Chapter 3: Degrees of Separation

One of the greatest dangers of going undercover is getting caught by someone who recognizes you—either by a previous alias or, even worse, your real identity. As big as the galaxy is, the percentage of galactic space that's actually inhabited is very small, thanks to the tendency of sapients to cluster around mass relays. When you've travelled around as much as I have, you tend to meet a lot of people. That's a lot of opportunities for one of them to bump into you again sometime down the line. And if you've made an impression during your last encounter, they'll actually remember your cheerfully deranged face.

It was with all that in mind that I turned around to face my accuser. "Do I know you?" I asked innocently.

The batarian scowled at me. "Don't act like you don't know me!" he snapped.

"But I don't," I lied. "Sorry. It might be a little racist to say that all batarians look alike, but it's true. All I know is you aren't the batarian who fixed my skycar. Or the barista at that really good coffee shop. Or the one who searched me at customs."

"Cathka."

"Gesundheit." (1)

He paused. "That's my name."

"Pleased to meet you," I said brightly, acting as if I was oblivious to the potential trouble standing in front of me. Which, depending on who you ask, would explain a lot.

"I'm a member of the Blue Suns," he continued.

"I've met a lot of batarians who said they were part of the Blue Suns," I replied. "Some of them might have actually been telling the truth. Can you believe that some people would rather lie?" I made a tsk-tsk noise. "Shocking, I know, but it's true. And—FYI—you're not wearing a Blue Suns uniform." (2)

Which was true: he was wearing this garish gold and red hardsuit that was sporting a big, honking Grand Mirage logo on it. He looked down at his hardsuit, visibly winced, then looked up at me. "We met on Omega," he told me, trying to jog my supposedly faulty memory.

"Omega's a big place," I said. "You might wanna be a little more specific."

Only batarians can roll two of their eyes while glaring at you with the other two. "Fine," he growled. "We met on one of the lower levels in Omega, where we were trying to take down a self-styled vigilante going by the codename 'Archangel.' I was a sergeant in the Blue Suns pulling double-duty as a mechanic because that goddamned hero downed a gunship with his sniper rifle. I was this close to fixing it before you stuck an arc welder in my back. Is that specific enough for you?"

"Ooooohhhhhh," I said in a voice of dawning comprehension. "That Cathka. I remember now. How's it been? You're looking good."

Somehow, I don't think he bought it. Call it a hunch. (3) "Yeah, guess I am," he said dryly. "Kinda surprising—you almost electrocuted me to death."

"Well. Yes," I grudgingly conceded. "There's that. But," I added with a raised finger, "I didn't kill you. I spared your life."

"Do you want a medal?" Cathka asked sarcastically.

"Do I get one?" I asked eagerly. "It has to be a big one. A shinyone. Ooh, ooh: how 'bout a big and shiny one? Do I get a big and shiny one? Well, do I?"

Cathka turned to Miranda. "Is he always like this?" he demanded.

She looked at him, looked at me, looked back at him… and sighed. I had the feeling that she was trying to take my behavior in stride and felt the need to summon a great deal of patience. "Not always," Miranda admitted. "He's gotten more… eccentric over time, however."

"Is that what they're calling it now?" he asked rhetorically.

"Hey!" I protested. "I'm standing right here!"

"Yes you are," Cathka acknowledged. "And who are you, anyway?"

"Ben Pillar," I replied, remembering my alias.

He activated his omni-tool and did a quick check. "Ben Pillar and… Katie O'Connell, I guess," he said, glancing at Miranda. "I take it you're not here for pleasure." That was more of a statement than a question.

"Well…" I exchanged a look with 'Katie.' A hot, steamy look, smouldering with promises of sinful pleasures and carnal delights. I paused, just long enough to make Cathka think I'd lost my train of thought. Truth be told, I almost did lose my train of thought after images of Miranda's—focus, Shepard, focus! "There's… some pleasure," I managed at last.

Cathka made a gagging sound. "I'm sure there is. Why don't you tell me why you're here?"

Like I was really gonna open my big mouth and tell the whole story. Did he really think I was that stupid? Just because some guy ID'd me didn't mean I was gonna give up. I looked him in the eye and began to reply. Something cutting and witty. Maybe more cutting and witty than the big shiny medal shtick.

But then I saw a gleam. In his eyes. All four of them. I recognized that gleam. I'd seen it in the mirror once in a while. He was curious. Oh, he was still undoubtedly pissed off at the way I'd gotten the upper hand on him all those months ago. But he was also curious about why I was here. Genuinely, sincerely, honestly curious.

We might have something in common after all. Who knew?

"I'll make you a deal," I heard myself say. "I'll tell you why I'm here if you tell me why you're here."

"Seems fair," Cathka allowed.

"And if you don't tell anyone else," Miranda added. "Including your superiors at the Grand Mirage. Consider that your way of paying Pillar back for sparing your life back on Omega."

Cathka paused for a long time. "Fine," he finally nodded. "Let's talk. And eat—I'm starving."

Cheers for a growling stomach.

Cathka took us to a small restaurant that was very easy to miss, considering it was sandwiched between two other businesses that were much, much larger. On one side was a high-end clothing store with who-knows-how-many stories and floor-to-ceiling windows, all of which were displaying dresses, blouses and other clothing. All from designers I'd never heard of and for prices I couldn't imagine. I'm sure Miranda could, but I couldn't. Even at the height of that Hero of Elysium crap, dress blues were just fine, thank you very much. One the other side was a tanning salon. Floor-to-ceiling windows, lots of leather seats and there were these pods in the back. I'm sure they were tanning booths or something, but they looked like pods to me, which inevitably reminded me of those stasis pods that the Collectors used to store abductees before melting them into goop to grow new Reapers and I quickly forced myself to think of something else before I collapsed on the pavement and started spewing out gibberish while assuming the fetal position. (4)

Anyway, back to the restaurant. Plain black metallic façade with a plain black metallic door. No gimungous windows. If it wasn't for the neon sign above the door, telling us that it was open for business in between flickers, we might've walked right by it. The doors hissed open and a waft…

…a waft of…

…

…oh my.

It… it smelled like… pizza. Damn, when was the last time I had pizza? Not while I was running around chasing Collectors. Or when Miranda was putting me back together. (5) Or when I was chasing Saren's tail. So that would be… over three years ago? Over four? Wow.

The pizzeria wasn't too crowded—probably because we'd come in at the tail end of the evening rush. There were more faux-wood tables, covered in red-and-white checker square cloth, than customers. A pair of asari, going on and on about how exotic this strange human food was. Over on the left, a salarian was inhaling his four slices and chugging down an energy drink. I gave him a wide berth, in case he exploded in a frenzy of flailing caffeinated activity or just plain exploded. A female turian—at least, I think she was female. Never saw a female turian before. Note to self: ask Garrus what female turians look like.—and an asari were on a date, and starting to get a little, well, frisky.

"That can't be right."

I looked at Miranda blankly, then followed her gaze to the advertisement hanging on the wall. "'Only two credits per slice!'" I read aloud. "'Make it a combo: two slices plus one beer equals five credits. Prices already include taxes!' Yeah, that can't be right."

"Actually, it is right," Cathka confirmed. "One of my buddies stumbled on this joint a couple weeks ago. He couldn't believe it at first either. Neither could I. I mean, this is Illium, right? How could the prices be this cheap?"

"Obviously the pizza isn't very good," Miranda suggested with a derisive sniff.

"Seems fine to me," Cathka shrugged. "But I never had pizza growing up in the Hegemony. Or when I left home and started travelling around the galaxy. My human buddies said it was good, for what that's worth."

I hoped he was right. If not, then the cost of medical care to treat food poisoning on Illium would probably bankrupt me. (6) Which might have been Cathka's plan from the get-go. Unfortunately, it was a risk I'd have to take. My curiosity demanded it—and the mission, of course. Besides, the pizza smelled really good.

Cathka got one 'meat lover's slice—full of beef, sausage, ham and other unidentifiable meats—and one Hawaiian slice. Miranda wasn't that hungry. Neither was I, despite the tantalizing aromas. If things went south and I had to fight, I didn't want to fight on a full stomach—those slices were really big. So I got a slice of the house special for myself and a vegetarian slice for Miranda.

We found a secluded table along the right wall. Cathka insisted on taking the best seat—the one that would let him put his back against the wall and keep an eye on the rest of the room. Again, not an ideal situation from a tactical perspective, but one I'd have to live with.

As I sat down, I surreptitiously pulled up my HUD and re-assessed my arsenal, something that I was sure Miranda was also doing. All weapons were loaded with fresh thermal clips. Omni-tool had a fresh dose of plasma to ruin someone's day. Shields were at 100 percent. And my cloak was standing by to mask my presence for… six… freaking… seconds. (7) Cathka and I stared at each other. Miranda started picking the olives off her pizza.

"So… 'Pillar.' 'O'Connell.'" Cathka said those names slowly, sounding them out. Almost as if he didn't believe we had told him our actual names, which was fair under the circumstances. "What are you doing here?"

"Staring at a slice of pizza instead of eating it," I replied with a straight face.

Cathka glared at me.

"Oh, you mean before that," I said. "We're here on behalf of a client who wants us to pick up a package."

"What's the package," Cathka immediately asked.

"No idea," I replied honestly.

"'No idea?' None at all?"

"None whatsoever," Miranda confirmed, putting an edge of authentic irritation in her voice. "I'm hardly thrilled about that, by the way."

"She's been bitching about it ever since we got hired," I stage-whispered.

"Have not," Miranda retorted.

"Have too."

"Have not."

"Have too."

"Oh shut up, you two," Cathka groaned. "I get enough of that when I'm on duty."

"That reminds me," I said, seeing an opening to redirect the conversation and satisfy my curiosity, "what're you doing here on Illium?"

"And how did you wind up joining the staff of the Grand Mirage?" Miranda added.

"Lately, the Blue Suns have been suffering from a credit flow problem," Cathka began. "We used to have a solid base of operations on Omega, but somebody had to go in and fuck it all up."

That wasn't entirely fair, I thought. I wasn't responsible for the Collector plague that swept through one of the many slums of Omega. That outbreak did a real number on the Blue Suns. More than I ever did. (8)

Having said that, my hands weren't completely clean. I did shoot, pummel and barbeque a lot of Blue Suns. But it was all in the name of recruiting and rescuing an asset going by the codename Archangel. Renowned for his tactical and strategic skills, infamous for being a crack shot with a sniper rifle and guilty of driving the criminal element of Omega to despair. It just so happened that Archangel was my old pal Garrus, the first friendly and familiar face I'd seen being hauled back to the land of the living—aside from Joker and Dr. Chakwas, of course. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Let Garrus get killed? For the sake of a bunch of pirates, racketeers, smugglers and killers—plus the throngs of wannabe thugs with more bravado than self-preservation? Yeah, I don't think so.

"If it was just Omega, we might've been fine. But we lost a lot of other operations too. Our prison starship—Purgatory—fell apart. That was a sweet cash cow, let me tell you. Then we lost a lot of guys on Korlus, not to mention the chance to get our own personal supply of krogan shock troops. Personally, I think the bitch in charge might've been partially responsible for that clusterfuck. Our racketeering ring on the Citadel got busted. We even lost one of our bases on Zorya. Zorya. We own that fucking planet and we still got hit there."

"That sucks," I pretended to sympathize.

Cathka seemed to believe me this time. Either that, or he was too caught up in his story to notice. "After that, we really needed to rebuild. So a bunch of us were sent to random planets to nose around and look for new opportunities. I was sent here along with a dozen guys."

"Wait, wait, wait," I interrupted. "You went with twelve other Blue Suns to Illium? Unless things've changed in the last month or two, that's prime Eclipse territory. If you guys own Zorya, then Eclipse owns Illium. Did anyone bother to mention that?"

"Yeah," Cathka snorted. "I did. But the bosses were too desperate for credits to care. And most of other guys were too busy thinking with their dicks and drooling over all that blue pussy."

"Charming," Miranda said pointedly.

"Aw, did I hurt your feelings?" Cathka mocked.

"Anyway," I butted in, before things had a chance to escalate, "you and a dozen Blue Suns came here."

"Yeah," Cathka nodded. "We thought we could set up an exporting business for some of the pharmaceuticals that Eclipse didn't care about. Pass off some no-name drug or cheap knockoff as the latest fad from Illium. Had a warehouse right outside Nos Astra to cook our merchandise, a couple freighters to move our cargo. Even bought off the local cops."

"Sounds like you had all the basics covered," I nodded. "So what happened?"

"We were busy packaging our first shipment," Cathka told us. "All hands on deck. Trying to stay on schedule. Then someone tripped our alarms. All of them. At once. Next thing we knew, we were under attack. Lost four guys in the first minute alone. When the smoke cleared, we'd lost another two guys and were completely surrounded."

"By who?" Miranda asked.

"At first we thought they were a local merc group," Cathka sighed. "Some other outfit that had the same idea we did and didn't want us poaching on their turf. We later found out that they worked for the Grand Mirage."

Miranda and I looked at each other in surprise. "Are you telling me—" I started.

"—that a casino that's been in business for thirty-two years—" Miranda continued.

"—managed to overcome a squad of Blue Suns mercs?" I finished.

"Embarrassing, isn't it?" Cathka groaned. "But yeah, that's how it went down. They told us to surrender, which we did. No choice, really. Going down fighting only works in vids, right? Then they gave us a choice: work for them or they'd hand us over to Eclipse."

"Ooh," I winced.

"Yeah," Cathka nodded morosely. "That was… damn. Almost four months ago. Four months of getting every crap detail and assignment. Four months of being laughed at and spat on. Four months of freezing every time someone opens a comm channel, wondering if that'll be the call that rats us out to Eclipse. Four. Fucking. Months."

It occurred to me that this might be the first time I ever felt sorry for a merc.

"Four months of staying away from the strip bars, 'cuz you never know if Bambi or Candi is one of them Eclipse bitches. Four months of being afraid to even talk to one of the whores for the same reason. Four months of jerking off to old porn e-magazines because you can't risk downloading the new ones—Eclipse watches them, you know. (9) No, I'm serious!" Cathka insisted, seeing the doubt on our faces. "One of the guys was trying to download the latest issue and left the break room to find a place with a stronger signal. When he didn't return for his shift, I started looking for him. Took a while, but I found him. Was trying to figure out how to break the news when I returned to the Grand Mirage and bumped into you guys."

"What happened?" I asked.

"He was on the roof of some building a couple blocks over," Cathka replied. "Eclipse logo spray-painted on his hardsuit, pants down around his ankles and head blown away… as well as his, um, you know."

I winced. No need to pretend this time. I grabbed my beer and took a swig. Cathka did the same. Miranda, being made of sterner stuff, asked the next question: "I'm guessing your… contract with the Grand Mirage makes it difficult to leave?"

"Minimum wage, overpriced accommodations at the Grand Mirage—which also lets them keep tabs on us—overpriced food just about everywhere on this goddamned planet aside from this joint and a 'protection fee' to ensure they keep their mouths shut." Cathka shook his head. "Yeah, we won't be buying a ticket outta here anytime soon."

Then a thought hit me. Scary, I know. "Maybe there's something we can do about that."

Cathka looked at me. So did Miranda, though her expression was more alarmed than hopeful. "Excuse us," she hastily said before grabbing my arm, hauling me to my feet and dragging me out the back door.

We found ourselves in an alley. A sliver of sunshine made its way down to us from the sky overhead, adding to the dim illumination provided by the light panels hanging above the back doors of the various businesses. Aside from the shadows and the garbage bins, we were alone. I waggled my eyebrows. "Why Miranda, this is so sudden!"

"Have you finally lost your mind?" Miranda hissed.

"Good question," I shrugged. "Wanna flip a credit chit and find out? Heads I've got a plan, tails I've gone loony."

"Shepard!"

"We need backup to cover as many avenues as possible," I reminded her. "To give us as many options as possible. Kasumi, Grunt and Mordin are a good start, but they've got the same problem we do: they're customers. Guests. Patrons. There are some things they're expected to do, some places they're not supposed to go.

"What we need are people placed on the other side. People who can mingle with the employees without raising suspicion. People who can go into restricted areas without anyone batting an eye."

"The Grand Mirage went to the trouble to recruit Cathka and the surviving Blue Suns into their security staff, which suggests that they need more hired guns—or maybe they think they need more hired help. The fact that they chose blackmail and coercion to force their compliance could mean they're desperate. If so, we can use that. They want guns? We've got guns."

"You're making a lot of assumptions," Miranda pointed out. "That introduces several more unknown variables into our plan. More unknown variables means more things that can go unexpectedly and horribly wrong."

"No plan survives first contact with the enemy," I reminded her. "And our plan is still in the development stages. Right now, I think the potential benefits outweigh the risks. Besides, as far as Cathka knows, it's just the two of us. If he does rat us out, and I don't think he will, but if he does—we have the rest of the squad out there to bail us out."

Miranda thought about that, no doubt calculating all those variables and their impact on any number of scenarios. "Cathka would have key insights into the Grand Mirage's hiring practices and methods of operations," she eventually conceded.

"His loathing and anger towards his new bosses would be ample motivation to help us," I added.

"Not to mention the hope of freedom that you evidently plan to offer to him and his men."

"So we're in agreement?"

"We are."

"Good," I nodded. I looked up and down the alley. We were alone. I turned towards Miranda and waggled my eyebrows again.

Miranda looked at me in disgust. "Here? Seriously? It's so… dirty."

"That's part of the charm," I grinned.

Miranda's response was immediate. "No!"

"But—"

"No, no, no, no and no! How you could even—no!"

…

…

"Fine. Maybe later. If you're good."

"Woohoo!"

Having settled that, we re-entered the pizzeria, found Cathka and sat back down. "Let's talk," Miranda said.

"After we eat," I corrected. "Pizza's getting cold. (10)

Cathka confirmed that the Grand Mirage did have an urgent need for extra security for the upcoming Skyllian Five Poker Tournament—the one Mordin's alias was entering. In fact, they were so desperate, they'd instituted an accelerated hiring and training process.

Having said that, it didn't take long to decide that sneaking in squadmates as Blue Sun mercs would be a really bad idea. Cathka reiterated that he and his pals endured more scrutiny than the other security staff and only had access to certain areas—namely the locker rooms and lunchrooms. It would inevitably raise questions like why it took the Blue Suns so long to investigate what happened to their Illium team—something that Cathka and his buddies had been asking themselves for a couple months now—as well as why they only sent a couple men to investigate. And, most importantly, I couldn't possibly make my squadmates suffer the shame of donning Blue Sun hardsuits. They're totally unflattering. I mean, have you seen the pics on the extranet? Those hardsuits add a couple extra pounds at least. (11)

I should mention that we hadn't actually eaten the pizza that we'd bought. So once we'd ironed out as many details as we possibly could, we ate our significantly cooled-down pizza. At which point, various sounds of appreciation may have been heard. Poorly chosen words may have also been spoken. (12)

After that, we said our goodbyes, shook hands and went our separate ways. Miranda took the scenic route back to the Grand Mirage. Making a bee-line straight back is just not done. Unless you're a rookie—which we were not. Or unless we were desperate—again, not. Those reasons were also why we didn't call Garrus and the others to update them on the latest developments. There were just too many eyes and ears out there.

So we waited until we got back to our room. And closed the door. And locked the door. And swept the room for bugs. While yapping on and on about all the buildings we saw and how big they were and all the shiny lights they had and it looked so cool and high-tech and sophisticated. Just like the asari. No wonder they discovered the Citadel first and became the first member of the Citadel Council and wasn't it all just amazing?

Once we'd secured the room, Miranda opened the curtains. Not all the way, mind you. Just far enough that someone from a certain angle could see into the closet—which was conveniently left open—and see which dress was on the right hand side. Specifically, which colour the dress was.

Sometimes, there are advantages to humoring the female tendency to bring far too many clothes with you. (13)

Then it was time for us to discuss what had been on our minds ever since we'd made a deal with Cathka. "So who should become the newest addition to the Grand Mirage family?"

"Kasumi, Grunt and Mordin are taken," Miranda began. "Unless we want to reassign Mordin."

"No," I decided after a moment's thought. "They went to the trouble of creating a legend for him. Let's not ruin that."

"Legion's out, obviously," Miranda said. "So's Tali. We need them to handle any hacking or technical situations that might arise. And they would raise far too much suspicion."

"Though it would be interesting to see who would raise more suspicion," I pointed out.

"Shepard, not everything is about satisfying your curiosity."

"Since when?"

"Can we move on?"

"Must we?"

"Yes."

"Slave driver."

"I've been called worse."

"Yes, I'm sure you have."

"I can't picture Jack assuming such a role with any degree of credibility," Miranda continued, having given up waiting for me to be serious. "A freelancer or biotic-for-hire, perhaps. But a rent-a-cop? I'm afraid not."

"Samara wouldn't be the best choice either," I said, finally getting back to business. "I… think she's wound up a little too tightly."

"That would be one way of putting it," Miranda agreed, echoing my uncharacteristic tact. "There might be a possibility with Thane."

"He has the serious, quiet demeanor of the ideal textbook guard," I admitted. "And he has the infiltration skills down pat. What about Jacob?"

"I don't know," Miranda frowned. "Undercover operations is not the first thing that comes to mind when I think about him. And I studied his record quite carefully when I was first recruiting him."

"Unless we play the ex-military angle," I suggested.

"Oh he could do that quite convincingly," Miranda nodded. "I'm not concerned about that. But—and I know you know this because you've read his record and talked to him extensively—he hasn't had nearly as much experience with being a hired gun. Or any aspect of special operations. If we're going to put him in this role, he'd need a handler."

"Like Garrus?"

"That would work in a pinch. Ideally, he'd be available to focus entirely on guiding Jacob, coaching him in what to say, how to act. Unfortunately, we need him to oversee the entire squad's activities. Therefore… we need to pair him with someone who can provide the seedier, more ruthless and ethically ambiguous quantities that Jacob lacks."

I raised an eyebrow. "You realize you've just described Zaeed."

"I have, haven't I?"

"So we've come to a decision?" Miranda asked.

"I think so," I nodded. "Jacob and Zaeed are going to be the latest additions to the Grand Mirage staff."

"Okay then."

"Right."

"Yeah."

"Good."

"You… realize that this presents a certain complication," Miranda stated more than asked.

"Something we haven't discussed yet?" I asked.

"Correct."

"What?" I wanted to know.

"Do you think Kasumi will be able to maintain her cover knowing that Jacob is working in the same building?"

I thought about that. "As long as he stays in his hardsuit and keeps his shirt on, I think she's got a shot."

With nothing else to do, I turned on the vid screen. I'd observed earlier that we had a ton of channels. As I began flipping through them, I realized that most of the shows on those channels were, well, crap. Gossip shows. Reality shows. Entertainment news. Reality shows. Bad movies. Shows clearly geared towards as broad, as mainstream and as shallow an audience as possible. More reality shows. Really bad movies. Shows in languages I didn't understand. Still more reality shows. It took almost ten minutes before I settled on some evening news show. Though the 2082 remake of 'Batman' was a close second.

Meanwhile, Miranda turned on the hotel computer, accessed the extranet and began looking at tourist attractions and popular restaurants. She started making notes on her omni-tool, jotting down details on everything from location to hours of operations to what they had to offer.

I should mention that this was just for the sake of maintaining our cover as a couple who was on vacation. For example, while I was pretending to watch stories on the multi-skycar accident on Lidanya Drive and some new e-book decrying the downsides of first contact, I was actually running passive scans to see if there were any bugs we missed—or bugs that had shut themselves off when they detected our earlier scans. Yes, there are some really sophisticated bugs out there. Amazing, isn't it? Mind you, our surveillance sweeps would probably have picked them up anyway, but you never know. Especially since we'd left our room unattended for several hours. No telling what shifty characters might've snuck in while we were out.

While my scans were running, I also took the opportunity to look around the databases and networks that Legion and Tali had cracked, just to see what trouble I could stir up. Turns out I could cause a lot of damage if I got really, really bored. (14)

Meanwhile, Miranda's research had two additional goals that the average tourist wouldn't think of. First, she was learning where everything was located to build a database—mental and digital—of excuses and covers. If some nosy parker started asking questions, she could say we were looking for something innocuous, like a museum or restaurant, instead of something mission-related, like local Eclipse patrol patterns or the closest power generator. Second, that database wouldn't be much use if we didn't have the facts to back it up. The more minutiae Miranda could uncover, the more convincing a performance she could put on.

And, of course, we were killing time until someone from the squad responded to the signal Miranda had hung up in the closet. We didn't know how long it would take until—"

"Hey, Shep! Hey, Miranda! How's it going?"

Miranda wheeled around as Kasumi decloaked. "What are you doing here?"

Kasumi gave her a look. "You signaled me? Remember?"

"Well, yeah," I said. "But we didn't think you'd get here so fast."

"We had it all planned out," Miranda groused. "We were going to pretend to be a normal couple on Illium for the first time, figuring out how to do normal things…"

"…we'd get overwhelmed by all the options, most of which would clean out our credit accounts…" I chimed in.

"…we'd need to distract ourselves for a time, come back with a fresh set of eyes…" Miranda continued.

"…maybe a nice massage..."

"…one thing would lead to another…"

"…especially since we'd already be partially undressed anyway—"

"Okay," Kasumi interrupted, her face showing equal parts delight and nausea. "TMI. I don't need to know what weird, kinky games you two had planned."

"Who needs handcuffs when you have biotics?" Miranda asked, giving her a wide smile.

"My safe word is 'apples'," I added in a stage whisper.

"GUYS!" (15)

I finally took pity on her. "We had a run-in with a familiar face. Do you remember Sergeant Cathka? We met him when we were recruiting Archangel? He was trying to fix a gunship—"

"—when you stabbed him in the back," Kasumi interrupted. "Bet he remembered that. What's he doing here?"

"He was sent with a squad of Blue Suns to explore business opportunities on Illium," Miranda told her. "Instead, they were ambushed by the Grand Mirage's staff—"

"Seriously?" Kasumi exclaimed.

"Seriously," Miranda confirmed. "The survivors were effectively forced into indentured servitude for the Grand Mirage, or risk being sold out to Eclipse."

"Makes sense," Kasumi admitted. "Eclipse wouldn't be too happy to hear that one of their biggest rivals was trying to muscle in on their turf. It's not just mercs, either. I know a lot of thieves who found themselves in that kind of crap too."

"Cathka said the same thing about Eclipse being territorial," I nodded. "Anyway, there's no love lost between the Blue Suns and the Grand Mirage staff. He gave us a lot of intel—including the fact that the Mirage has a lot of job postings for security staff."

"Tell Jacob and Zaeed to dust off their resumes," Miranda said. "They're going to go job hunting."

"Naturally, we'll need you guys to backstop them," I said. (16)

"Naturally."

I looked at her, then over at the door, then back at her again. "Since you managed to get in here so easily, I'm guessing that breaking into our mysterious contact's room won't be a problem? If it comes to that, of course."

"Assuming the security is anything like your room, or the room over, or the room three floors above, then no. No problem," Kasumi replied. "The luxury suites have a bit more security, but nothing I couldn't handle—I already broke into my suite and another one, just in case Mr. Illusive shelled out the credits for something a little more fancy."

"You… you broke into seven rooms? Already?"

"Well, yeah," Kasumi shrugged. "I've been in and out of here four times, remember? This makes five. I had to do something to pass the time."

"Couldn't you just gamble at the tables or watch a show like a normal person?" I asked.

Kasumi looked at me blankly. "Why would I want to do that?"

Right. Silly me. What was I thinking?

"Anyway," Miranda said, there are four likely scenarios for how our contact will be transporting the package. He or she might be carrying it on his or her person."

"In which case, either the contact will pass it over or we might have to frisk him or her," I said.

"Or it might hidden in his or her accommodations. Which could be either a regular hotel room or a suite."

"Either way, I can get us in," Kasumi smiled confidently. "From there, well, we'll just have to search the room and hope we recognize this secret package."

"That just leaves the last option," Miranda frowned, "where the contact deposited his or her package in the Grand Mirage vault itself prior to the meeting. If anything goes wrong, we'll have to break into the vault and retrieve it ourselves."

"That's half the fun," Kasumi agreed. Then her eyes lit up. "Wait… so Jacob's going to be one of the Grand Mirage staff?"

"Assuming he gets selected for an interview and passes, yes," Miranda nodded.

"And I'll be a guest at the Grand Mirage," Kasumi stated.

"Yep," I confirmed, seeing where this was going.

"So I get to boss him around, ask him to do things for me, and he has to do it," Kasumi grinned, positively bouncing on her feet. "While dressed in a uniform."

I… never really thought of it that way. Clearly Kasumi had, judging by the really odd… 'squee-ing' sound she was making.

Whatever made her happy, I guess. Poor Jacob. Maybe someone should give him a heads-up.

(1): A verbal response from the human language German, meaning 'good health.' Wishes for good health, long life, blessings or references to deities are often used amongst human cultures as a response to the act of sneezing. Sergeant Cathka wasn't sneezing, though. Shepard knew that. He was trying to be funny, I believe.

(2): A human acronym for the phrase 'For Your Information,' used either as an attempt to denote classified information or to imply that one is imparting knowledge.

(3): People often ask me if Shepard was really that clueless, considering how insightful and observant he could be. Having known him for countless years, I can safely say that this was a time when he knew that Cathka was on to him and was just being sarcastic.

(4): Considering everything Shepard had endured, from being bombarded with data from the Prothean beacon on Eden Prime to the revelation of the Reapers to dying in the vacuum of space to being brought back to life by Cerberus to the truth of the Collectors, it was a miracle that he'd maintained his mental health as well as he had.

(5): The fact that he gave all the credit to Miranda alone, when he knew that she couldn't have done it without Cerberus and its resources, speaks volumes.

(6): Shepard was exaggerating. I've seen his credit accounts. Most of them, anyway.

(7): While Shepard had quickly adapted to the exceedingly short window of opportunity provided by his tactical cloak, he was acutely aware of its severe limitations.

(8): Based on Shepard's reports, his squad was responsible for killing a maximum of six Blue Suns, compared to the scores of Blue Suns that succumbed to the Collector plague.

(9): I believe the human acronym 'TMI,' for 'Too Much Information' would apply in this case, though some readers may beg to differ.

(10): There are times when I have to question Shepard's sense of priorities.

(11): I wonder if Shepard knew that someone might eventually review and edit his personal logs for posterity and deliberately threw in comments like that to mess with them.

(12): According to Miranda, Shepard 'may have' suggested that consuming the pizza was a better experience than sex. She retaliated by 'cutting him off,' a punishment that only lasted for a short time because, in her words, he 'just looked so sad and pathetic.'

(13): Shepard clearly didn't know what he was talking about.

(14): Oh dear.

(15): TMI. Goddess help me, TMI.

(16): A term used in a variety of contexts and situations. In this case, Shepard is referring to the intelligence definition of backstopping, where one provides whatever verification and support is deemed appropriate—ranging from documentation to fictitious businesses and character references—for an alias used by an agent.