Chapter Eleven

The Renegade

-

Nobody saw a thin, long-haired girl in a nice red dress crawl out of the window of the abandoned supermarket and shimmy down the rough brick wall holding it up. Beneath the flimsy garment she wore black trousers and the nicest pair of shoes she owned, which is to say, not boots. Secreted more delicately than it had been previously, a modified Karpov III pistol lay under the dress, behind her right thigh. The girl walked fast, jogging when she was sure nobody could see her. Now as the evening passed and gave way to the stuffy night, the streets were relatively empty, allowing her to pick up speed. She didn't know how much time she had, so every second was precious.

Within fifteen minutes she had made it to Glendale Linkway Station. The building was completely unmanned at this time, and only three people were waiting on the platform. After leaping over the archaic ticket-scanner stile, Shepard managed to hide in a dark corner of the platform without any of the other travellers seeing her. When, after another ten minutes, the train arrived, she watched the three widely disperse themselves in an antisocial manner between the front two carriages. At the last moment before the doors closed, Shepard crept into the third, which she was happy to find deserted. She sat with her back to the door connecting the carriage to the other two and waited. After a moment, the train quietly took off.

For once, Shepard was glad of the lack of windows onboard, and simply sat in dim silence, arranging strands of her hair to fall over her face. She did not have to wait long; at this time there were only two stops between the Linkway and the smaller R17 Roadstop station. Soon the doors opened, and after no-one boarded, Shepard alighted, scanned the room she found herself in, and made for the exit.

Shepard couldn't help but keep an eye out for dangerous individuals in Hawaiian shirts, but she saw no-one suspicious on her way to Lee Street. Cutting through the small park, she took a little more time but stayed away from streetlights, and arrived at the rear of the grand, well-lit Clarion Hotel quickly.

Nobody was outside at the back or the front, so she quickly moved to the main doors. It was late, so the large hotel was closed for the night. Shepard had to hit a button, state a fictitious name to a wall-mounted microphone and wait a minute. Assistance came in the ambling form of the night-porter Shepard had briefly met on her previous visit. Silently she cursed herself for showing the man her face previously, but as he opened the door for her he did not seem to recognise her.

"Good evening, miss Crawford," he said from above his immaculate suit. "I don't see you on our list of guests tonight. May I help you?" The porter was being a lot more helpful than the last time Shepard had seen him. Shepard was dressed-up tonight for a reason. The Clarion was a fancy place, and she had to look her best if she expected to be taken seriously.

"Yes, good evening," Shepard replied with a deep, clear confidence in her voice. Her hair hung across her eyes in waves, but she held his gaze from beneath it. "I believe this is where General Rymus is staying at the moment?"

The porter had not expected the question, and confirmed the information with a slight sneer before he remembered he was not supposed to speak of the turian officer's stay. "Excuse me," he said, stopping himself from revealing any more. "I'm not at liberty to divulge information about our guests."

"Good! The General asked that his location be kept secret!" She gave an incredulous smile and clasped her hands behind her back.

"Oh, yes, my apologies. May I ask your relationship to the, uh, General?" Again, the man gave a little involuntary sneer as he mentioned Rymus' rank. Shepard guessed he had an issue with the turian and wondered if she might use it to her advantage.

It would be a challenge convincing him that a sixteen-year old girl had business with an alien military leader in the middle of the night. After running through several possible 'characters' for herself before leaving the market, she had decided to keep it simple and use a prop. "No offence intended, sir, but the purpose of the General's visit is not to be discussed publicly. I'm with the Alliance, you have my name. That's all you need to know."

Very quickly, she flashed a plastic card bearing an Alliance government seal and some minor details, including the name Crawford after a male first name. She had pick-pocketed the card on a street corner in Colorado, years ago. She didn't give him long enough to read it all. With a look of impatience she slid it back into her exotic, triangular salarian wallet and waited with a stern look.

"I… I see. How can I help you then, Miss Crawford?" he seemed suitably convinced, but not impressed. Time to win him over.

"Private Crawford," Shepard corrected, improvising now. The rank seemed believable enough. "I assume general Rymus has a security team at his room?" She arched her neck to the side as she spoke and adjusted a strand of hair, trying to obscure her face as much as possible.

The porter nodded. "A member of our own security team is ensuring his safety, Private."

"Day and night?"

"Yes ma'am, twenty-four hours."

"Seems like a waste of resources to protect a turian, doesn't it?" she asked, smiling.

The question caught the porter off-guard. In his surprise he gave a quick smile before snapping back into his prior, expressionless stance. Shepard celebrated inwardly. Her attempts to force her way past him had given slow progress, but her charm offensive was faring much better.

"Anyway, I just need to give some information to his security guard. It's important. I don't know the General's room number, though. Could you perhaps take me there?"

He seemed apprehensive, but a cute face from Shepard persuaded him. "I suppose there's no harm, and you are from the Alliance, right?"

"Yes, of course. Would you like to see my ID again?" Shepard began making a fuss of fumbling in her trouser pocket for the little wallet.

"No need, Private," the porter said, and he was rewarded with a sweet smile. He turned away toward the elevator, then stopped. "Hold on, Miss… have we met before?"

"I don't think so, no."

"I'm sure I… didn't I see you last week? Yes, I did, the night of the…"

The porter's eyes widened very slightly. Before he could react further, Shepard had a palm holding his mouth shut and her other hand against his shoulder, pressing him to the wall.

She spoke with a harsh whisper. "The turian's room number or I break your neck."

Under her palm he tried to shake his head, but the force she was exerting made it impossible. Still, she got his point. A second later her gun was jammed into his temple.

"I'm not kidding. If you don't want to help me I'll just find him myself. His will be the big room with the security guard outside, right?"

The doorman blinked slowly, then nodded. She released her grip and he told her, "Third floor, Imperial Suite."

"Thank you."

As he began to sigh with relief, the butt of the pistol hit his head and knocked him out cold.

--

The lift doors opened with a non-synthesised-sounding bell effect played through the speakers. The Clarion was a fancier place than Shepard had ever been in before, and it was hard not to admire the old-style architecture outside and the decor within. Arriving at the third floor, she found a little hall, smaller than the foyer where she had boarded the elevator, but cosy and with an antique grandfather clock set oddly against a traditional brushed-steel wall. Somehow, it looked charming.

Each floor of the building was wide and expansive, but luckily she was directed to the named suites by a black, wall-mounted sign. She followed the little white arrow to her left, then hurried through a series of corridors until she spied, through a small, square window in a door, a tall, wide gentleman in a black suit and red tie. This, she assumed, must be Rymus' guard. He looked tough and he was likely armed, but Shepard no longer had the time or the patience to sweet-talk him.

At her touch the door slid open and the guard's head turned to face her. Like rotating cameras his eyes tracked her as she came closer to him. She walked slowly and carelessly to put him at ease, then when she got close enough, leaned forward slightly with her mouth open, as if about to whisper some secret. Instinctively, he leaned forward to meet her, and she punched him hard. The guard lost his footing and fell to one knee, but he was far from knocked-out. It took two swift knees to his head to bring him to unconsciousness, and then a whack with her pistol just to be sure.

It would not be long before this man was back on his feet and pointing a gun at her. Shepard decided not to waste time looking for a utility room or a bathroom in which to leave him. She would just hope that nobody happened to pass the room while she was inside. Dragging the heavy lump of a guard away from the door itself, she took a breath and massaged her fist before using it to knock on the door.

It took a few moments for the occupant to hear her. This was good. It meant he had not heard the fight either.

"Yes?" came a deep, curious voice. It sounded almost like a pure British accent, but not quite. Its odd layering was unmistakably alien. "What do you want now?"

"Message for you sir," Shepard called. "Highest level priority, from the Alliance."

There was another little pause.

"What?" came the voice. "What is that supposed to mean? Who are you?"

Shepard rolled her eyes then tried again, with a higher-pitched, happy little voice. "Sorry, General," she beamed, smiling to the door. "I'm from the hotel staff. I have a message for you!"

"A message? I'm sure I have no idea wh…"

The door swished open to reveal a thin turian with a perplexed look on his snow-white face. Fine black tattoos, like contour lines on a map, served to define his features and circle his little nose and strong jawline. His unremarkable dark green eyes darted about across the unexpected view that greeted him.

Not giving him a chance to close the door, the small, smiling girl punched his face hard. The impact probably hurt Shepard's fist as much as the turian's thick hide, but it had the desired effect of startling him and knocking him off balance. Swiftly she punched again, finding no other part of his body unprotected by his grey military armour. Immediately she leaped upon him, using her bodyweight to send his broad, humped back crashing to the carpeted floor. Once she had him in this position it was a simple thing to retrieve her gun from under her dress and aim it squarely at his forehead. He froze.

The sound of the pistol electronically cocking was familiar to them both. Their eyes met.