Garrus carefully pushed Valor away from him, breaking their kiss, and he cleared the stale air from his lungs. He hadn't meant to let this happen. When they left C-Sec, he had intended only to drive her home, not to follow her into her apartment and let her initiate whatever this was supposed to be. Kissing her stirred up a myriad of impulses and emotions in him, but there was only one he could act on. He couldn't do this with her and not think about that spirit-spurned file. And there was no way for him to explain that to her without lying, which seemed low and despicable considering... well, what she'd been through and how much trust she'd placed in him.
Bracing himself as he realized he was going to act on the most dangerous impulse he had about the situation, he just blurted it out. "I... copied the files you have in your those model ships, Valor," he admitted, his plates heating up in response to his anxiety. If she wasn't a spirit-fucking biotic, this wouldn't be so much of a risk.
She blinked in surprise, "You... you what?" she coldly demanded, recoiling from his lingering hold on her shoulders. He let her go, but not without a pang of regret.
"I even decrypted some of them," he continued. "I wish I hadn't. What I don't understand is why you'd keep poison like that hanging on your wall."
"So I don't have to keep it in my head," she angrily replied. "Why the hell would you do that? What did you...?"
"Just a few files from that little personnel carrier in the middle. It was pretty confusing at first. Chat logs between your parents, some of their vid calls about you. Then the incident report from Nos Astra. Valor, I'm so sorry," he said, realizing that his apology applied equally to what he'd done and what she'd been through.
"Keep your fucking pity, Vakarian," Shepard spat, folding her arms tightly over her chest, she began to pace furiously. "It was a bad night," she snapped as she turned on her heel. "One bad night. A few minutes. Some people live through nightmares ten times worse than that for years. Besides, I brought it upon myself."
"No, don't ever think that," he implored, his subharmonics raw and growling. "That piece of filth is the only one to blame. You were taking risks, but what he did wasn't a natural consequence of those risks."
"I was an emotionally distraught teenager with a fake ID at a sleazy bar in a rough neighborhood. I didn't have any way to get home, at that point I wasn't even sure I had a home to go to. I spent the evening dancing and drinking so heavily that I had to rely on my biotic metabolism to burn off the excess. Every male who approached me got shut down in moments. I made it clear to anyone watching that I was alone."
"What were you running from?" he asked, certain that she had been.
"My father," she snapped.
"What did you fight about?" Garrus hesitantly prompted.
"My fucking insecurity and childish need to feel wanted," she answered without hesitation. It raised more questions than it answered, but Garrus waited, sensing that she wanted to say more. His patience paid off. "Something that never should have been on the table to begin with," she quietly continued. "I needed to know if he took me in out of a sense of obligation or if he... actually cared."
"That's extremely common for adolescents of any species," he soothed, "particularly ones estranged from a parent."
"And that's where the 'normal' ends," Valor stated. "I did something that he still hasn't forgiven me for."
"You do know how to push a guy's buttons," Garrus said, lifting a finger to let her know he was trying to lighten the mood.
Shepard arched an eyebrow. "Obviously you didn't get all of those files open, Garrus."
"I didn't. And I won't," he promised, surprising himself. Well, getting all of them open was probably impossible, anyway. It wasn't much of a promise.
"Good. Now get the fuck out of my house before I tell you too much and have to drag your body down to the protein vats," she said, staring him in the eye. Finally, she flicked her smallest two fingers up– she was joking. For a moment, he hadn't been sure. But did she mean she wanted him to stay or...?
"If you decide you want to tell me more..." he prompted.
"I told you to leave, Vakarian," she interrupted angrily, blue biotic sparks flashing around her arms and fists. "I meant that part. Don't get the impression that this is okay or that we're okay," she hissed, stalking toward him. "We're not. You betrayed my trust."
"I did, and I regret that," he said, holding his hands up in what he hoped he remembered correctly was a human gesture that said he didn't want a confrontation. "I've been a suspicious jackass and I'm sorry for that, but I did tell you about what I've done. I don't want to lose the best partner I've ever had," he said as he backed toward the door.
"Then you'd better earn what you took. This post is only temporary for me, Vakarian," she coldly reminded him. "I have more important things to do with my life than police work," Valor added, practically shoving him out the front door. Before he could reply, the door slid shut in his face.
"That went well," he muttered sullenly. His plates were tight and hot with anxiety and distress. What had he expected? Of course she was angry. He was lucky she hadn't tossed him out without a word. Spirits, he was lucky she hadn't attacked him. And despite his apologies, he was still suspicious. How could he not be? He had no idea how she expected him to make it up to her, so he had little hope of satisfying the demand that he earn enough of her trust to deserve the information he had taken from her. And if he had just burned their relationship, was there a reason to stop digging? He couldn't think of one.
Cypher lifted one cocky mandible at the batarian guarding the short staircase that lead to Aria's platform. The batarian, Anto, he thought the guy's name was, certainly wasn't bright, but the bouncer recognized him and knew better than to hassle him.
Cypher wasn't used to people other than his own crew knowing his face, just his handle, but the thick yellow paint that he used to cover his blue clan markings stood out and everyone who was anyone on Omega knew him when he wore it– apparently even Aria T'loak. That little trick was priceless– it was unbelievable that a human had come up with it. The best part about it was that a little solvent was all it took to become a new person.
He reached the top of the landing and assumed a dominant posture while the 'queen of Omega' sized him up. He held his mandibles wide and waited for her to speak.
"You're supposed to be this Cypher I've been hearing about?" Aria eventually asked, seemingly very bored. Well, she didn't know him. If she did, she'd show him some damned respect.
"That's me," he confirmed, trying to project confidence. "Pleased to finally meet you, Aria."
"Manners aren't going to get you anywhere with me, kid," Aria sighed. "What are you doing on my station?"
"You know what I do," he replied, flicking his wrist. "Does the queen of Omega require my services or not?" he asked, growing a little bored himself. What was this, a first date? She already knew his name and his rep. Anything else was foreplay.
"Right to business? I don't think so. I don't like newcomers who think they know the score– who think they can lie to Aria. What I've heard about you and what I know about you doesn't add up. And that is why I wanted to meet you. Why don't you answer my questions, then we can discuss business if I like what you have to say."
Cypher stopped his initial reaction to her tone. He would not display submission, but the asari's lips curled and he realized she knew how he felt anyway. Great. Well, why the void shouldn't he answer? He was safe here. Safer if Aria T'loak valued his skills. "I'm here because I couldn't stay on the Citadel," he answered.
"So you're in exile. Yes, that's what I heard. You got away hours ahead of the law. Something about you hacking skycar nav computers with a short-range proximity virus and killing a few people, hurting quite a few more. That's impressive. You look nervous, Cypher. Didn't you know you were killing people?"
"I...," he hesitated, considering lying. But without being able to call for backup, he'd better not claim to be able to do something he had no notion how to accomplish. "No. I'm good, but I'm not that good."
"Ah, he admits to his limitations," Aria purred, sipping at her drink. "An admirable trait in an employee, but that's a disappointing admission. And don't worry about C-Sec. They haven't followed you, and they won't."
"I'm with the Blue Suns, now, anyway," Cypher boasted. "Tarak says I'm his best tech." Even a merc would protect his most skilled hacker, wouldn't he?
"That's high praise," Aria said, her mouth twisting weirdly. "And the reason you're here. First, show me your sun."
Cypher pulled his mandibles close. Aria didn't believe he'd been initiated. Well, he'd show her. He was happy to prove her wrong. Proudly, he unzipped his jacket and pulled the cloth away from his chest, displaying the half-healed, ink-filled channels to the left of his keel. Turians didn't tattoo easily, and this was a piece of art and he was proud to show it. Maybe he should have gotten it in a more prominent place, though. He deserved more respect.
Aria waved one of her guards over. "Check that, make sure it's not just painted on," she commanded, and the large turian approached him and scrutinized the symbol, even running a talon over his plate. Cypher tried not to recoil or hiss in pain as the tip dug into the still-healing grooves. He could understand Aria's need to be careful, but this spirit-fucking thug had no right to touch him. Cypher studied the guard's clan markings and filed them away. He'd get his revenge.
"It's fresh, but unlike that crap all over his face, it's real," the guard pronounced.
"Are you bare-faced, kid, or are you trying to save your honor by hiding your clan mask?" Aria tauntingly asked.
Cypher stilled his fluttering mandibles. "No one asked me if I wanted clan markings. This is me making my own clan," he said, gesturing toward his face. "This is all me. So far, the only other person who would have been worthy to wear it was a human."
"Why?" Aria drily asked.
"She set me on the course that brought me to Omega," he answered as if it was the simplest thing in the world. He'd met her in Cerulean Star, taken her to his dive of an apartment, and it was only after mind-blowing sex that she held a gun to his head and detailed all the minor heists and major felonies he'd been responsible for during his short career.
He'd have agreed to the deal she proposed even if she hadn't fucked him and without all the threats she held over him. He'd always planned to get off the Citadel, but the plan to eventually leave the station with no more than whatever he had in his pockets at her word and with no notice was the only part he hesitated over. But in return, he got an equipment upgrade, relocation expenses covered, and an unbelievable boost to his reputation. After he met her, he never had to worry about work again.
He was good– he could program circles around 'the pros' but she was so far out of his league, he couldn't even begin to guess at how she did what she did. And she let him take credit for it! She even used his calling card so there could be no doubt– so no other techie would dare claim responsibility for what was meant to build his name. Fortunately, most people who wanted a hacker had no imagination and he'd had to ask her to step in to help him uphold his rep only twice over the eight months since they met.
But the real reason she deserved the honor of his clan mask was something he'd only recently discovered. She had promised to make him a better hacker. At first he thought she was only referring to the ghost operations she let him take credit for– the supplementation of his reputation, as he thought of it. But it quickly became apparent that somehow she had indeed improved his skills. It was like a magic trick, and he couldn't figure it out– not until he'd decided to upgrade the omni-tool she'd given him and found the subroutine that monitored his stress levels and responded with a targeted electromagnetic burst that reset his stress response. She had found a way to upgrade him by using hardware. It blew his mind.
"A human, huh? What's her name?" Aria demanded, breaking him out of his reverie. "If she's so amazing, maybe I want her," she idly stated.
"She's never been for sale– only works for herself, so her name doesn't matter," he said, flicking his wrist. "I'm here, you need me. Let's talk about that."
"Alright, Cypher. I haven't decided if I like you or not, but I believe you. If you can do half of what Tarak brags you can, I can use you. And don't worry, Tarak will get his cut directly from me, so don't let him shake you down."
"The only thing that could make this sound better is if you have an actual challenge for me, Aria." Aria smiled at his reply and waved the turian guard off the platform. Cypher's mandibles pulled high– he just couldn't help it. This was supposed to be exile? He rolled his head, delighted with the current state of his life. Who knew letting Shepard burn him on the Citadel would turn out so well?
Shepard flicked through the shop's inventory console for the third time, trying to find something suitable for Garrus. None of the models spoke to her, though, and there wasn't even anything she could directly connect to him– none of the class of heavy cruiser he'd served on during his mandatory military service, for example. She didn't want to try the over-priced souvenir shops in the Presidium markets, but it was that or special order something. I can't wait that long. I need to end this. She had half a dozen ideas about how to do that, but every time she got to the stage of planning that required resource allocation, she had stopped herself. It wasn't that she didn't want to, she did, and it ran much deeper than that– she needed to.
She had been preoccupied since their last conversation, trying to decide what memories to imprint for his ship. Usually, choosing the contents of her ships' memory circuits was easy, but she couldn't very well imprint every memory she had of Garrus. And beyond that, what could she possibly send to her mother to explain herself? There would be no ripples or greater effect. He was not important. The only published evidence would likely be his obituary, and that was too heavy-handed.
So even though she was ready, she couldn't finish it. Her anger with him had been real, but it was for how he affected her, and for decrypting the files far more quickly than she anticipated. She wasn't ready for him to know those things. She was furious that it mattered what he thought of her.
But when it came down to it, how she felt didn't matter. Garrus was her partner. Rumors were flying through C-Sec about their so-called relationship. Pallin, himself, knew about them, or thought he didn't meet her standards, and it wouldn't work even if he did. She wasn't capable of cleaning up sufficiently or of controlling the aftermath.
Why? Why was I so fucking sloppy with this one? she silently lamented. The answer was simple. She hadn't planned for this outcome. Garrus Vakarian was a distraction. He wasn't powerful or influential or even wealthy. It was never meant to go this far, and now that it had, she had lost control. No, it's worse than that, I never had control! He's been defying me and throwing everything off from the beginning, she vehemently accused.
She jabbed the interface to log out and stalked away, ignoring the asari attendant's overly-chipper farewell. She didn't need a ship for Garrus. There was nothing she could do about him yet and Actaion Sparatus was, ironically, a lot more accessible. That's where she would focus, at least for now.
Shepard used the transit console just outside the markets to call a cab, set the autopilot to the far side of the station, then brought her omni-tool to life. Sparatus hadn't contacted her again to finish patching up his data security, but it would be a simple matter to arrange another, more tangible breach. That would definitely get his attention, and she only needed access to his home one more time. Of course, she would prefer to use a more hands-on method, but for someone as high-profile as the turian Councilor, that would be suicide. Even a legitimate self-defense claim would destroy her career and cast far too much scrutiny on her. Her work was not only important, it was vital, and she owed it to humanity to take precautions so she'd remain able to continue.
First, she accessed Sparatus's schedule for the next cycle. He was a very busy man and there were several blocks of time when she would be able to enact the first stage of the plan that was rapidly forming.
Next, she created a filter for the feeds from the cameras in his house. She needed to know if he hired an actual person to do his cleaning and cooking or if his home was automated. The data was one of the many things she had mined from his servers during the first breach, and she had weeks, if not months of footage. Once set up, she allowed the program to run in the background, bumping it to her bio-amp's processor. She'd have a headache in fifteen minutes, but it was a small price to pay for quick results.
Finding a suitable moving and storage company was a little more difficult. She had very specific instructions for them to follow, and they needed to be able to work unsupervised. It was also important that they wouldn't ask too many questions. There weren't that many movers on the station to begin with and finding an outfit with the proper balance of integrity and underhandedness took some digging. In the end, she settled on a small operation that had just started up. Three salarian brothers and their hover-truck operator, their advertisement smacking of desperation and naivete. It would have to suffice.
She'd gotten no unexpected results from the camera filters, so she decided to go ahead and set the plan into motion. Her head already throbbed, so she terminated the program and took a few deep breaths to re-focus. The bio-amp wasn't designed to be used that way, and no matter what she did to shield herself, she always got feedback from anything that hadn't been generated by her own brain. Using it for memory review caused no problems, but shoving programs from her bluewire onto it still had side-effects, even after almost ten years of tinkering. She suspected the amp was using her own brain to boost its processing power, which explained the headaches and eventual mental fog and migraines from prolonged misuse.
Already feeling better, she got back to work. She routed her call through a series of off-station servers, careful to leave enough digital breadcrumbs that would lead a nosy tech to Omega again and again if anyone managed to get that far. She used a digital mask to make herself look and sound turian while she placed the order for several of Sparatus's sculptures and the painting she had given him to be moved into storage. If the salarian thought it strange to be given digital passkeys to the house and adamant instructions to be gone by 1800 whether the job was done or not, he didn't quibble. She offered him double the rate he quoted in return for an assurance that the transaction and the job would be kept quiet and off the books. Art was an embarrassing fetish for a turian. The salarian understood.
As the connection closed, she double-checked the call data. It was a muddle– even she had trouble sorting it out, and in the end, there were three equal possibilities for call origin. Two locations on the Citadel, one on Omega. And if her false trails helped someone find Cypher, maybe that would save her from having to deal with the elusive hacker herself.
The young turian had talent, and he had already proven extremely valuable to her. He had probably been her best contingency investment to date, and their arrangement had barely cost her more than a top model bluewire device and freight-class passage from the Citadel to Omega. Unfortunately, he was all too willing to exploit the wrong people. From the very beginning, she knew she was going to have to contain him one day, but while he was still useful, she could delay that.
It took around an hour to make all the arrangements, and three circuits of the station, but it was worth it. By the time she got home, the wretched feeling of spinning out of control that Garrus had inspired was little more than a nagging irritation at the back of her mind. Her partner was a problem for another day.