpleasant sound.

"Uh-huh. That's close enough, I guess… where were you born? Singapore by any chance?"

She knew what he was implying. A few years before her birth, a starship crash in Singapore drowned a spaceport in element zero dust. The tragedy spread cancer and death among the children born afterwards. The lucky ones came away as the first human biotics. She shook her head at the boss. "I don't know. Maybe. Never knew my parents. The orphanage never told me where I was from originally."

"Huh. Maybe not Singapore… there were plenty of other accidents, you know. It doesn't matter."

The way Cross emphasised the word 'accidents' suggested he was implying something. Shepard was not surprised. She had heard all sorts of conspiracy theories but never paid them any attention. Until now, she had considered it none of her business.

"I don't know," she said pointlessly.

"Yeah. It doesn't matter. At your age there's no way I can make use of you. Maybe you could take a little sand before a fight, but… I don't know. You know, if your parents had left you with the Navy instead of an orphanage, the soldiers would have implanted you and put you in one of their little torture camps by now. Huh, got lucky. I'd say the best thing for you is to keep this little skill of yours quiet."

Shepard agreed fully with the last statement. Breathing a little easier through her nose, she swallowed some saliva and tried to forget it had ever happened. Having found no personal advantage in Shepard's untrained biotic abilities, Cross lost interest too and cleared his throat.

"I think we're done, Shepard. But as I was saying, I want you to help out with a little job tomorrow night. Do you know the Clarion Hotel on Lee Street?"

"Y… yeah. That's the other side of town, towards Phoenix."

"Yes it is. I want you over there before midnight. There'll be some other folks there too."

Shepard didn't like the sound of this job. What kind of business could the Reds have with a hotel, let alone one so far away?

"Just a little theft," he said, perhaps reading her eyes. The strange meeting had taken its toll on her and left her expressions unguarded. "Meet Gina Nash at, say, eleven forty-five, at the back of the building."

Whether Cross knew it or not, Nash's name was exactly what she wanted to hear. Shepard had developed a trust and a respect for this particular member of the gang after they had worked on two missions together. If Nash was in charge it would be okay, whatever it was.

"Okay," she said, standing up. "I'll be there."

Cross' shirt creased a little as he stood. He brushed it down with his hairy fingers. "Glad to hear it. I'm expecting good things from you. Enjoy the sand, but don't… ah… well make sure you're not stood next to anything fragile!" He laughed coarsely and held out a hand, which Shepard had no choice but to shake. He barely gripped her hand at all, and it was over quickly. With this over, he turned and wandered into another room. Relieved, Shepard made her way to the door, which the bodyguard quietly opened and closed for her.

When she was outside she relished the feel of the cooling air on her face. Immediately she stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets, just in case she should accidentally launch some telekinetic attack in the heart of Reds territory. She walked fast, only slowing down when she was far from the protection of the gang and back in the worst part of the slums. Shepard had walked each of these streets many times. There was nothing to surprise her here.