Chapter Two

Noveria, Pax System, Horse Head Nebula

Robert Deyton's pace quickened as he walked through the streets of Port Tamlin, turning the collar of his jacket up against the cold. Though the town was climate controlled, the sheer size of the place did not allow complete protection from Noveria's bitter chill. Port Tamlin was essentially an annex to the planet's capital, Port Hanshan, the influx point of many of the corporate focused world's wealthy customers and visitors, as well as home to thousands of company workers and board members, but Tamlin itself fuelled Hanshan's activity, it was the home for those who kept the opulent capital functioning.

Containing Port Hanshan's power facilities, storehouses, sewage works and other civic amenities, Port Tamlin's docks were also the source for most of Hanshan's primary consumables, food being the most important of these, given the scarcity of Noveria's still developing hydroponic farming industry. But despite its necessity for the capital's wellbeing, Port Tamlin was frequently overlooked, and its denizens treated almost like second-class citizens, making many of them as bitter as the winds on the frozen peaks outside.

Deyton turned off from one of the main roads onto a side street that took him towards Hanshan via the Tamlin docks. Looking up, he saw a group of dockworkers congregated around a stack of crates from a recent delivery. They were all male, all under the age of thirty, Deyton guessed, and all human. They were also all white, though this alone hardly bothered Deyton. As he approached, he saw one of them, a tall skinny individual in a thick, but somewhat tattered white jacket, nudge the man next to him and say something, his eyes still pointed in Deyton's direction.

"Ah, hell no." Deyton muttered to himself, he had caught the look in the man's eyes. By the time he had taken a few more steps, the five men were all staring at him. Deyton kept his face level and kept walking, knowing that his suspicion was probably unjustified. By the time he came close to the group, though, he knew he'd been right from the outset.

"Hey, you know what they call a black man in space?" the taller man asked loudly as Deyton walked up. One of the others, a thickset man whose stubbly beard covered a face that suggested the thickness went all the way through chuckled and asked,

"What?"

"Camouflaged." The first man sneered, causing more laughter among the group. Deyton's fist clenched, but he kept it deep in his pocket and ignored the man. "Woah, hey. Where you going, hombre? I've got a question for you."

Despite himself, Deyton stopped and turned to face the man, squaring up to him, his face composed in perfect neutrality. "So now that we know aliens exist, which pretty much proves my theory that you people are aliens, I'm curious: what planet are you from?"

Deyton found it hard believe that even in the twenty-second century, with racial divides practically eliminated, there were still people who clung to such primitive fears and prejudices. Deyton wondered how humanity could possibly hope to coexist successfully with other species, when some of its members still struggled to accept other members of their own because their skin was a different colour.

"What did you say to me?" Deyton spat, his face twisted with fury.

"Heh, look at this boys," the tall man said, "looks we've got ourselves a sub-human rights activist. Pauly, why don't you tell the scum where he can stick his rights? You hearing me, you filthy n-"

Deyton's fist was up before he even knew what he was doing, smacking straight into the man's face. Instantly the other men launched into action; even as the taller man fell back clutching his bleeding and broken nose, the thickset one throw a punch at Deyton, who ducked out the way and followed up with a blow to the man's stomach. Keeping his fists held high in front of his face, Deyton landed a quick succession of punches on the man's stomach and face, wincing at the pain in his hands. The man collapsed on the floor, and Deyton was forced to dodge again as one of the other dockworkers threw a poorly aimed punch.

Another man came up behind Deyton and grabbed him, though his hold was broken by a swift backwards kick into the groin, followed by an elbow in the face. As the first man came back for more, Deyton reached for the holster on his hip and pulled out his pistol, smacking his assailant with the butt of the weapon before he could tackle him. Deyton whirled round and aimed at the last standing member of the group.

"On the floor, now!" he yelled, as the man's hand went to his waist. The dockworker hesitated, and then pulled something out from his pocket. Deyton's instinct kicked in, and he pulled the trigger, firing a single round into the man's stomach. A spurt of blood shot out as the projectile struck, and with a gurgled breath he fell to the floor, gasping for breath, the object he had removed from his pocket clattered to the floor. Eyes wide with disbelief and shock, Deyton looked down at the small communications device that had fallen from the man's hands. He had not been going for a weapon, he had simply been about to call for help, probably from what equated to law enforcement on Noveria, the organisation Deyton worked for.

Deyton holstered his pistol and ran over to the man, whose face was already going pale. "Listen," he said, trying to keep the panic from his voice, "it's going to be OK, I'm going to get you through this." The man coughed, and blood spattered over his chin and onto his chest.

"Help… help me!" he whispered, his voice shaking.

"Shit," Deyton breathed, "stay still, try and keep talking to me, I'm going to call for some help." Deyton reached for his own communicator, and entered in a general NLEA frequency, swearing under his breath again as he did so. "To all units in the area, this is Officer Robert Deyton, I have a man with a gunshot wound on 8th street, condition critical. Requesting medical assistance and backup." Deyton called into the device. As he turned his attention back to the wounded man, the back of his head erupted in furious pain and he pitched forwards. Training and instinct kicked in, and he rolled over the gunshot victim, using his momentum to get away from his attacker. He turned as he stood, and found himself once again facing up to the thickset man, his blood stained face and clothes adding to his fearsome image.

"What the hell are you doing?" Deyton snarled, "I'm trying to help him! I'm an enforcement agent, I have some medigel. There's not much I can do by myself but you have to at least let me try to stabilise him, he's going to die!"

"Don't you dare touch him, you black bastard!" The other man roared, fists clenched tightly, "I'm going to finish you."

Deyton went for his pistol again, but he was a fraction too slow. His attacker slammed into him, and the gun went flying out of Deyton's hand. Deyton recoiled as another punch landed on his head, and only a swift kick was able to drive the thug back. Though still on his feet, Deyton's balance was thrown, and he was only just able to dodge another punch and its swift follow up. The thug came at Deyton again, and the two ended up grappling, missed punches flying around. The man was able to get his foot behind Deyton's leg and trip him up, but Deyton was able to use his own momentum again to throw the thug over him as he fell. Deyton was on his feet first, and a hard kick was rewarded with a howl of pain as the thug rolled away, finding his feet.

"On the floor, now! Hands on your head!" Another voice bellowed. The thug whirled round, only to be greeted with a jab to the face from the butt of a pistol. He toppled backwards, and Deyton was left looking at the uniformed figure of Toby Ramos, another Noveria Law Enforcement Agent with whom Deyton had worked in the past. "Jesus Christ, Rob, what the hell happened here? These guys jump you?"

"No time," Deyton gasped, wincing as he did so, "that man's been shot, we've got to get him some help, quickly."

"There's a med-officer on the way," Ramos said, "I was just a bit round the block when the call came, so I was able to get here quickly. Med team might be too slow though, I've got some gel, but not much."

"Same, we've got to try though." Deyton said, limping over to the where the man lay bleeding. He knelt down and reached for a small capsule of medigel from his belt. Looking up, he saw Ramos had his fingers on the fallen man's neck.

"He's dead, Rob." Ramos said sombrely.

"No," Deyton breathed, "no he can't be." He reached forward and tried to press down on the man's chest, desperately trying to prolong a heartbeat that had already given out. All he received in return was a sudden oozing of blood from the wound, and he screamed in frustration. "Son of a bitch!" He cursed and slumped backwards.

"Come on Rob, let's go get you cleaned up," Ramos gave a deep sigh, "and sort these idiots out." He gestured to the unconscious men scattered over the small street. Helping Deyton to his feet, he removed a pair of handcuffs and strode over to the nearest collapsed thug. Deyton could only watch as the pain in his head pounded away.

*****

The chair he was sat in was comfortable, the share of wealth the Noveria Internal Affairs committee could donate to its new Enforcement agency was generous indeed for such an organisation, but Deyton was nonetheless in profound discomfort.

"I'm sorry, Robbie, but we can't look at any other way."

"I know, Paul, I know. I was way out of line, but the things they were saying…"

"Exactly, Robbie," Paul Dusautoir, Chief Constable of the NLEA, sighed as he set a file down on the metal desk that separated him from Deyton, "'were saying'; for an officer, particularly one of your standing to react violently to verbal abuse is absolutely unacceptable. The fact that those primitives got what they deserved does not change anything. Hell, we could have been alright if you hadn't killed one."

"I honestly thought he was going for a gun, the training just kicks in, I couldn't have…"

"I know that Robbie, I've read your report. Several times. Look, I'm on your side; the chances of running into a band of racist idiots in this day and age, on a planet this far from Earth with this many non-humans… well it staggers me, and if I had anything nearing a case, I'd through them all in the cells without a seconds thought. But how do you think this is all going to look to the public? It's their word against yours, and yes everyone who spends five minutes with any of those redneck bastards knows that they're racist pigs. However, a Law Enforcement Agent simply cannot go around starting fights.

"I'm sorry Robbie, I really am, but the Internal Affairs committee has taken this all the way to the Executive Board, and they're screaming for either my head or yours. And if I go down, everything we've worked for over the past month goes with it. NLEA is relegated back to running customs, and the corporate buffoons get the ECRS guards back in play. It took us, hell it took me two years to bring out the corruption that riddled that little organisation, and in one single month on the job, you've put that in jeopardy.

"Now listen, I'm still fighting this, and you have got some allies on the Committee and the Board, but I'm going to have to let you go, at least for a while."

"Hold on," Deyton stood up, his hand making a fist on the table, "what about the case? I've been building it up solidly and we're getting somewhere, you can't just.."

"I'm sorry, Robbie," Dusautoir apologised again, "I'm trying, I am, but as it stands for now you're on indefinite suspension," Deyton opened his mouth to say something, but Dusautoir cut him off before he could argue, "without pay. That's it, final word for now. I've assigned Ramos to take your case, I think we both agree it's based to keep that one quiet, and Ramos knows the full story of your suspension, enough that he can trust you to start him off."

"It's still going to take too long, Paul. Look, just let me get to the bottom of this and then you and the Board can do whatever the hell you want, but this is too damn important for me to just walk away now." Deyton said angrily.

"I've said all I've got to say, Robbie. As of now, you are no longer an active agent, and I'm going to need your badge." Deyton grimaced as he handed the small metal shield, along with the internal ID holoprojector across the desk. "I'll let you keep the gun, just promise me, and I mean promise me, you won't use it on any more civilians. Internal Affairs would have a goddamn field day."

Deyton gave a curt nod, and strode through the reinforced glass doors out of the office. In truth, he had expected worse; and being allowed to keep his gun was a strong sign of his superior's faith in him, to say that Internal Affairs would deem that 'criminally irresponsible' would be a colossal understatement. Still, Deyton knew that he couldn't keep it, for one thing he simply wouldn't need it if he wasn't working. It was just too big a risk, and he knew that secretly Dusautoir had not really meant for him to keep it, they had been words said for reassurance, and the Chief Constable's expression had betrayed his true feelings on the matter.

To Deyton's surprise, he found Toby Ramos waiting for him outside the office, leaning against the wall with a rather stern look on his face.

"You're out then?" he asked sharply.

"You knew?" Deyton replied, his voice toneless.

"I figured," Ramos unfolded his arms and straightened up, "Did the Chief tell you I'm taking your case?"

"Yeah, I'll run you my files over this afternoon, listen.."

"No you listen," Deyton bristled as he was interrupted once again, "I'd been working on the extortion case since before the transition, and now thanks to you, I have to hand it over to some rookie because the chief insists I take on your little missing specimen problem. I mean why Rob, why? Why did you have to shoot him? Do you really think trying to track some bioengineered growth that's been shipped way outside Noveria's jurisdiction is really more important to us than some Exogeni exec getting fat off money he's stolen from Noverian citizens?"

"Yes, Toby, I do," Deyton snarled in hushed anger, "these weren't just some test specimens, they were goddamned rachni clones! This wasn't the work of petty thieves or a corrupt Binary Helix employee selling off his stuff on the black market for a bit of extra cash, I'm convinced this was an act of terrorism."

"Terrorists? Here?" Ramos scoffed, "Come on, Deyton, how many times? Your conspiracy theories are no good here, why the hell would terrorists attack Noveria? The only people in those whole galaxy that give a crap about the people here are the people here! It wouldn't have any effect. And rachni? Please, the krogan killed them off before we humans even started making species extinct."

"They're not going to attack here, they're going to use what they've stolen to attack somewhere else. And yeah, the krogan did kill them off, but thanks to some brilliant meddling from Binary Helix, they've been brought back from the dead. Read the report, there are even pictures of corpses recovered from the Peak 15 facility, even you won't be able to ignore evidence like that when you see it. Someone inside BH was corrupt, but they weren't selling them. Just trust me, Toby, it's important." Deyton pressed.

"Alright, alright. Listen, I know the fight wasn't really your fault," Ramos said, with a weak attempt at a reassuring smile, "and if things get tight, you know, with the suspension and all. Just… you're welcome to stay at mine, if you need it. And I'll keep you filled in on the case as much as I can, I realise how important it is to you."

"Thanks, Toby, I appreciate that. I guess I'd better clear out before the Chief decides to make the suspension a little more permanent. Good luck." The two men shook hands, and Deyton walked off, letting out a long slow breath as he left the building.

*****

Lawson's fingers raced through the orange glow of the holo-panel, his eyes scanning the projection at head height intensely. His office in C-Sec Headquarters was not a large one, but it was nonetheless private, a luxury that was scarce among the rank-and-file constables of the organisation – and enjoyed with a great feeling of self-superiority by the investigative officers.

The records C-Sec kept were simply immense. A bureaucracy that encompassed thousands of individuals across the entirety of the Citadel and surrounding space, constituted by a multitude of species from across the galaxy, all with cases pertaining to criminals from even further afield, whose crimes extended beyond properly charted space made for a vast quantity of information. VI programs could help sift through the data rapidly, finding records relevant to specific queries, but they could not interpret that data.

Currently, Lawson was gazing at the profile information for one Kaybran Demena Trast Alt Shapet Derbon, the missing salarian that had become his most potent lead. The profile appeared to conform to the standard mould one might expect of a typical C-Sec Officer. Having graduated the Demena Law Academy at the age of ten, in human years, he had almost immediately found law enforcement on the relatively small salarian colony of Kaybran to be a little too simple for his tastes. Evidently an adventurous sort, as shown by a noted enthusiasm for his job in assessments, Shapet had left his homeworld to join C-Sec as soon as the application was processed.

He had a clean record, no disciplinary action had been noted, and he seemed a rather efficient lawman. Indeed, there was no hint of any possible reason for his sudden turn to terrorism, which, of course, was what made him perfect. Lawson recognised the type, a bright young salarian officer with something to prove, and honest to a fault. It must have taken a sizeable cash transaction to have persuaded him to jump ship.

Lawson sighed. He didn't have the time to go analysing the reasons why Shapet had become a turncoat, not with a cache of lethal, classified alien weaponry missing. Refocusing himself, Lawson called up the more technical data associated with the officer. Scrolling quickly through lists of assignments and postings, technical scores and shift partners, he found what he was looking for. The list of areas Shapet had clearance to was not a long one: the secure areas of C-Sec HQ; a couple of C-Sec substations throughout one of the Ward arms; and finally, three trade mooring stations on that same Ward.

A swift tap through one of the glowing holographic keys called up Artus, the VI used by the Investigative Officers in Lawson's department.

"Good morning, Detective Lawson," the turian avatar greeted Lawson with his usual baritone, "How can I help?"

"Artus, call up the list of all traffic on mooring stations D, E and F on Ward Arm Three for the last four days. Cross-reference with times when the stations were accessed by Officer Shapet Derbon."

"One moment," Artus said in pleasant, if monotonous voice, "there are two entries that match your query, Detective. Would you like to view them?"

"Please." Lawson said hurriedly.

"08/07/83, 10:29: Officer Shapet accessed mooring station 3-E, while the asari trading vessel Shalla Verney was docked. Officer Shapet responded to reports of a brawl between ship's captain and first officer. Officer Shapet apprehended Captain Silthia, on charges of drunken, disorderly behaviour. He left the station at 10:37."

"Next record." Lawson said, impatiently.

"10/07/83, 17:48: Officer Shapet accessed mooring station 3-F while a private vessel owned by Vanna Trading Limited was docked. Records indicate he has not left the station." Lawson let out a deep breath. Finally, he had the escape ship.

"Artus, apply new search filter: list multiple search terms in reverse chronological order, starting from the earliest unless specifically stated in future."

"Done." The glowing avatar said simply.

"Good. Now call up that vessel's registration and flag it on Citadel Control's database as a wanted ship. Patch me through to the senior officer assigned to that mooring station."

*****

With C-Sec beginning to finally settle after the attack, things moved with exceptional speed from there. Within three hours, Lawson had managed to obtain a small C-Sec transport ship and its three man crew for his own use, and was rocketing away from the Citadel towards the relay Citadel Control had tracked the fugitive vessel through.

"Relay is hot. Approach vector acquired." The pilot, an asari, stated calmly, baffling Lawson somewhat. He had been through a lot of mass relays in his time, space travel simply demanded it, but every time it filled him with an overpowering sense of wonder and excited fear. The idea of simply being shot instantaneously across thousands of light years was an unending source of amazement for Lawson, and the serenity with which his pilot read off the steps for a relay jump, as if it were no more out of the ordinary than walking into a lift was astounding. Whether it was simply the natural asari grace coming across, or the confidence borne from countless interstellar voyages, Lawson found the matter-of-fact tone oddly calming in itself.

Some of the apprehension must have made it into his face, for a second later, Lawson found the turian navigator addressing him.

"Shell's crossed this relay more times than you've had doughnuts; she knows what she's doing." The turian gave an unmistakably human smile, which Lawson could not help but reciprocate.

"You've been spending too much time around humans," Lawson grinned, "if you can get that much of a read off my expression. I'm hardly a newbie myself to these things, but I still find them, I don't know… eerily fascinating."

"Hitting the relay in five!" Shell's voice broke through.

"Don't you find them amazing?" Lawson asked the turian, who simply shrugged, once again earning Lawson's curiosity.

"Part of the job." He said plainly, as the coruscating intense blue light sparked outwards in a massive discharge of energy, ensnaring the relatively tiny craft and propelling it instantly to an entirely different star cluster. Lawson fought against the churning in his stomach he knew he had no physical reason to feel, only to see the turian once again with a huge grin plastered over his blue painted face.

"So what's our next move?" the salarian ensign seated behind Lawson piped up.

"We patch into the local comm buoys," Lawson answered, "classic operational security says that the thieves won't have a confirmed destination until they have the merchandise, and that getting a signal in or out of the Citadel would be prohibitively difficult."

"Makes sense, I suppose." The salarian replied, in a manner rather less verbose than the majority of his species. "So what are we looking for?"

"Any transmission that matches the operating frequency of their landing and take-off broadcasts." Lawson said, calling the frequency band up on his console.

"That's it?" the salarian said flatly, "you don't have anything else to narrow it down?"

"Nope," Lawson gave a mirthless smile, "it's going to be a long few hours I'm afraid. I'll get some coffee on."

"Cappuccino for me!" Shell, the pilot called out instantly, turning round to flash a broad grin at Lawson. "Naleb there takes his black; watch you don't put any milk in, gives him hilarious, uh, bowel difficulties." The turian merely flexed his mandibles in annoyance at the comment, before nodding towards the micro galley at the rear of the cabin.

"None for me please," the salarian said, a trace of irritation in his voice, "the stuff only makes me thirstier." He resumed tapping away at his console.

Lawson could only smile as he made his way aft. Here he was, in the middle of space, on a spaceship surrounded by a crew of aliens, and he was making coffee like he was behind a desk on Earth. It was times like this that made him truly thankful he had been born when he had.

*****

Detective Chellick gave a cold nod to the krogan bouncer as he was admitted to the Silent Serpent club, though his true identity remained a mystery to the krogan, Chellick had long ago turned the bouncer, ensuring he never had any difficulties getting in. The occasional drip feed of information he received from the towering lizard was an added bonus that made Chellick's job just that little bit easier.

Chellick had managed to work a measured heaviness into his walk, a slight sluggishness and lack of precision that suggested he had been drinking before his arrival at the club, as was common for a good number of the clientele. The green eyed turian smiled inwardly; the actor in him genuinely enjoyed his work, particularly when he knew he was doing it well. He made his way past the dance floor, through the seating area and joined the throng of customers crowding round the bar. Chellick's sobriety left him easily able to cut through the masses of drunks as they stumbled to keep their balance. He placed his hands on the bar top and looked up at the waitresses. A smiling human woman came up to him.

"What can I get you?" she said sweetly.

"I'm being served thanks." Chellick said nonchalantly.

"Oh, alright then." The woman looked a little put out as she moved on to an unsteady salarian. Chellick glanced to his left, watching the woman as she struggled to hear the babbling salarian over the noise of the music. When he looked forward again, he found he was staring at another smiling face, only this one was blue and the smile was genuine.

"Hi there, what can I get you?" Hellissa said, still beaming.

"Sarkut and Vel, please. No ice." Chellick introduced a slight slur to his voice.

"Sure thing." Hellissa turned to make the drink, giving Chellick time to have another look around the club. Over in one of the VIP sections, a trio of asari dancers were performing in front of a group of turian and human men, all of whom were clutching drinks and leering contentedly. On the second floor balcony, a pair of human dancers were chatting to a couple of excited looking salarians, whose human friend beamed as he gestured between the two. Around from them, in the more exclusive VIP section, he saw a small group of volus chattering away to each other while an asari danced in the background. Hearing the thud of the glass hitting the bar, Chellick turned back round to face Hellissa. He picked up the glass, hearing something clink inside it.

"I though I said no ice." He slurred at Hellissa, who looked taken aback, "never mind, I'll drink it anyway."

"Sorry, sweetie. It's been a long shift." Hellissa said by way of apology, "three creds please."

"Damnit," Chellick cursed, "you got change for a twenty chip? I forgot my card."

"Sure," Hellissa beamed as she took the chip from Chellick's hand, along with the thin slip of paper concealed in his fingers.

"Hey, wait a minute," Chellick raised his voice slightly, "you're one of the dancers here, aren't you?"

"That's right; I'm working bar tonight though."

"You're a fantastic dancer, when are you working again?" Chellick maintained the slur.

"Dancing all tomorrow night, sweetie, if you want to come watch. Three days time I'm dancing for a bit, but working bar early in the evening." Hellissa glanced around here, as if impatient. Chellick nodded.

"Thanks," he said, giving a drunken wave, "I'll have to come watch you soon then."

Chellick drained the glass and walked away from the bar, the 'ice cube' held in his mouth still. He placed his hand over his mouth, feigning the threat of vomiting and barged through the crowd until he found himself outside the club. As he scurried round the corner, he heard the krogan laughing. It may not have exactly been a dignified exit, but at least it had been convincing; once again the suppressed thespian brought a smile to Chellick's face as he removed the small capsule from his mouth.

Opening the slim oval, the turian found a small datacard inside and pocketed it. Between that and the new orders given to Hellissa, tonight had been a great success, but to Chellick that was just another day on the job.

*****

Ben Lawson rubbed his eyes as he let his eyes lose focus on the holodisplay before him. Deciding now was as good a time for a break as any, he leaned back in his chair and swivelled it to face forward. The ship's pilot, Shell, was just getting out of the command seat after completing another systems scan. Lawson's eyes followed her as she made her way aft.

"I'm getting myself a sandwich," she winked at Lawson as she passed, "you want one?"

"Sure," Lawson smiled, "whatever you're having."

"That'll be Dekuunan cheese then." The asari grinned back.

Behind her, Naleb had turned round and was making a face from which Lawson gleaned that elcor dairy products had a significantly worse effect on the turian's body than café lattes.

"Get me a pack of those Shrewtaa sausages, Shell?" He asked, his mandibles opening expectantly. This time it was the asari's turn to make a face.

"A whole pack? Won't do your cholesterol any good, Naleb."

"Hey, I'm never going to have an asari's figure. Why kid myself?" Naleb retorted, again with an unmistakably human smile across his face. Lawson laughed and turned back to his display. While the others monitored the comm network, Lawson was making use of their proximity to a Citadel controlled comm buoy to do some investigating of his own. His digging through Citadel records, however, was yet to prove fruitful. Vanna Trading Limited, the company that supposedly operated the vessel they were searching for, had begun as a joint venture between two asari and three volus aspiring entrepreneurs that had since grown to accommodate a number of human pilots. Worryingly, the vessel registration was not listed under Vanna's assets, nor did they have records of any ship of theirs docking at the Citadel since the attack.

Lawson tiredly supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. The Citadel was in search chaos following the attack that any vessel promising relief, as this one apparently had, was given almost immediate clearance with only token efforts made at verification.

That the ship had been able to pounce so swiftly, had been able to seize the opportunity as rapidly as they had suggested to Lawson that whatever group was actually running the ship was a good deal more organised than the average pirate band. The nature of the stolen goods, coupled with this, was beginning to have Lawson suspect what would no doubt be officially considered terrorists. All this merely added more pressure on Lawson's limited team to get results fast.

Lawson sighed again as he cut off the connection with the Citadel. He made a quiet verbal note on his omni-tool of the case status, ignoring the surprised look Naleb threw him when it appeared he was talking to himself, and called up the comm traffic files. Shell returned from the galley, gracefully balancing two plates on one arm and hand while holding a pack of deep brown curved sausages in another. The pack she threw in the general direction of Naleb, who caught it deftly in one hand, fingers curled like a talon, while she delicately placed one of the plates in front of Lawson. A satisfied noise escaped Lawson's throat as he looked appreciatively at the perfectly arranged sandwich, bulging with thick pale yellow cheese. A thin layer of an unidentified red sauce graced the top side of the cheese, while a sprig of a purplish herb garnished the top, most likely some asari plant.

"You always go to this much effort for your crew?" Lawson asked, as Shell took an oversized bite of her own sandwich.

"Uh-huh!" She mumbled through the food, smiling broadly, before slumping in one of the auxiliary chairs, humming to herself. Naleb chuckled, a sound made richer by the turian double tone, and he tore into the pack of meat, devouring the first sausage like a hungry raptor.

It was just as Lawson was wondering when salarian crewman Iviall was going to pipe up, when he took a sharp intake of breath.

"Detective, I may have found them."

*****

Robert Deyton placed his empty glass back on the bar, and turned back to the viewscreen to his left. The soccer game he had been watching had gone to half time, and for some unfathomable reason, the bartender had chosen to switch over to one of the news channels rather than listen to the pundits' discourse. News on Noveria was rarely interesting to Deyton, as it consisted primarily of stock market figures, merger predictions and asset analysis; business news for a corporate world, and to Deyton it may as well have been recorded in prothean for all he could understand of it.

It had livened up in recent weeks; the story of the fall of Administrator Anoleis, the massive corruption scandal that had unravelled and the blindingly fast transition from ECRS security to Deyton's NLEA that had finally been instituted after months of Internal Affairs' effort had been entertaining for Deyton, to say nothing of the pride he had felt at being on the side that had emerged on top. Brief mention had been given to the Siege of the Citadel, but Deyton had been rather horrified to see how little anyone on the corporate world cared. Noveria was not in Citadel Space, but the apathy shown to the fate of the galactic capital by most residents of the planet was appalling. And now, the news was back to its former self – boring.

The bartender finished with another patron, and shuffled across to Deyton. He was human, but to Deyton's mind he seemed to be spending far too much time around salarians. His speech was almost as quick, and his patience as lethally short, and something in his stare reminded Deyton of the blankness he saw in the large black eyes of the amphibious aliens.

"You want something else?" he said, politeness not often the done thing on Noveria.

"Yeah, sure," Deyton sighed, wishing he could ask him to put the football back on, "I'll have… whatever's on middle wicket. Oh, and a packet of nuts."

"Middle wicket?" the bartender asked irritably.

"Beer. You know, the middle tap out of the three? Looks like a cricket stump?" Deyton responded, incredulously. He needed a vacation back on Earth at some point.

"Cricket?" the bartender asked in the same, annoyed tone of voice.

"Oh for goodness' sake, never mind," Deyton shook his head, "just the nuts and a cup of tea then." The bartender nodded and smiled. At last they seemed to have come to an understanding.

"I've got Assam, Kenyan, English breakfast and Earl Grey from Earth, Sarphan and Elletta of the Night from Thessia, Vartok from…"

"I thought this was a bar, not a café." Deyton exclaimed, cutting off the bartender in the middle of his overexcited listing. A beeping from Deyton's jacket pocket cut the bartender off before he could retort, and spared Deyton from having to make another choice. He pulled the comm unit out and thumbed the switch.

"Deyton." He said simply into it. Why work would be contacting him while he was suspended, he was not sure. Intrigue spurred him on.

"Rob, it's Dusautoir. Listen, I appreciate this is going to sound odd, but I need you to come over to the Krogan Kafe on 12th street in Tamlin. Right away, Rob."

"OK, is this official or what?" Deyton asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Just get here. I'll explain then."

"I'm on my way, sir." Deyton finished, no less puzzled as he put his comm unit back in his pocket. He looked up to tell the bartender where he could stick his tea collection, only to see the skinny bastard chatting up some asari secretary on the other side of the bar. Huffing as he got up, Deyton made his way out of the bar, vowing that from now on he would find something better to do with his suspension than spend it in corporate bars. As he left the bar, he turned back just in time to see the second half of the football kicking off. Deyton groaned as he headed down the boulevard to a taxi flyer station.

*****

Twenty minutes later, Deyton emerged from the flyer at the corner of 12th street, a usually bustling high street lined with what passed for trendy stores and cafes in Port Tamlin. Today, it was curiously empty, and Deyton was growing increasingly worried. He looked up, and realised with a sinking heart where the Krogan Kafe was; it was hard to miss the glowing holographic cordon lines, or the grouped NLEA agents standing on its perimeter.

Deyton jogged over and was immediately confronted by a hefty looking turian officer. Deyton immediately fumbled in his pocket for his ID, only to come up short when he remembered the suspension. He opened his mouth to debate the issue, but the turian got there first.

"You're Deyton? We've been told to expect you. Go right on through. The Chief Con's on the second floor."

"Oh. Alright then." Deyton was more bemused than ever as he stepped through the cordon and made his way into the building. Immediately, he was confronted with the scene of a struggle – and a violent one at that. Tables were overturned, chairs left in fragments and scattered across the floor, spilled drinks drenching the scene. Broken glass littered the counter, and it was coated in the residue of several broken drinks machines. As Deyton looked closer, he realised with shock that the drink was mingled with another fluid, a deep orange that trailed down to the floor. Deyton gasped as he saw the body of a massive krogan, orange blood in a disgustingly large pool around it, a battered looking shotgun still clutched in its outstretched hand.

"It's a lot worse than that, Rob." Deyton spun around to face Paul Dusautoir, who looked significantly more haggard than the last time Deyton had seen him.

"Worse than a mauled krogan, sir? These most have been some pretty mean hardasses to make the situation worse."

Dusautoir merely nodded as he beckoned Deyton to follow him up the stairs behind the counter. If Deyton had been unprepared for the sight of the dead krogan downstairs, it was nothing compared with the shock he now felt.

In the middle of an equally devastated room was another body. This one was much smaller, and the blood that spattered the walls and floor was a deep red. This one was human. Deyton felt his blood run cold as he saw what was left of the face; a face he recognised all too well.

"Toby!" he gaped, his head spinning. Dusautoir nodded again. NLEA constable Toby Ramos had been murdered barely a day after taking on Deyton's case.