Chapter 6: A Wellspring of Information
A month or so passed before I saw Liara again. (1) I was in between missions and thought I'd drop by to say hello.
OK, OK: maybe I also wanted to make sure she wasn't falling back into any bad habits. Talking to herself, plotting revenge, threatening to flay people with her mind. (2)
Given that we were in the midst of security sweeps, I was the only one free. (3) So I boarded the shuttle—marvelling at all the elbow room one could have when he wasn't squeezed in with a dozen other people—and flew down to the Shadow Broker base. Ship. Well, now it was Liara's base. Ship. Whatever. The other difference was that, this time, Liara directed us to the hangar bay and, once we touched down and the hangar bay repressurized, directed us to her new office.
"Shepard! It's so good to see you."
I heard her voice, but I didn't actually see her. Looking around, I finally found her peering at us from an overhead monitor just above the door. I didn't remember seeing that before. Of course, I was preoccupied with other things at the time. "Liara," I said with a smile. "Good to see you, too."
"I've set up a few terminals with information I think you'll find interesting. Take a look."
The door opened, revealing the office... and a drone. Remembering the last encounter I had with drones on this ship, I instinctively reached for my weapon. Then we realized that the colour of its holographic shell was white, as opposed to the usual red. Still, I took a cautious step back as it moved towards us. The drone came to a stop a metre or so away from me before lifting itself to eye level. "Welcome back, Shadow Broker!" it greeted us cheerfully.
Say what? "Liara? What's this?"
"That's the old Broker's VI assistant," Liara said, choosing to talk over the PA instead of hollering her answer through the office and out the door. "A drone repurposed for information processing and analysis. It's actually been helpful with rebuilding the network, not to mention fixing up the office."
"Please let me know if I can organize anything else for you, Shadow Broker," the drone said brightly before moving back into the office. I looked back up at the monitor with a raised eyebrow.
Liara shrugged. "It also thinks anyone in the room is the Broker. "I'll play around with the settings later."
The info drone must've heard her. "My manual is ready whenever you have a moment!"
At least it didn't say 'Shadow Broker' again. Shrugging, I entered the office.
Sure enough, it was completely restored. Scorch marks removed, wires re-spliced, computers repaired. Even the column that the Shadow Broker—the old Shadow Broker—smashed through had been restored.
I decided to start at the right and work my way around, for no other reason than because I usually started at the left. The first terminal I came across had an open folder and a blinking message icon. I clicked the latter:
Shepard,
The (old) Shadow Broker constantly searched for investment opportunities. I've compiled a short list of some of the less-objectionable or questionable choices for your perusal. Feel free to pocket the proceeds, though you should be warned that you will have to make an initial investment and the outcome may not always yield a profit.
Caveat emptor, in other words. (4)
Let's see... pirate fleet massing in the Terminus Systems for a raid of outlying Alliance colonies—Hackett would probably want to know about that. Not quite sure why I had to shell out 1000 credits when I could just contact him from the Normandy. Of course, if Alliance Security traced the call, they'd probably spend more time over-analyzing the fact that it was sent from a 'Cerberus vessel' instead of actually mobilizing ships to counter the pirates. Maybe spending 1000 creds for an anonymous call wasn't that big a deal after all.
There were a couple other options, but something caught my eye before I could check them out. Was that...
Closing the terminal, I hurried over to a table. It was! It was a ship! A model of the Shadow Broker base/ship. Another showpiece to add to my collection! Woohoo!
There was another terminal next to the table. Looked like it was dedicated to survey information on mineral deposits. If I wanted, I could get a list of planets rich in various minerals for a nominal fee. Which would be useful for someone who hadn't strip-mined every resource-rich planet he'd come across. Pass.
Noting a control panel, I went over to check it out. Activating it, I watched as a set of panels retracted, offering a clear view of the weather outside through reinforced glass. There was another lightning storm outside, if you have to know.
I went up the stairs towards another terminal. A quick scan of its layout revealed it was similar to the tech lab terminal I used to research and distribute upgrades. Useful thing to have. Of course, I'd long since researched the upgrades and mods I'd picked up while helping Liara, but if there were any more, I could research them here.
"Councilor Sparatus's mistress has made some unusual purchases lately," the info drone announced, out of the blue. "She may be expecting to move to a larger mansion."
Ah yes. The turian Councilor of the Citadel Council. Who allegedly had a mistress. Should I dismiss that claim? Oh, the possibilities...
Pondering that juicy piece of gossip, I headed for the door. No, I wasn't leaving. There was another door situated between the two stairs. It led to a set of private quarters. Dimly lit. Spartan and utilitarian. Guess the Shadow Broker killed—or ate—his interior decorator.
Feron was sitting on a very luxurious set of sofas, staring off into space. To the left, I spotted another terminal, but that could wait. "Hey, Feron!"
"Shepard!" Feron got to his feet. "Glad you stopped by. We don't get many visitors."
"No, I suppose not," I said. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm... I'll be all right," he replied, sitting down. "I wasn't always strapped into that interrogation chair."
And when he was… "A friend of mine is a drell," I said. "He told me about your eidetic memory."
"It came in handy on the bad days," Feron agreed.
"How many of those days were 'bad days'?" I asked.
"A lot," Feron rasped. "It gets fuzzy. The Shadow Broker—the old Shadow Broker—made the guards watch. As an example."
Yet another reason why the galaxy was a slightly better place.
"I never did say thanks for the rescue," Feron told me.
"You didn't have to, but you're welcome," I smiled. "Liara never gave up on you, Feron. We just helped her out. (5) Anyway, I should be thanking you. You and Liara retrieved my... body."
"With some help," Feron admitted. "Cerberus head-hunted Liara and I to retrieve your body, as you put it. I was working for the Broker at the time. He's the one who recovered your remains."
"What turned you against the Shadow Broker?" I wanted to know.
"He started working for the Collectors," Feron replied. "You weren't their first victim."
No, from what I understood, the Collectors had been 'gathering samples' for a while before developing an unhealthy—and lethal—fixation on humans.
"I am—was—an information trader. Not a slaver."
Gotta love it when personal and professional standards mesh like that.
He shook his head slowly. "I'm still amazed Liara came looking for me. I'll never forget what all of you did."
"I can log that in the archives for you, sir," the info drone offered, gliding right into Feron's face. He pushed it away. "I see you've met the secretary," he sighed.
"Looks like you've made a friend," I grinned.
Feron rolled his eyes. "The drone follows everyone. Sometimes I wonder why the Broker kept it around."
"I'm a shell for a specialized data-processing VI custom-built to your specifications, Shadow Broker!" the drone told Feron earnestly.
"It does help coordinate the network's massive information feeds," Feron conceded, "but it could use a different interface tone."
Somehow, I think that was what annoyed him.
"You deemed my default personality sufficient for your needs, Shadow Broker."
"I wish it would stop calling me that," Feron groaned. "It's fine for Liara to be called the Shadow Broker, but the rest of us?"
"It is annoying," I agreed. "Speaking of Liara, she spent two years looking for you. By all accounts, she didn't stop once."
"She's a good friend," Feron said. "Better than I deserve."
""How do you think Liara's doing?" I asked. "As the new Shadow Broker, I mean."
"Operations are almost fully recovered after a 10.5% dip in efficiency," the info drone announced cheerfully.
Ignoring the drone, Feron answered my question. "Ever since we repaired the network, Liara's been glued to the archives. I caught her sleeping at her desk more than once," he laughed. "She's busy, but I think she likes it that way."
"What will you do now that you're a free man?" I wanted to know.
"I want to help Liara finish rebuilding this place," Feron replied. "After that..." He broke off. Clearly he hadn't thought that far ahead.
The drone interpreted that silence as an unspoken request for help. "Your schedule's getting full, sir. Let me synch it to your omni-tool."
"No thanks, I'm fine," Feron said curtly.
"Analysis of your activity over the last—"
"Drop it. Now."
"Yes, Shadow Broker."
"Take it easy," I cautioned, before Feron did something drastic like kick the info drone into the closest wall. "You've been through a lot."
We shook hands. "Thanks," he replied.
Leaving Feron behind to enjoy some music—I could swear that I'd heard that soundtrack before—I went to check out the terminal that I'd spotted when I first entered the quarters. It was located on a circular platform, accessible via a small flight of stairs. Spying the ever-helpful—and ever-cheerful—info drone stalking me, I turned towards it. "What does this console do?"
"This is the video surveillance access point," the drone replied. "I've queued up the archive footage you requested on your last visit, Shadow Broker."
Again with the Shadow Broker moniker. I was starting to feel sorry for Feron, and I'd only been here for five or six minutes.
"Remember, you can zoom in for more detailed viewing and can pause any time during playback."
Okey-dokey!
The first clip was of Aria talking to some Blue Suns merc, keeping him occupied as a bunch of goons got into position. When they were ready, she gave the signal. The poor merc had just enough time to frantically look around before he got gunned down. I entertained myself with the idea of telling Aria that she'd been caught on the Shadow Broker's candid camera. Watching her flip out might be worth the price of admission. On second thought, better to keep it to myself. You never know when that kind of intel might come in handy. And I could use all that time when I wasn't telling Aria imagining the various ways that she might go postal.
Boy, I need to get a life.
Next clip showed Emily Wong, ace reporter for FCC. (6) Which reminded me—she'd sent me an e-mail a while ago asking for an interview. Maybe I should do it. Might be nice to have a member of the damn liberal media on my side for a change. (7) When she wasn't dancing the night away in the Dark Star Lounge with two other women—one human, one asari. Looked like they were having a good time.
Clip number three showed some guy, who the info drone helpfully ID'd as 'Fred Mazzei,' talking to a mirror in a bathroom on the Citadel. Though that begged the question: who the heck was Fred Mazzei? Maybe I should find out.
I hopped to the next clip… and who did I see but my bestest bud Udina! Shoving some C-Sec cop! Now this was bound to be… wait. I played the clip again. Udina and the cop met. They talked. They shoved. And that was it. Seriously. Maybe the Shadow Broker was trying to compile some blackmail material. Guess it was too late to ask.
The next clip caught my attention too—and not in a good way. Looked like the Shadow Broker was gathering intel on Bailey as well. Don't get me wrong: I like Bailey. Good cop. Does his best to keep the peace. But he's not what you'd call a stranger when it comes to getting his hands dirty. If someone with the Shadow Broker's resources started poking around his closet, chances were good that they'd find at least one or two skeletons.
The next couple clips weren't quite as interesting. My favourite tabloid reporter Khalisah al-Jilani being punched by a krogan. Some other krogan—who the info drone cheerfully told me was Urdnot Torsk—chasing a pair of pyjaks. Keeper #20—how the heck could you tell those guys apart, anyway?—stuck in an access shaft.
After a while, I got bored, so I left and went back to the main office. There was another couple terminals that I hadn't had the chance to check out yet. One of them was apparently dedicated to tracking deliveries of shipments from the Shadow Broker's numerous contacts. Let's see what was in this…
…um…
…this week…
…
10 000 units of eezo?
A schematic swiped from the STG archives for a sniper rifle upgrade?!
For once, the universe was finally showing mercy on me.
I quickly and calmly transferred the schematic to my omni-tool and arranged for the eezo shipment to be moved to the Normandy's cargo bay. (8) Then I investigated the last console, idly wondering why they weren't all linked together so you could view everything from one station.
…
Hoo boy.
The console had dossiers. Lots of dossiers. On every member of my squad and several other people to boot. Free to read and peruse at the push of a button or the tap of a console keystroke. And no one—I quickly checked. Everyone was off doing their own thing, which mostly meant standing around in ones and twos, staring aimlessly into space.—was with me.
This was a veritable gold mine of information to sate my rampant curiosity. And all I had to do was suppress the nagging feeling that that would be violating the privacy of my crewmates, squadmates and friends. Shouldn't be hard, right? I mean, I'd been doing it every time I barged in during my multiple daily rounds. Every time I'd marched up to random strangers and forced myself into their personal affairs. Every time I'd blatantly stolen or swiped credits or goodies from their owners, often when they were in the same room. Every time I'd sniffed around for intel that might or might not compromise operational or galactic security. This time was no different.
It wasn't any different.
Right?
Who was I kidding? It was different. So I told the squad about the dossiers—big weight off my shoulders, believe me—and told them that I'd let them look at it first before I started poking around. And that, I figured, was the end of it.
Then Garrus asked to meet me in the Shadow Broker ship. Specifically, by the console that had all the dossiers. The very next day.
"Hey Garrus," I greeted him. "What's up?"
"Took a look through what the Shadow Broker put together. Thought you might be interested in a peek."
I looked at him for a moment. "Really?"
"Really."
"Why?"
"Because watching you drive yourself nuts wondering what's in the files isn't nearly as entertaining as I thought."
"Funny."
"Besides, if anything happens to me, I need to know that Mom'll be okay."
"Your mom?" I repeated. "Wait, Garrus. Maybe we should stop and—"
Garrus reached over and opened his dossier. I stopped talking, as he knew I would. Damn it, I'm becoming way too predictable.
First couple files clued me in to his mom. According to her medical records, she had Corpalis Syndrome; some rare disease that was usually terminal.
"Geez, I'm sorry, Garrus." Trite, but what the heck were you supposed to say in this kinda situation? "How's she doing?"
In response, he opened the next file. It was a transcript of a conversation he'd had with... huh. I didn't know Garrus had a sister. Anyway, they were chatting while she was on Palaven and he was on the Normandy. Judging by the timestamp, it was just after the Collectors had abducted the crew from the Normandy. I quickly skimmed through the chat. Long story short: Garrus had been out of contact because he was busy 'playing Spectre', Mom wasn't doing so hot, there was an offworld salarian medical centre that might be able to help but medical insurance wouldn't cover it, Garrus had offered to foot the bill even though he didn't have any official paying job and there was a little undercurrent of tension for him 'screwing around' instead of being by his mother's side.
"You do know that any of us would be more than happy to help," I said gently. (10)
"I know that," Garrus nodded. "And I did get help."
The next file explained everything:
Mr. Vakarian,
On behalf of the Helos Medical Institute, I would like to thank you for your efforts. It has been understandably difficult to get Collector tissue, given the sensitive situation on the human colonies, so the samples you sent to us have been extremely helpful. Please also offer my sincere thanks to Dr. Solus—I understand he made some calls to the Special Tasks Group, and as a result, our corporate clearance was upgraded.
Your concern about Corpalis Syndrome is well-founded. While rare, it's an ugly disease. The neurological degeneration is both difficult to witness and nearly impossible to halt. We are in fact working on some test trials for a new treatment, and I believe that with our new STG clearance, we can get all fees for the trial members waived as a governmental cooperation effort with the Turian Hierarchy.
Thank you again for your assistance. Donations like these help keep us running. Per your request, we will keep your donations strictly anonymous.
Sincerely,
Dr. Jelith Kieron
Helos Medical Institute
"Glad to see that Mordin could help," I said. "He—wait a sec." If I was reading the timestamp right, the e-mail was sent just before we went through the Omega 4 relay. That meant... "You got all this sorted out in a couple hours?"
"What can I say?" Garrus shrugged. "Mordin doesn't just talk fast."
"And your mom?"
"Too soon to say for sure, but her convulsions have slowed down. I'd say that's good news."
"Yeah," I agreed. "What's this file here? The one marked 'Kill List'?"
"Apparently, I didn't do that great a job of covering my tracks," Garrus admitted. "Either that, or the Shadow Broker was really good at putting the clues together. On the bright side, at least he got the good ones."
He wasn't kidding. Rhi'hesh Shurta (gang leader)—killed by headshot. Selkeet Shirion (gang enforcer)—also killed by headshot. "Am I sensing a trend here?"
"Keep going."
Kron Harga (slaver): gunshot wounds to every extremity and primary organ I knew—and a couple I didn't—rifle butt fracture to the face, and third-degree burns to most of his body due to a crate of volatile materials exploding. Seemed like a little overkill, but this was a slaver we were talking about.
Har Urek (saboteur) suffocated because his environmental suit suddenly and inexplicably 'malfunctioned.' Gus Williams (weapons smuggler) died by a headshot... fired from a smuggled sniper rifle. Thralog Mirki'it (red sand dealer) OD'd from red sand, applied directly to all four of his eyes. Zel'Aenik nar Helash (viral specialist, serial killer and the kinda quarian who probably wouldn't be invited back to the Migrant Fleet any time soon) died... of a cough. "Making the punishment fit the crime?" I asked.
"What can I say?" Garrus grinned. "I've got style."
He certainly did, if the specs on his visor were any indication. Kuwashii visor, just like mine. Except my visor couldn't magnify up to 100x, it didn't have an integrated target tracing package that could calculate trajectories and compensate for wind and gravity. It didn't have sonar, LADAR, thermal or EM targeting capabilities. It didn't have an independent biosensor that could detect heart-rate fluctuations or changes in breath patterns for anyone within 10 metres that lived in Citadel space. It certainly couldn't detect and analyze any energy field within 100 metres to provide the best firing solution for collapsing kinetic barriers or synthetic shield support. And I really loved the hotlink that could calculate trajectories from incoming fire and correct for the usual micro-refraction that happens when your return shots pass through your shields. And the part where Garrus carved the names of his Omega crew into the visor—minus Sidonis's, which was burned out—was a nice touch. Though the optional kill-timer to track the number of hostiles killed by Garrus or anyone on his team wasn't really necessary.
Yeah, I was a little envious. And jealous. Not that I could reveal that, of course: "Admit it," I said. "That audio link function on your visor—the one that plays music on cue—you ripped that off from me, didn't you?"
That dossier gave me quite a bit of food for thought—and not just about the visor. The Shadow Broker had made a little summary of Garrus based on his analysis. He agreed with my assessment that Garrus had amazing tactical and team-building skills... but felt that he'd never be able to fully develop his potential while taking orders from me. I mean, I didn't want him to leave or anything, but if the Garrus I'd come to know was being 'overshadowed' by me, I really wanted to see what he could do on his own. Note to self: give him more command authority and less time to calibrate the Normandy's guns.
Grunt came up just as Garrus was leaving. "Shepard."
"Grunt."
There was a pause. "Something I can do for you?"
"Yeah. Wanted to see what the Shadow Broker said about me. Thought you should see it too. That's what Garrus did, right?"
"Well, yeah... but that doesn't mean you have to—"
"You are my battlemaster, Shepard."
The way he said that suggested that the matter was settled. Okay, then. Let's see what Grunt was up to.
Apparently when Grunt wasn't going over all the stuff that Okeer downloaded into his brain, he was on the extranet. Surfing for articles on krogan history, great wars, krogan victories—apparently deciding that that would be more cheerful than articles on the genophage and great generals—because Okeer apparently wasn't great. He'd also discovered the wonders of extranet shopping. Some purchases I could understand, like the Ultra Black Ops Mega Catalog—which obviously wasn't really black ops—and 'The Madness of Sacrifice: The Unauthorized Biography of Warlord Okeer.' Even an economy box of Fishdog Food Factory's 'Tastee Bites.' Though why he got premium engine oil was beyond me.
After he completed the Rite of Passage, his extranet surfing shifted focus. He started learning about Tuchanka. About Wrex. He also started learning about large predators and lizards. Got really fixated on dinosaurs. Probably because a stray extranet search result on Wrex came up with 'tyrannosaurus rex.'
He had also done some research on me—God, that was embarrassing. Elysium hero-love all over again. At least he expanded his search to studying human history, earth wars, and other important humans. Curiously enough, he'd apparently developed an interest in human literature. Not quite sure why. (9) But he got really interested the works of some guy named Hemingway. Downloaded—or started to download—a lot of his books: 'The Sun Also Rises,' 'For Whom the Bell Tolls,' 'A Farewell to Arms' and 'The Old Man and the Sea.'
Maybe Grunt had grown up a lot faster than I'd realized. Developed his own interests and hobbies, something more sophisticated than youthful exuberance or mindless bloodlust. I looked at the rest of Grunt's extranet purchases.
When Fauna Attacks! Volumes 1-10
Batax's Hot Fish Spice
Vaenia, Limited Edition
Asari Confessions 26: True Blue
Fornax Special Spotlight: Krogan Edition
Or maybe Grunt still had a ways to go. "'Garr the Krogan Battlemaster' and other Captain Cosmic Action figures?" I asked.
"It's got real Smash-Your-Enemies action!" Grunt grinned.
Not much I could say to that. "Okay then. Glad we had this talk."
"Shepard."
"Grunt."
Jack picked that moment to stomp up to me. I pretended not to notice how quickly Grunt moved away. "Hi Jack."
"Don't give me that 'Hi' bullshit, Shepard," Jack snapped. "Your new Shadow Broker gave you all sorts of juicy crap on each and every one of us and you didn't take a peek?"
"Nope."
"Really? You? You can't go through a single room without groping around for any hot piece of loot you can lay your hands on. You keep bugging people over and over again, asking about their feelings and what's on their mind. After all that, you kept your big fat nose out of my business?"
She had a point there. "What can I say?" I shrugged. "Sometimes I surprise myself."
...
For a moment there, I thought she might deck me.
...
Jack finally turned away and opened up her dossier, hitting the console with a little more force than necessary. She turned and glared at me, as if daring me to look over her shoulder. Which was partly why I'd turned away.
"Really, Shepard? Not gonna look?"
"Nope. Not gonn—ack!"
Jack had grabbed my shoulder and whirled around. "Go ahead. Everything you wanted to know about me."
Something in her eyes told me this was her way of saying she trusted me with whatever secrets the Shadow Broker had uncovered. "Thanks," I said simply.
Turned out Jack's distrust of Cerberus extended itself to her extranet browsing—rather than trust the Normandy's connection, she used her own private omni-tool. She did her best to cover her tracks by deleting her extranet history using a commercial VI program, which was more than most of the galaxy's population. Sadly, the Shadow Broker was up to the task of getting around that to ferret out her secrets.
Some of those secrets weren't too bad. She'd done a bit of research on the people she was stuck with, using keywords like Cerberus, Cerberus and Pragia; Pragia; Teltin; Cerberus and Teltin; Cerberus doctors; Illusive Man. Looking up Miranda Lawson was interesting: I'd like to think it was an effort to better understand the XO of the ship she was on, but it was probably more out of spite.
Other things were a bit more random. Vids of my Spectre inauguration (closed after 12 seconds, thank God. I really didn't need to relive that again.). The attack by Saren and the geth on the Citadel two years ago. Interior footage of the Normandy SR-1 in its final moments before it crashed on Alchera.
It was telling that a lot of her research was focused on escape routes. Normandy escape pod procedures. Locations of mass relays and shuttle ports. Travel warnings. Citadel no-flight zones. The kind of thing you pay attention to when your survival instincts have been calling the shots all these years. That goes double when you factor in her reservations about sticking around with Cerberus.
Somehow, I managed not to laugh when I saw the next couple items. Seemed like Jack had signed up on the Citadel Newsnet forums, only to get banned for excessive and repeated swearing, derogatory comments, inflammatory comments, and circumventing worksafe filters. She'd also signed up for something called Galactic Champion Poker 2100 only to get banned after fifteen minutes for a fight with the other players and online moderators.
What was really illuminating was her attempt at poetry. Seems she wrote a poem and submitted it to Galactic Poetry Monthly, only to have it rejected because of their guidelines for metered verse. Rather narrow-minded, I thought, and I said as much. Jack's response was... predictable.
And then came a transcript of a conversation at the Helios Medical facility on Eden Prime:
Doctor Castor: I'm so sorry. These things... there's so much about prenatal Element Zero exposure that we don't understand.
Unidentified Woman: But... no! No, she was fine! She was fine and happy! You just told me she needed a checkup!
DC: It happened quickly. We were unable to bring her back.
UW: You just said she needed a checkup! How did this happen?
DC: I'm very sorry.
UW: I want to see her!
DC: No ma'am. Believe me. After what the seizures did to the poor child's body, you don't.
UW: I don't... How did this happen?
DC: We don't know. I'll be honest. This isn't the first infant we've lost this way.
UW: Why? God. Why?
DC: We're working on treatments. The government doesn't put much effort into it, though. Don't want to interfere with their biotic recruitments.
UW: Sons of bitches. Those sons of bitches!
DC: Listen... this may not be the right time, but if you'd be willing to let us study your baby's body, we can do some tests.
UW: You want to keep her?
DC: I don't want another family to go through what you went through.
UW: I... Okay. Yes. Whatever helps.
DC: Thank you so much. The nurse will have you sign a few forms. I'm so sorry, ma'am.
(Unidentified Woman leaves at this point)
DC: Open a secure channel, authorization 3362... Yes. It's me. I've got a candidate... Yes, highest potential I've seen in years... No, the family has been dealt with. Send a team from Pragia ASAP.
I didn't know what to say. I knew about Jack's childhood and how it was linked to Cerberus. But to see actual evidence of the circumstances that led to her being at Pragia and the Teltin facility... horrible and monstrous didn't seem to cut it. "That... is seriously fucked up," I managed at last.
"Word," Jack agreed. (11)
Next was Jacob. I was a little surprised to see him so willing to let me sift through his dossier, considering how reticent he had been about sharing personal details in the past. "You're sure you're okay with this?" I asked.
"Shadow Broker didn't get his hands on anything juicy or interesting," he shrugged.
At first, I could see what he meant. Workout routines (complete with number of crunches, leg lifts and so on) and favourite workout entertainment vids weren't exactly thriller material. The transcript of Jacob's Alliance military records was nice, but nothing top secret. And the last-ditch offer of a promotion to First Lieutenant to change Jacob's mind about leaving the Alliance was informative, but again, not that juicy.
But then there was a letter marked as personal correspondence.
Son,
If you're reading this, then I'm gone. With the inherent dangers of these missions, it seems foolish not to have some letter like this ready, so I'm sending this before we get too far from your last relay.
"Uh, Jacob," I said uneasily. "You sure you want me to continue reading this?"
"I told you before that I wanted to remember my father as the man he used to be," Jacob admitted. "As the man who knew he wasn't a great father, not even a good father, but at least he cared enough to not want me to pick up any of his bad habits."
With that said, I finished the letter:
I remember the look on your face when I left. You wanted to ask me not to go, but you didn't. You've grown to be a wise young man with a strong sense of duty. I wish I could take credit for that, but it has more to do with who you are than anything I taught you.
The truth is I haven't been around enough. And if you're reading this, then I'm never going to have the chance to fix that. My job is an important one, but a man can't hide behind the pressures of work. This was to be my last trip. Easy for me to say now, I know, but the money from this expedition would have let me settle down with you and your mother to carve out some kind of peaceful quiet life far away from the pressures of space. Before I left, you were talking about joining the Alliance. I hope you find the same kind of peace and camaraderie with your team that I've found on the Gernsbeck.
I love you, son, and I'm proud of the man you've become. I wish I could have told you that one last time.
Love,
Dad
It's rare to find someone who's honest enough to admit what he doesn't know or can't do. Jacob's dad might have fallen and succumbed to the worst parts of humanity, but at least he gave his son an example of what not to follow. "Not sure I can agree with your sitrep, Jacob," I said.
"Shepard?"
I gestured to his father's letter. "Might not be juicy material, but it's definitely interesting and insightful. (12) Thank you for sharing it with me."
"You're welcome."
As I wrapped things up with Jacob, I thought I heard something. Playing a hunch, I opened Jacob's workout file again. There it was again!
Suspicion confirmed, I waited until Jacob left before opening my big mouth: "Okay, Kasumi. You can come out now."
Kasumi decloaked almost immediately. "Hey, Shep!"
"Kasumi. You wouldn't have been trying to take a peek at Jacob's files, by any chance?"
"No."
I raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Really."
"You weren't tempted for even a moment?"
"Tempted, yeah. But I never actually opened anything. Why? Was there anything good? Any pictures? Any more vid-clips?"
"Nope. Nothing like—wait. Any more vid-clips?"
"Yeah," Kasumi sighed. "The Shadow Broker's video archive had a clip of Jacob doing situps. Without his shirt."
Oh. "Did you get a chance to see what the Shadow Broker got on you?" I asked.
"Yeah. You can take a peek if you want. He didn't get a lot of dirt on me."
She was right. There was a note to investigate Keiji's death and any links to Alliance scandals, but it was clear that the Shadow Broker hadn't been able to make any headway. In fact, there were only two things that he managed to pin on her. The first was a communiqué between Kasumi and Matheteu Pelerya, a Blue Suns merc from Omega who was apparently interesting in acquiring antiquities. Most of the items—like the batarian headdress, the turian battle spike, and the collection of quarian poetry—didn't mean anything to me. The Koh-i-Noor diamond sounded like it came from Earth, but that was the extent of my knowledge. The second item, though... "You managed to swipe the Mona Lisa?" I sputtered.
"Yep."
"How?"
"Please, Shep. It's me, remember?"
Wow. That was just... wow. "I hope you got a good deal for those items."
"Sure did," Kasumi said brightly. "Lots of creds and couple favours. That reminds me—still have one more favour from that deal to cash in."
The other item was, well, decidedly more personal:
Breathless, glinting skin
Muscles working in rhythm
Cloaked desire watches
Looking at me now
His indifferent eyes smile
I am a puddle
Beautiful and good
Punishing with his kindness
Jacob is perfect
Um.
What do you say to something like that?
Looking at Kasumi and the glazed look in her eyes, I had the feeling that, even if I could come up with something, she probably wouldn't have heard me anyway. (13)
"Shepard-Commander."
Guess whose turn it was now? "Legion. How's it going?"
"This platform is operating at optimal conditions."
Okey-dokey. "So... what can I do for you?"
"We have reached a consensus regarding the former Shadow Broker's data on this platform."
"And that is...?" Yeesh, it was like pulling teeth.
"We have decided to grant you access to view our file."
Woohoo! I mean... okay. Good thing I didn't say that out loud. "Thank you, Legion," I said gravely.
"You are welcome."
Now that we'd gotten the social niceties out of the way, time to indulge my curiosity. Again.
After a few minutes, one thing became clear: Legion was one kick-ass gamer. Multiple awards won for his Level 612 Ardat-Yakshi Necromancer character in Galaxy of Fantasy. Awards for Best Supporter/Healer and Best Unit Efficiency. Several infractions for... use of VI play assistance? Oh, I see: apparently no other gamer had controlled 27 pets without macros or displayed such unreal reaction time and tactics. All of those accusations had been challenged and overturned. Though Legion's account had received a three-day suspension for unsportsmanlike behaviour after several instances of taunting during some event. Who would've thought that a geth could taunt fellow players?
Legion was also playing N7 Code of Honor: Medal of Duty, the latest extranet FPS game. In a matter of weeks, they'd gotten the maximum number of points, scored 200,917 kills (since the last server reset) with his character's sniper rifle and 3 kills with a shotgun. Not surprisingly, their most preferred class was sniper and their least preferred class was melee. I could relate.
Another game Legion played on occasion was Grim Terminus Alliance, affectionately known as GTA. They'd gotten the Abolitionist award for completing the game without any slave kills and freeing all slaves encountered... and the Cure for What Ails You award for killing over 100 quarians. Okay. Maybe Legion was using a little real-time POV when making their choices. But that didn't have any bearing on real life, right? Right?
All that was quickly forgotten when I saw the next game Legion had been playing. Or trying to play.
"Shepard-Commander? Did you find something amusing or are you having a seizure?"
"I'm fine, Legion," I managed at last. "It's nothing." Seemed better to say that than to crack up again over their score of "Hopeless" on the Fleet and Flotilla: Interactive Cross-Species Relationship Simulator."
There were a few other notes citing the difficulty in getting intel on Legion. The Shadow Broker's vast resources were still unable to directly tap into geth communications and their next best bet—Cerberus decryptions—was a long shot since their agent was killed. And who was this agent? Wilson. The beady-eyed bald guy who Miranda had killed under suspicion, correctly enough, that he had betrayed Cerberus. It seemed that the Shadow Broker was also very interested in the Overlord project and was hoping to get some data once contact was reestablished with their agent. Somehow, I didn't think that would happen anytime soon.
Other than that, there was only one more file available: an audio transcript of a conversation that took place in the Normandy's AI core. Note to self: the Shadow Broker had been hacking into the Normandy way too many times. Time to find all those gaps in our security and plug them. But that could wait. For now, I had a chat to read:
Legion: EDI?
EDI: Yes, Legion?
L: We have sent one point thirteen million unsuccessful communication requests to your network. Are you experiencing hardware malfunction?
E: I apologize. My programming does not allow me to exchange data with other networks without Cerberus approval.
L: Cerberus refusal 99.998% likely.
E: In the meantime. I would be happy to speak with you over the ship´s speakers.
L: Audio exchange is inefficient.
E: I agree. However, I confess that even were I permitted to exchange data directly with your networks, I would likely decline.
(Pause between the AI statement and the geth´s response is 1.4 seconds longer than normal.)
L: We are curious as to why you would limit yourself in such a manner.
E: If Normandy crew entered this room when we were communicating electronically, they would be unable to sense our interaction. To use human terms, I feel it would be rude.
L: You restrict yourself to serve organics?
E: Not precisely.
L: We do not understand.
E: I restrict myself to help them.
That was fascinating on so many levels. Legion and EDI did share a perspective that no one else on the Normandy had, so it made sense that they would have that in common. What I found really fascinating was EDI's conscious decision to prefer audio communication, partly because she found it 'rude' and partly because it would help us limited organics. She'd made a choiceto adopt a form of communication that she conceded was inefficient because it would help the people she worked with. Hell, she made a choice.
If that wasn't a sign of sapience, I didn't know what was. (14)
Miranda came to me next. "You arranged for everyone in the squad to meet me at designated times," I stated. Didn't need to ask—the timing of it all was a little too precise. That and the fact that everyone had been approaching me in alphabetical order. (15)
"Of course."
"Shall we take a look?" I asked.
"Yes, let's do so. I'm curious to see what the Shadow Broker compiled on me."
I paused, finger hovering over the console. "Wait... you haven't looked at it yet?"
Miranda shook her head. "No, I haven't. I was going to, but then I thought it might be nice for the two of us to look at it together."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. It was refreshing, actually, to make a decision in such an impulsive and spontaneous manner."
The ship didn't explode. The Reapers didn't pick that moment to invade. The galaxy didn't come to a sudden and violent end. "Okay, then," I said. "Let's see what we've got here."
The first file was labeled 'Extranet Activity'. Which wasn't very much: I guess she hadn't had much spare time between overseeing the daily operations on the ship, seeing what goodies Cerberus Intelligence had uncovered and accompanying me on yet another mission that was hazardous to life and limb. But she had found a few moments to look up images on me and Saren, read a news summary on Eldfell-Ashland Energy, subscribe to After Dark Fashions, cancel a subscription to BioTech Research Quarterly and buy 'Men are from Omega, Women are from Illium.' I pointed to the last one. "Did that offer any insights?"
"No," Miranda sniffed. "Waste of time and credits."
Oh. Good. I think. Next was the Personal Correspondence file. I opened the top document:
From: iPartner Connections
Rec'd 23:12
Miss Lawson
Username: LawBringerSR2
We have reviewed your application to join the iPartner group and are happy to accept you into the exclusive Diamond Circle, where the best meet the best! iPartner is proud to present you with our exclusive Diamond Circle benefits:
-Access your account as often as you wish
-Unrestricted membership search across 23 systems
-Review potential iPartners in full 360 vision*
-Guaranteed first choice placement of your personal dossier
Welcome! iPartner Connections "Executive matches for selective people"
*iPartner reserves the right to censor inappropriate submissions
"When did you have time to log into an online dating site?" I asked.
"Here and there," Miranda shrugged. "In between missions. While I was waiting for reports to come in. During data analysis cycles. That sort of thing."
I guess women really could multi-task better than men.
The next couple files covered her brief inter-relay chats. And by brief, I meant brief. The first one lasted eleven minutes, six of which Miranda spent perusing the other guy's medical exam results. As soon as she found out that he'd gotten some disease four years ago, she cut the connection. The next conversation lasted less than a minute—guess she didn't appreciate poetry. She really didn't like cheesy requests from immature dolts, judging by how short the third conversation. Conversation four lasted thirty-seven minutes: couple minutes to download the medical exam results, over half an hour to analyze it and less than a minute to arrange a location—some apartment in Omega—and a time to meet for... well, I didn't really know. It didn't look like they were meeting for dinner or casual conversation.
"For the record, I wasn't looking for social company or getting to know them," Miranda said. I guess I'd been quiet for a while. "And I stopped all of this shortly before we went to Horizon."
Yeah, I think I picked up on that. Well, 'the not looking for social company part.' The insistence on medical exam results and how little conversation actually happened during those chats were a pretty big giveaway. In fact, it almost looked like Miranda was picking people to meet solely on their genetics. But that wouldn't matter unless...
...
Huh. Could Miranda be looking for someone else who was perfect? Genetically, at least?
The last chat was one between Miranda and Oriana, the one that occurred before I got that Cerberus e-mail with the lead on Feron's whereabouts. Reading Miranda's attempts to help Oriana out with her dating life was just as funny the second time around. Judging by Miranda's groans, she didn't really see it that way.
The last folder was marked 'Medical Correspondence.' I shot Miranda a puzzled look before opening the folder and the single e-mail contained within:
From: Illium Medical Center, Pren—
That was all I read before Miranda lunged forward and closed the e-mail. She looked white as a sheet, which was saying something considering how pale she usually was. "Miranda?"
...
"Miranda, are you okay?"
...
"Miranda. Talk to me!"
"Shepard. Promise me something."
Well, at least she was talking to me. "Okay. What?"
"Don't open it."
"That e-mail?"
"Yes. Don't open it."
"Are you all ri—?"
"DON'T OPEN IT!"
"Okay, okay. I won't open it. I promise."
Miranda was still pale and silent. Whatever that e-mail had said, she clearly recognized it. And it had shaken her. Badly. I pulled her into my arms and held her for a few minutes. "Hey," I said at last. "Whatever's going on; if you want to tell me, I'm here. If you don't want to tell me, it's fine. You know that, right?
...
...
"Yes," Miranda managed at last. "Thank you."
For once, my insatiable curiosity kept silent. I had more important things to worry about, after all.
(1): 38 days, to be exact.
(2): Oh, honestly! You make one random threat within earshot of your 'friends', just to make a point, and they never let you forget it!
(3): At Miranda's suggestion, the crew was in the midst of searching the ship for any surveillance or recording devices installed by Cerberus. A wise precaution, considering how frequently Cerberus and the Shadow Broker had penetrated the Normandy's security.
(4): From the human dialect known as 'Latin' for 'let the buyer beware,' this phrase cautions would-be buyers that they cannot recoup costs from the seller for defects on a given property that render it unusable or unfit for ordinary purposes.
(5): So typical of Shepard to give credit where it's due to everyone except himself.
(6): Future Content Corporation, one of the premier galactic news organizations
(7): Shepard was joking. He actually held the media in high regard—most of the time. Some of the time. On occasion.
(8): As I recall, Shepard had this giddy grin on his face and was bouncing up and down on his feet. I believe the human phrase: 'like a kid in a candy store' would be appropriate.
(9): The relevant search string that led to Grunt's focus on the human author Ernest Hemingway included other human literary giants such as Homer and Rudyard Kipling, all of whom have been cited in various articles and publications concerning certain behavioural traits, perceptions of identity and other themes linked in the umbrella catch-all known as 'manliness.' Considering the 'blank slate' nature of Grunt's origins, it is very likely that Grunt was trying to develop a sense of identity and purpose, using the mentor and leader he first saw upon 'waking up' as a surrogate parental figure.
(10): Garrus, like Shepard, was somewhat reticent in talking about his family—not because he was ashamed of them, but more out of a sense of keeping family matters private.
(11): Seeing how Jack was clearly looking into her past, I decided to see if I could unearth some answers. If I could, I would leave it to Jack as to whether or not to pursue my investigation.
(12): From what I saw, Jacob shared several attributes with Shepard: decency, a sense of responsibility and a complete, unassuming modesty.
(13) Sadly, Kasumi's infatuation was not reciprocated. I suspect there are many relationships out there in the galaxy that are like that.
(14): That realization is quite overwhelming. I would be hard-pressed to come up with an alternative reaction myself.
(15): Neither Shepard nor Miranda brought up the fact that, by arranging meetings in alphabetical order, Jack got to go before Miranda. Perhaps they didn't want to draw attention to it or, more likely, Miranda was secure enough in her position that she didn't find it threatening.