Chapter Five
Shepard awoke to the sounds of Zaeed moving about the apartment. Cracking one eye open, she spied him passing between the living room and the bedroom corridor. His armor was missing, leaving him clad only in the black bodysuit he usually wore beneath it. Shepard sat up in bed, watching him. It was strange, seeing him without the assembled red and white armor on. Seeing him nude was a given, yet observing him sans armor made him seem strangely more naked. If she were to use a clever metaphor, Zaeed without armor was like saying he was vulnerable. Shepard snorted slightly and shook her head. That man was anything but.
Shepard slid from beneath the rumpled sheets and stepped into the hall. Zaeed was now attaching the segmented chest plates, his single gauntlet propped up in a nearby chair. "Morning, Massani," Shepard greeted quietly, smiling when he turned sharply towards her in surprise. "Or is it afternoon? You sure knocked me out last night, bounty hunter."
"Well worth it, too," Zaeed replied with a snake grin, sliding his arm into the gauntlet and securing it. He nodded towards her naked body. "I know you're a tough bitch, Shepard, but I don't think you'll be able to stop bullets like that."
"You might be turning me on to a lot of things, Massani, but exhibitionism isn't one of them," Shepard remarked with a wry smile. He chuckled pleasantly. "I seem to recall you mentioning something about us taking separate shuttles off Omega?"
Zaeed nodded, sitting to strap his leg armor on. "I figured it'd work out best if we did. You can go deliver some messages for me to the bastards who held me down twenty years ago."
"What kind of messages?"
"The killing kind," Zaeed's tone was cold. "Wipe them out, all of them."
"Even the bosses? Or shall I round them up for you to pick off one at a time?" Shepard offered with only partial seriousness.
"I'm willing to bet they'll cut out early once you start shooting, probably go to the larger bases. After their platoons are dead, they won't have a choice but to return to the fold. That means the old guard."
"And you'll be there waiting for them, I'm guessing?"
"Exactly." Zaeed snapped the final piece of armor into place, then stood to start loading up his weapons. "I'm sure you could do with a little action after all this quiet."
Shepard laughed shortly and crossed the room to sit near him. "Oh yeah, 'cause the Collector base was a walk in the park!"
"You've handled harder tasks, Shepard," Zaeed remarked without sarcasm. Shepard didn't respond, knowing his words to be true. "I don't envy what you've had to do in the name of the mission. Hell, I can do anything I want, provided I stay alive. You? You're different. Still have the conscience hanging around, I hope?" Zaeed nudged her cheek with his knuckle gently. Shepard smirked a bit, then nodded slowly.
"Killing mercs, I can do," she told him, a dim memory of saying something similar rising as she spoke. "And apparently, killing innocents isn't as hard as I thought it would be..."
"Don't," Zaeed surprised Shepard by kneeling down in front of her and taking her hands in his. She stared at him, dumbfounded by the display. "It's too late for this old son of a bitch, but it's not for you. Don't start thinking killing is easy, you hear?"
"You're a helluva contradiction, Massani," Shepard remarked. "Why fight so hard to make sure I keep my conscience?"
"You should know better, that's why," Zaeed replied firmly and rose to continue arming himself. "Heartless killers don't save ungrateful politicians or let dead monsters live again. I've made my peace with my ways. They work for me. Come with me if you want, Shepard, but don't become me."
"Seems easier to be ruthless," Shepard said softly, lowering her gaze to the floor.
"If you want to be known as ruthless, use that," Zaeed pointed to the pile of blue and white armor still on the table. "Commander Shepard isn't ruthless, but she could be."
Shepard stood and went to the armor, lifting the chestplate from the pile and looking at it intently. The battered metal was pockmocked with bullet scars and blast smudges, yet the white Blue Suns symbol shone bright as new. She thought for a moment of Garrus, how he must've felt to turn vigilante and assume a false identity. Did he take advantage of his hidden face to do what he had to? Did it somehow soften what he'd been doing? She wished she had the time to ask him. But no, she'd have to discover her own catharsis. With luck, remaining hidden behind the beaten helmet would help with that.
Turning back to the fully-armed Zaeed, Shepard offered him a determined gaze. "All right. Let's do this."
*********
Shepard ducked behind a row of crates, careful not to be seen by the volus traders to whom the ship belonged. Zaeed had told her this particular vessel was to be ambushed by the faction controlled by the first traitor, a man named Krelyar. Once the Suns boarded, she was to sneak onto their freighter and stow herself away again until the time was right to spring the trap.
Krelyar's faction consisted primarily of batarians and turians despite the man himself being human. According to his records, Krelyar had been among the first to side with Vido on the hiring of batarians into the ranks, insisting they would be most beneficial to their business. Clearly, the man had never encountered the worst of that particular species. Shepard bet his opinion would've been vastly different otherwise.
It took about twenty minutes for the volus to complete their preparations, then the ship shuddered as it left port, knocking Shepard about slightly among the crates. She righted herself as the ship passed through Omega's mass effect field and settled down to wait.
About two hours in, Shepard sat fiddling with the sidearm Zaeed had given her. It was the twin to his pistol, one of the best in illegal armaments. The fact it had belonged to him offered her a kind of strength. Two years ago, she never would've imagined herself sneaking aboard a trading vessel on the way to killing a band of mercs without a squad at her back. As an Alliance soldier, doing solo missions had been almost unheard of. Even as a Spectre she'd been able to keep at least two other people with her. Now, she was on her own and left completely to her own devices. Most would've found a kind of freedom in it; Shepard, however, found only apprehension and a serious drop in self-confidence.
She clutched the pistol tightly, as if doing so would wring the very essence of Zaeed's smooth confidence from its metallic frame into her hands. She knew it was a foolish thing to do, but in light of everything that had happened to her in the past month or so, she'd take any ounce of assurance she could get, even from inanimate objects. Still, very unlike the Commander Shepard that had led many impossible missions and had defeated Saren. Dying changed a person, isn't that what she'd always told the others? Told herself?
She shook her head quickly as if to clear it. Now wasn't the time for self-evaluation. There was a job to be done and she was the only one available to do it. Gripping the pistol again, Shepard pressed its barrel to her forehead and closed her eyes. She couldn't remember ever praying before a mission, but it seemed appropiate in this case. She recalled Ashley's talk of her faith and smiled grimly. She'd all but mocked the gunnery chief then. These days the line between mortality and spirituality seemed to blur.
The ship rocked gently, suddenly, drawing Shepard's thoughts to the here and now. The fuel depot had been reached. It wouldn't be long now before the place was crawling in Blue Suns. Fetching her helmet, Shepard took a final deep breath, nodded once firmly, then drew it down over her head and face. Her vision glared blue and the familiar hollow sound between her ears filled the tiny spaces of the helmet's interior.
The thunder of multiple pairs of boots shook the ship's floor, followed by the cries of the traders as they were mowed down by the invading mercs. Shepard slapped the side of her pistol briskly, ejecting the first heatsink, tensed her muscles and sped out of the cargo hold, breathing hard.
It was time.
**********
"What a haul!" Lieutenant Jarrak exclaimed, pulling a massive rifle from the nearest crate. His fellow mercs were busying themselves rooting through the other crates, their hands gripping multiple firearms and other upgrades and whistling over their good fortune as well.
Captain Krelyar walked among his troops, grinning like a cat who'd eaten the canary. He nodded towards the cluster of batarians who held up various weapons, shaking them excitedly as though they'd found gold instead of firearms. Attacking this volus ship had been the right idea, Krelyar congratulated himself. It was rare that the volus would have such gems on board their vessels; typically it was medical supplies and food shipments to their various colonies. Tracking this one had been simple, however. Their contact on Illium had informed them of the shipment the second it had docked at Nos Astra. After that, staking out the nearest fuel depot at enabled them to ambush the volus successfully.
Krelyar accepted the manifest Jarrak handed him, pausing to look it over with the grin still plastered to his face. "The boss is going to love these!" Jarrak grinned. "I knew this would be a good job to take!"
"Sure did, sure did," Krelay complimented, patting Jarrak on the shoulder. "Let's get out of here before someone else shows up and thinks to salvage the ship."
"Yes, sir!" Jarrak nodded, beckoned to a handful of other mercs, and hurried out of the hold, heading for the airlock of their own freighter. Krelyar continued to walk through the cargo hold, pausing to admire this and that as he peered into crate after crate. He stopped to perch on one, eyes still scanning the manifest patiently.
Satsified, Krelyar started for the extendable docking hangar from his own freighter to the volus ship. He'd just reached the airlock when the sharp zing of a pistol shot sounded just beyond the sealed door. Dropping the manfiest, Krelyar drew his rifle from its rear port and popped it open. The shots continued to ring out as he passed through the airlock and jumped into his ship. The sight that greeted him caused his jaw to drop open and his rifle to lower slightly.
Bodies scattered about the bridge between the airlock and cargo bay, lying in massive pools of blood and discarded heat sinks. Krelyar stepped between them carefully, rifle trained ahead of him in case of ambush. He cursed silently as more and more bodies of dead mercs littered his progress to the upper levels of the freighter.
Suddenly, a screaming turian tumbled from a catwalk almost directly onto Krelyar. He cursed more audiably this time and dove out of the way. A follow-up shot silenced the hemorrhaging merc, catching him square between the eyes and shattering his armored brow. Krelyar knelt beside the fallen merc to inspect the damage. Multiple shots had eaten away at his kinetic barriers, eventually pockmarking the armor itself with holes. Whoever was doing this was a remarkably good marksman; and all of this apparently with just a pistol!
Krelyar left the turian and started up the steel stairs leading to the catwalks. He had to be close to the mystery assailant now. When he found them he'd be sure to return the favor with a hail of shot at point-blank range. Their head would erupt like a melon. The image firmly lodged in his mind, Krelyar quickened his pace.
The trail of blood and bodies thinned out as he neared the cockpit. He dimly heard Jarrak's terrified voice ahead of him, apparently begging for his life. Krelyar smirked as he pressed up against the wall beside the cockpit. True enough, the batarian was on his knees before an armored figure, the pistol trained on his upper set of eyes. Krelyar leaned out of cover long enough to see the assailant was none other than a female Blue Suns mercenary!
"Please, I'll do anything you want, just...just don't kill me!" Jarrak begged, his gun at his side and his hands raised in surrender. The female merc replied by ejecting a single heat sink, causing the batarian to close his four eyes tightly in fear. Jarrak opened his lower set of eyes carefully, then looked up into the concealed face of the woman. "We just got some really good cargo. Take it! Just let me go!"
Another sink hit the floor; Jarrak's whimpers rose in pitch. Why was she just emptying her clips without firing? Krelyar wondered. And why not just gun Jarrak down like the rest? Something wasn't right here.
"Please. Please, don't --" Jarrak's voice was cut off by Krelyar's rifle letting loose a blast above the woman's head. She jerked her head towards him, pistol swinging up and away from Jarrak's face to point at the human captain.
"Back away from the batarian, woman! Now!" Krelyar ordered coldly, stepping into the cockpit with his rifle leveled at her. "You've got five seconds to tell me what the fuck you're doing here and why you're killing my men. Five. Four. Three. Two. One--"
His words were silenced by the tearing sensation of his shoulder being impaled. He hadn't seen the woman cross the small space between them, nor had he noticed the dagger that was now pinning his shoulder to the bulkhead leave her hand. Jarrak squealed in terror and passed out completely. Krelyar snarled at the female merc visciously, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder.
Through the blue of her eyeholes, Krelyar could see hatred burning in her gaze. She drew very close to him, head tilted as if deciding what to do with him. Whoever she was, she wasn't part of his squad. He'd remember someone with this level of skill.
She raised her pistol close to his face, absently tapping it against his cheek. An intimidation tactic? He scowled. "Kill me or don't, bitch, you won't get away with this," he assured her icily. "You can't intimidate me. I've been with the Suns for years."
"I know," she said suddenly, her voice flat and cold behind her helmet. "But not for much longer."
"The hell are you talking about?" Krelyar demanded, pulling against the dagger's grip on the wall. "You think you can take down all of us with that peashooter of yours!? You're insane!"
"As much as I'd like to shoot you in the face here and now, Krelyar, it's not for me to decide your fate," she informed him smoothly, withdrawing her pistol and stepping away from him. "I'm just the messenger."
"For who? Blood Pack? Do those krogan sons of bitches think they can take us on?!"
"Do I look like Blood Pack to you, Krelyar?" she gestured to her bloodied Suns armor. "He never said you were an idiot."
"Who?! Tell me who you're working for, dammit!" Krelyar strained to escape again. She shook her head.
"You'll find out soon enough, Krelyar," she assured him. "Until then." She leveled her gun at Jarrak's unconscious form and fired a single shot above his four eyes. He shuddered briefly, then went limp. "You'll be the one to tell the others about this."
"You're letting me live? How stupid are you?" Krelyar's tone was mocking. She gave a small laugh, then shrugged loosely.
"I'm not the stupid one here, Krelyar, trust me. Here, we'll make this simple." She approached him again, pulling out a smaller knife from her gauntlet. She held it up for him to see before beginning to carve a rather lengthly message across his cheek. He howled in pain as she scratched out the words slowly with the knife point. Blood streamed down from the razor-thin wounds, gathering in his open mouth and partially choking him. He sputtered between each labored breath, his vision beginning to blur from the pain.
Finally, she finished and moved away again, slipping the blade back up her sleeve as she did so. Turning to the helm, she activated the distress beacon, nodded in Krelyar's direction as though they'd just shared a pleasant chat, and strolled out of the cockpit.
Krelyar, blood now caking on his skin, focused his gaze on the blinking distress call on the terminal, mind racing to remember every single detail about the merc's voice and stature. Whoever she was, she wouldn't be alive for long. He'd make sure of that.
Hours later, Krelyar, now half-unconscious from the trauma and blood loss, heard the distant cries of other Suns mercs as they bombarded the bridge. The heavily-scarred face of one of the oldest commanding officers, Malachi, peered into Krelyar's closely.
"'He's Coming'? Who the hell is he?" he demanded gruffly. Krelyar attempted to respond, but his voice had grown hoarse from screaming. Malachi jerked the dagger from the younger merc's shoulder, catching Krelyar as he tumbled from the wall. He passed the man over to a pair of Suns in his squad, then crouched to inspect the remains of Jarrak.
Despite not being the biggest fan of batarians, no one deserved this kind of death. Malachi's lips tightened in a grim line as he slid the eyes of Jarrak closed with his fingertips. He sat back on his heels thoughtfully, mind wandering back to the message cruelly carved into Krelyar's face.
He's Coming.