Chapter 7: Rules of the Game

We'd originally planned to have Kasumi casually poke around the office of the Grand Mirage's CEO for about an hour. That hour had just shrunk to a matter of minutes. And all because Conrad Trask forgot something. Miranda was already turning up the volume, so we could hear his reply. "Not quite. Forgot to transfer some files to my omni-tool. Just have to pop back to the office."

"Kasumi?" I said urgently. "Trask is heading back to the office right now."

"You're joking, right?"

"Would I joke about something like this?" I asked. "He claims he forgot some files. Where are we on the upload?"

"27% complete, Shepard-Commander," Legion replied.

Good grief. Was there really that much crap in his files, or did the man simply not know of little things like compression algorithms and regular defrag cycles? "Any chance we can get to a hundred percent before Trask returns?" I asked.

"Given the current upload rate, the strength of the connection—"

"Yes or no, Legion," Miranda interrupted.

"No."

Aw, crap. "Mordin, can you stall them?"

"On it. Uh, I say, excuse me. I'm sorry but I need to ask. I just checked in, you see—"

"Yes, welcome to the Grand Mirage," some nameless guy said, trotting out the standard greeting line.

"—well. Yes. Thank you," Mordin replied. "Anyway, I have a question. About your food, you see."

"Is there a problem with it?"

"I hope not. I'm allergic, you see. To nuts, you see. I need to know your food won't kill me before the Skyllian Five Poker Tournament next month. I really need to win it, you see."

"Um… okay, look—"

"Stupid lousy pedigree charts. Stupid reproduction negotiator who stole our money only to do a half-assed job. Now even if we can continue the bloodline, we won't be able to feed the next generation because we're out of credits!" (1)

"I understand—"

"Do you? Do you, really? Can you comprehend how stressful it is? It's easy for you. All you need is a female with the appropriate facial and body structure—and even that can be skewed by alcohol or pharmaceuticals. The whole thing could start and end in a matter of hours. But it's different for my people. We have to carefully calculate and extrapolate every scenario. The future of our clan depends on it!"

As fascinating as the complexities of salarian reproduction negotiations were, I had other concerns. "Where are we on the upload?"

"46%," Tali replied.

By this point, knowing which comm channel was for whom was more or less committed to memory. "Kasumi, have you found any other data caches?"

"Not yet. Mostly expensive furniture, artwork that looks expensive but is probably overpriced, and expensive liquor—well, except for some of the wine. That's probably for the sole purpose of getting wasted. I'd go into more detail, but we don't have—hang on."

"Kasumi?" I prompted.

"Found a safe. Well, a second safe—I found another one earlier, but all it had were a couple stacks of credit chits. As tempting as it was to swipe it, we are trying to get in and out without leaving a trace. Let's see what this one has…"

I saw Miranda was listening in on Mordin's channel. Giving her a gentle nudge, I pointed to the comm and raised an eyebrow.

"Mother always liked his brother more just because he hatched three point one four seconds earlier, an illogical and unfair injustice that's been perpetuated throughout his life," Miranda summarized. "It's quite the performance, but I think Trask and his colleagues are losing patience… yes, it sounds like Trask is trying to assign one of his employees to deal with Mordin so the rest of them can move on."

Honestly, I was surprised they didn't do that sooner. Chalk one up to Mordin's acting chops, I guess. "Kasumi, Mordin's been stalling, but it looks like it won't last much longer. Anything in the second safe?"

"Just a couple datapads and a Carnifex heavy pistol. Just finished copying the former to my omni-tool, obviously left the latter behind. How's the download coming along?"

"61% complete," Legion reported.

"Mordin's been sidelined," Miranda announced. "Trask is on the move."

"Okay, we need a new plan."

"Not a problem, Shep. Rigged a couple slot machines last night just in case something like this happened."

"Great," I sighed. "How do we set them off?"

"Check your omni-tool."

"Come again?"

"I uploaded the protocols to your omni-tool before I left."

One of these days, I was going to have to sit her down and explain how it was completely unacceptable for her to do that sort of thing. At least, not without explaining how she pulled it off. (2) "Let me see…" I activated my omni-tool and started looking around. Thankfully, Kasumi hadn't hidden it under some nondescript file name in an obscure folder tucked in a subdirectory. I pulled up the program marked 'Everyone's a Winner!' and got it running.

I switched to the comm channel Jacob and Zaeed were using and listened. Nothing happened at first. Then I heard a lot of oddly cheerful chimes and alarms go off and a sudden surge in muffled and confused conversation. I strained my ears before turning up the volume, but all I could hear was "…what's happ-… holy crap… Payday… no, no, no this is all… God doesn't hate me after all!" If I was going to satisfy my curiosity, I would have to go about it some other way. "Tali, Legion; we have access to the vid-cam feeds, right?"

In response, Tali tapped a few keys. A monitor sprang to life, showing some of the slot machines on the ground floor of the Grand Mirage. Two of them were spitting out credits—in various denominations—like an assault rifle spat out bullets. Judging by the customers that were rolling on the floor in pain, hands clasped to their heads or arms or other body parts, it appeared that the slot machines were almost as damaging as actual weapons. Not that that dissuaded several other customers from scrambling over and trying to scoop up as many credits as possible. Trask and the employees around him had stopped to stare at the commotion. I surmised that the guy who had a tacky-looking vest, a receding hair line, and whose face was rapidly turning white was Nicholas 'Little Nicky' 'What's-his-name' Milbarge.

It was kinda amusing to watch Milbarge gape, look around helplessly, freeze whenever Trask entered his peripheral vision, jerk his head away and then start from the beginning. He must've done the whole cycle three or four times before finally getting a grip.

As we watched, Milbarge started snapping his fingers, pointing to various personnel and giving orders. You could tell something about the amount of respect he had by the way the employees paused and looked at each other before obeying. But they did follow through. Cordoning off the area to prevent any more customers from trying to cash in on an unexpected windfall. Patiently explaining to the customers who had tried to help themselves that this was an unexpected fluke and that, unfortunately, they would have to return the credits that had come out of the hacked slot machines. Patiently explaining, then explaining again, then subtly signaling for security to close in on the few customers who inevitably refused to part with a single unearned credit chit.

I glanced over at the progress meter. The upload was 85% complete. That was good.

On the other hand, the vid-cams that Tali and Legion had accessed showed Trask heading towards the elevator. That was not good. He was about twenty steps away… fifteen steps… ten steps… eight steps… there must be something else we could do to slow him down... five steps…

87%.

Three… two… one… Trask stepped into the elevator. There was a pause as he verbally ordered the car to go to this office. Then the door closed.

The upload was 88% complete. "Tali, Legion; will the upload be done by the time Trask gets to his office?"

"No," Tali replied. "We'll be 99% complete by that point."

"Technically, the upload will be 98.79% complete, Shepard-Commander."

That was fine by my standards, but I'd like to do better. If nothing else, that would mean a full one percent remaining and Kasumi stuck in the office when Trask strolled in. "Can you slow the elevator speed down?" I suggested. "Even if it's an extra second or two to pass each floor."

Legion considered that. "We could reduce the elevator velocity by 0.1 metres per minute. Trask would not notice such a delay."

Tali immediately started typing away, no doubt seizing the initiative to get started while Legion was occupied. "How much time would Kasumi have, once the delay is implemented?"

"One minute, seventeen seconds," Legion replied. Then they joined Tali in madly hacking away.

"Do it," I ordered, simultaneously opening Kasumi's comm channel. "Kasumi; Trask is heading up in the elevator. Legion and Tali are buying you a bit more time. Once the upload's complete, you'll have about a minute to get out of the office."

"That's plenty of time. Do me a favour and thank everyone for me."

"Will do," I replied.

Sure enough, Trask was still heading skyward in the elevator when the progress meter on the upload reached 100%. That gave Kasumi plenty of time to confirm she didn't leave anything behind, get back into the ventilation shaft and close the access hatch.

Mission accomplished.

About a minute later, Kasumi contacted me again. "Shepard?" she hissed over the comm.

"Still here," I confirmed. "What happened?"

"Trask just left. He walked in, went to his computer, copied some files to his omni-tool and walked out."

"Any sign that he was doing anything else?"

"Not from where I was hiding. Looked like he really did forget some files."

Or he did a very good job of hiding his suspicions. On the other hand, maybe the universe was finally throwing me a bone. (3) "Hey Kasumi, can you do one more thing before you leave?"

"By leave; you mean squirm my way down the shaft, past all the alarms and hazards and back to the suite to torment Grunt?"

"Yes, though I'm sure Grunt won't mind if you skip the last part."

"Awwww… OK, seriously, whaddya want me to do?"

"Can you sneak some sort of subvirt or backdoor onto Trask's computer so we can monitor what he's doing?"

"Pfft."

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' Now I know you got to dazzle us with your thieving skills, but please don't get carried away."

"Spoilsport. Kasumi out."

With that out of the way, it was time to see what Kasumi had sent us.

I'll be honest. I expected the other shoe to drop at that point. (4) A malicious virus embedded in the files that chose that moment to pop up and ruin our day. The unwelcome discovery that the package had already been delivered to TIMmy and all our scrambling was for naught. The premature arrival of the Reapers. (5) Something like that.

But none of that happened. The files were safe. The package was still waiting in the vault of the Grand Mirage. And no unexpected or unwelcome guests materialized out of nowhere.

Weird.

It didn't take long before I got a sense of Trask's relationship with Cerberus. While we couldn't determine how long he'd been working for them, it was pretty obvious that it was longer than three months. For all intents and purposes, Cerberus appeared to be a silent partner and stockholder of the Grand Mirage. Every few weeks, Cerberus got a portion of the Mirage's profits, routed through various dummy accounts and so on. They got business reports on the last day of every month just like all the other shareholders, with the exception that their reports were bounced around through a couple dozen e-mail addresses. If it wasn't for the fact that Trask went out of his way to make the electronic paper trail as confusing and convoluted as possible, it would be pretty ordinary.

What really stood out were the e-mails that weren't sent out on a regular schedule. Observations on some notable figure—public, military, civilian—who happened to pass through. Notes on some local development or announcement that might warrant further investigation. Updates on any local law enforcement activities. Confirmation that the Mirage had received a shipment or package like the one we were trying to get our hands on. More and more, it looked like the Grand Mirage was a front, source of funding, listening post and safe house for Cerberus. A foothold on alien soil. Part of me had to admire the elegance behind it all.

More importantly, the mission wasn't a bust—and the cover identities Miranda and I had checked in under appeared to be intact. Trask had noted that our contact arrived a few days earlier than expected, but that was it. If he was aware of any problems, he hadn't voiced his concerns or suspicions in any messages or personal memos.

And the best news of all: Trask was indeed the person Peyton was supposed to contact if the exchange fell through for any reason. And Trask had several contingencies pre-arranged and set up, so he could arrange an alternate pick-up that was custom-tailored to the situation at hand—all of which were detailed for our reading pleasure.

I summarized my findings to the rest of the squad. Miranda was the first to respond. "Not completely unexpected," she said. "This would fall in line with standard compartmentalization of information."

"Besides, if Peyton kept it to himself, then he'd get sole credit for capturing us and bringing us in," I added.

"And I'm sure he'd talk about it ad nauseum," Miranda muttered.

"So what's our next move?" Garrus wanted to know.

"We're going to let Trask know that the shit's hit the fan and Cerberus needs to send another errand boy," I replied. "Or two or three or whatever."

"You have just told us that Trask has multiple contingencies," Thane reminded me. "It will be difficult to anticipate and prepare for all of them."

"Which is why we're going to set the stage so that there's only one possible contingency that Trask will want to use," I said.

"And you have a plan, I presume," Samara said.

"Yep," I nodded. "First, we have to upload another couple months from Trask's computer—which we'll be able to do provided that Kasumi succeeded. Second, we're going to need some hard currency. Tali, Legion; I need you to funnel the necessary funds through multiple accounts before we can withdraw any credits."

"Understood, Shepard-Commander," Legion stated.

Tali had a question, though: "Shepard, how many credits are we talking about here? And where are we going to get it?"

"We're talking about a lot," I replied. "You'll see how much when I show you the account. And don't worry: this time we can afford it without detouring to complete any lucrative assignments."

"Or dispensing justice in an unjust galaxy full of scum and villainy?"

We stared at Garrus.

"I… might've downloaded a few vids before coming here."

…

"It was something to pass the time."

…

"Um… oh look! There's a random crate over there that needs digging through for… stuff."

I let Garrus flail around for a couple seconds before bailing him out. We hapless suckers have to stick together, after all.

Once the chuckles and teasing subsided, Tali and Legion buckled down for some online financial mischief while I divvied out assignments. Miranda and Samara would stay at the warehouse to handle C2 stuff and make sure no one tried to get the jump on our resident hackers while they were distracted. (6) Garrus and Jack went out to check out a few locations that had come up in one or two of Trask's private e-mails to his Cerberus handlers. Kasumi, Grunt, Mordin, Jacob and Zaeed were told to stay put and maintain their various cover identities.

That left Thane and I to go see the cops.

Specifically, we had to see Detective Anaya. I'd met her several months ago. Back then, I was running around, bumbling into trouble and looking for gun-toting nuts who shared my lack of self-preservation—like a justicar named Samara. Anaya was dealing with panicked bureaucratic flunkies, a sudden spike in fatalities and an intergalactic PR nightmare just waiting to happen—thanks to the exploits of a justicar named Samara. Turned out that I had the solution to both our problems, plus a few more that I'd blundered my way into. (7)

Figured she might be a little receptive to my request. Rescuing people from agonizing migraines and mounds of digital paperwork tends to do that.

Assuming I could find her and give it, of course. There was a lot of commotion at the precinct. Comms were ringing and chiming away. Cops were cajoling, wrestling or dragging members of virtually every species—all of whom were drunk, drugged to their eyeballs or just flat-out mad—to holding cells. Except for the naked salarian running down the hall. And the krogan blissfully passed out on the floor.

More comms were ringing. A pair of humans was having what could only be described as a catfight, each accusing the other of stealing their turian boyfriend. I pitied the cops who were trying to keep these civvies from doing anything worse than tear each other's hair out—literally. More pity was felt for the cops wrestling with the hanar, the one convinced he was Blasto. (8)

Thane and I exchanged a look. "Perhaps we should return at another time," he suggested. He had to raise his voice—a first, in my experience—to make himself heard.

"Yeah," I nodded. "We'd be lucky if we could find Anaya in this mob, much less talk to her."

"Indeed," Thane agreed. At the time, I thought his hearing was a heck of a lot better than mine, since I hadn't spoken that loudly. He later told me that he'd compensated for any missed words by reading my lips.

Having decided to give up for the time being, we turned around to go. We winced in unison as another comm went off. Thane sidestepped to the left, and I to the right, as a well-endowed asari was pinned down against a desk by a disheveled, yet remarkably composed, cop. If I didn't have anything else to do, I might've sat down with a bag of popcorn.

The things I do for the mission.

While we were waiting for the zany hijinks at the precinct to settle down, I had something else to do. Time to hook up with a certain Blue Sun.

The last time I'd bumped into Cathka was outside the Grand Mirage. He'd recognized me as the guy who'd almost electrocuted him to death as part of my devious plan to rescue 'Archangel' down in the bowels of Omega. Still, he had to acknowledge the fact that I'd spared his life, so he didn't rat me out. And he was willing to exchange a bit of intel.

One thing that had become crystal clear was how much he'd loathed his present employers. Small wonder, considering how they'd gotten the drop on him and his crew, killed a bunch of his buddies and blackmailed the survivors into a lousy and decidedly one-sided contract. For four whole months. It was a pretty safe bet that he'd be willing to listen to any proposal that offered the chance for payback.

This led me to my present circumstances: waiting idly by a kiosk and browsing the overpriced wares. I spotted him out of the corner of my eye, waited until he got close, then turned around just the right moment to fall in line beside him. "Hi there," I said brightly.

Cathka immediately slowed down. As I matched his pace, I saw his eyes darting around. No doubt he was expecting an ambush. I held up my hands before he did anything rash. "It's just me," I told him.

I meant it too: in an effort to minimize the number of faces Cathka associated with me, I decided it was best if Thane made himself scarce and followed from a distance. He was good at that sort of thing. Really good—I lost him within a couple minutes. (9)

"Uh huh," he said doubtfully. "How'd you find me?"

"Spotted you earlier and ran ahead a couple blocks," I lied. Given his current state of mind, he probably didn't need to know that Kasumi, at my behest, had found him and slipped a tracker into his pocket.

"Uh huh," he said again. "Whaddya want?"

"Thought you'd be interested in learning a few new facts about your current boss," I replied. "And a theory on why that ambush four months ago might not have been a complete surprise after all."

That got his attention. His eyes—all four of them—narrowed. "Tell me," he demanded.

"Not here," I shook my head. "Too public."

He grunted and gestured for me to follow him. I complied, though not before double-checking that all my weapons were fully loaded, my omni-tool was primed to let loose a fireball, and my pathetic excuse for a cloak was ready to go. Surreptitiously, of course.

For a moment, I thought we'd be going to the pizza joint we went to last time. I wound up being disappointed, as we went into an alley, down some stairs and into some poorly lit dungeon that reeked. Though the smells quickly got drowned out by the sludge Cathka ordered for us.

"What is this?" I wanted to know.

"A batarian delicacy," Cathka replied.

"Really?"

"Well, it's batarian," he amended.

Wonderful. I took a very small spoonful into my mouth. Okay, maybe I just licked it. And, to my surprise, I found it wasn't quite as bad as I thought. But that's because some of my cooking attempts were infinitely worse. Definitely worse. Probably worse. (10)

Cathka didn't eat much either, but that was probably less a matter of taste buds writhing in horror and more a case of urgent curiosity. "You said you have intel on Trask," he said. "Details. Now."

Right to the point. I could live with that. So could my stomach, for that matter. "First, my name isn't Ben Pillar."

"No shit," Cathka snorted.

"My name is Carmichael. Charles Carmichael. Alliance Intelligence."

Again, another lie. Not the best start to any kind of friendship or working relationship, but it couldn't be helped. If word got out that Commander Shepard, former science project and resident cybernetic ninja zombie kleptomaniac, was bumbling around, Cerberus would probably respond in greater force and with more surprises. Call me crazy, but I'd like to avoid that if possible.

"My 'client'—Alliance Intelligence—sent me here to intercept a package from Cerberus."

"Cerberus," Cathka repeated.

"Yep," I confirmed. "Unfortunately, that plan kinda fell apart. Fortunately, we know the package is hiding somewhere in the vault of the Grand Mirage, thanks to the intervention of Conrad Trask."

"And why is Trask helping Cerberus?" Cathka asked.

"I don't know the exact reasons," I admitted. "But he's been sending payments, business reports and snippets of intelligence to Cerberus. And the language and frequency suggests that this didn't happen out of nowhere. I took the liberty of doing a bit of digging and this is what I found."

Resting my left arm on the table, I activated my omni-tool and accessed a file I'd made a few hours ago, one that summarized the three months Kasumi initially sent us, plus a few more months that we accessed once she got us backdoor access. A page of text shimmered into view between us. Cathka leaned forward. As he read on, he grew very, very still.

"As you can see," I said, "Trask and his minions found out about your activities on Illium. He told Cerberus and requested further instructions. Their response was prompt and to the point: find out where you were hiding, make sure no one could get away, eliminate as many Blue Suns as possible, and force any survivors into slavery. At some point, Cerberus would 'rescue' you, with the aim of using your gratitude to make inroads into the Blue Suns."

"I thought Cerberus was a bunch of pro-human whackos," Cathka growled. "Doesn't take a genius to find out that there are batarians and turians working in the Blue Suns too."

"I'm sure they did," I reassured him. "And yeah, some of the more extreme members would probably balk at the idea of dealing with non-humans. (11) But it stands to reason that there are a couple more practical-minded whackos amongst their ranks who don't mind using non-humans as long as it furthers their goals." The last year or so had proven that beyond a doubt, though I wasn't about to admit it out loud. "If nothing else, they probably would treat you guys as cannon fodder. Promise lots of pay…"

"…but they don't have to shell out a single credit if all the mercs get killed," Cathka finished. "I know. We used the same trick when we were hiring freelancers to take out Archangel." He scooped up a big steaming spoonful of sludge and stuffed it in his mouth. Then he winced—I wasn't sure if it was from the heat or the taste. "Well," he said after swallowing, "I have been looking for ways to get offworld. Guess it's time to look a little harder."

"Before you do that, maybe you could do something else first," I suggested. "After all Trask has done to ruin your day, not to mention your friends, wouldn't you be interested in ruining his day?"

"Is Illium overpriced and full of blue tits?" Cathka asked rhetorically. "What're you thinking?"

"I was thinking of making Trask nervous," I replied. "There's a number of things I could do; one of which you could help me out with."

"Yeah? What's that?"

I leaned forward towards Cathka. "I'm gonna give you a thousand credits, plus an extra thousand credits each for the other Blue Suns. Then you're going to report to Trask and say that some guy—who doesn't look like me, mind you—tried to pay you for information about the Grand Mirage. Then Trask is going to stew in his office and wonder how many employees he had who weren't honest enough to 'fess up."

"He's gonna hate that," Cathka rasped.

"Damn straight," I nodded. "Of course, you could keep the credits. But wouldn't you rather see him squirm?"

The feral grin on Cathka's face was all the answer I needed.

Cathka and the other Blue Suns weren't the only good, honest, faithful employees of the Grand Mirage who would come in tomorrow and report being approached with a bribe. Jacob and Zaeed were in on it too. Had to look after my squad, after all.

Now there was always the possibility that this might draw more suspicion towards them. This was why I'd gone to the trouble of depositing some thousand-credit installments in the accounts of random Mirage employees. Not surprisingly, Zaeed insisted that Milbarge be one of them.

That made eight hard-working guys, all of whom would be approaching their superiors. Plus a couple dozen employees who, if anyone checked, appeared to have been bought off over the next day because they hadn't reported their ill-gotten earnings.

One might wonder how I managed to get my hands on thirty or forty thousand credits. Surprisingly enough, I didn't have to rummage in crates, peek in corners or make agonizing decisions about whether I should line my wallet with credits or shoot the bad guys with guns. All I had to do was make a withdrawal from the Bank of Conrad Trask, courtesy of my friendly bank tellers Tali and Legion. Specifically, a withdrawal from a ten-year term deposit that could be accessed at any time, despite the fact that Trask hadn't done so in the last eight years. Considering that there were several better rates that had been offered during that time, it was entirely possible that Trask had forgotten all about it. Especially since he had five hundred and thirty-one other deposits to juggle.

It must be so hard to be so fabulously wealthy.

The point is that while I had a lot of term deposits and accounts to work with; it seemed prudent to pick the one that enjoyed the least scrutiny or activity. Pilfering the contents of one that was more frequently used might set Trask off prematurely. And while I was at it, I filled out my own accounts—the ones that had been used again and again and AGAIN to pay for various exorbitant purchases. You have no idea what a relief it was to see those accounts fill up five or ten credits at a time.

And while things were looking up for me, they were getting worse for Trask. He might not know it yet, but they were.

Anyway, now that Cathka was on board, it was time to give Anaya another shot. Maybe Thane and I would be lucky this time. We went to the precinct and walked through the doors…

…

Wow.

The difference was almost night and day. Comms were silent. Cops were sitting calmly at their desks, working at their computers. The number of civvies and crooks had dropped to a mere handful, all of whom were handcuffed and sitting quietly as they were being processed.

Krogan was still snoring on the floor, though. Surprised no one bothered to move him biotically. Guess they were too tired to bother.

In this oasis of calm and tranquility, it was easy to find Detective Anaya. She was sitting at her desk, no doubt filling a couple virtual hard drives worth of reports and forms. She looked up as I approached and gave a slight smile. "Shepard," she greeted me.

"Detective," I returned. "How's it going?"

"Oh, you know," she shrugged. "This and that. You missed one heck of a party earlier."

"I actually saw some of it," I admitted. "Would've stuck around, but I realized I forgot my ticket. Didn't want to pull any of your guys away to throw me out. Not when you already had your hands full."

"Appreciate it," she sighed. "Last thing we needed was a party crasher. I hate this time of the month."

Sounded familiar. Heard it all the time from my sister. (12) Full moon brought out all the crazies, she'd say. And the incredibly lazy and stupid, she'd add after a particularly stressful shift. Didn't matter whether there was an actual moon in the immediate vicinity. Somewhere in the galaxy, she'd say, there was a full moon that prompted a massive shitstorm of stupid. Well, the last four words came from me, but the sentiment was there.

Anyway, the point is that if she was here, she'd no doubt commiserate with Anaya. So would Garrus, if he was here. But neither of them was present, so she'd have to settle for me. "If it makes you feel any better," I offered, "you could deal with all this craziness every single day. Like me."

"Yes," she said with a wry smile. "That's true. But you can deal with your craziness by shooting at it until it goes away. Speaking of which, is that why you're here? More craziness? Or are you in the midst of another impossible cause?"

"No to the impossible cause," I replied. "I think I've met my quota for the year. I am stuck with a particularly crazy problem that I'm trying to resolve, though. But first I have a question."

"Shoot."

"If word got around that a justicar was in town, what would happen?"

Anaya rolled her eyes. "Bureaucrats and politicians would announce what a great job they're doing in preserving law and order every hour on the hour. Everyone who was remotely dirty would try to buy a ticket offworld or bury themselves in a deep, dark hole. The flow of illegal shipments would grind to a halt or languish in the docking bays. People would stop skimming credits into their private offworld accounts or seeing their mistresses. Stores would stop gouging their customers and actually fill their inventories for the first time in Goddess knows how long. In short, everyone would panic."

"Everyone would panic," I repeated.

"Yes."

A smile spread slowly over my face. "Perfect."

"Is there a justicar in town?"

"Does it matter?"

"Actually, it does." Anaya gestured around. "You say you saw how nuts this place was earlier. Do you realize how much worse it's gonna be if people find out that a justicar's arrived? We're talking a pain in the ass like you wouldn't believe. The stress and workload we're gonna face will go through the roof, into orbit and out into the next star system. At least. And you want to volunteer us for this crap?"

Okay. She had a point. I could see how that would be unfair. My bad for not explaining things properly. "You have a point," I agreed, somewhat meekly. "That's why I came to you first. At the very least, you'll get the heads-up before I drop the hammer."

"You're still gonna make us suffer, you know," Anaya groaned.

"Only if word spreads outside the precinct," I replied. "Surely you guys have an intranet or something to pass things around from cop to cop."

"Yeah."

"That's all I need."

Anaya relaxed for a nanosecond. Then her eyes narrowed. "You just asked how much trouble would result if the public found out a justicar might be present. Then you want me to spread that rumour, but in such a way that the public wouldn't find out. Unless they had a way in that we don't know about. A way you know about."

I had a feeling she might pick up on that. She did make detective, after all. Now came the tricky part: "That's right," I admitted. "I don't know the specifics, but I know it exists. I know who's using it. But they don't know that I know they know." I paused, mentally reciting what I said to confirm I got the order right. Satisfied I didn't screw it up, I continued: "I'm hoping to use that against them to spring a little surprise.

"Here's my proposal: you play along and tell your colleagues that a justicar might be nosing around. Say an anonymous source told you or whatever makes sense. The people I'm interested in—the one with a feeler or two in your system—will find out. With any luck, they'll react. When they do, I'll be waiting."

"And then?" Anaya prompted.

"Once I've got what I want, I'll tell you what I know," I said. "That'll give you someone to question, arrest and—hopefully—bring to justice. Meanwhile, I'll leave with someone to question, arrest and—"

"All right, I get the picture," Anaya interrupted, raising a hand to stop me. She lowered her hand and leaned back in her chair, as her face assumed a contemplative expression. I did the same, waiting for her to come to a decision. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long.

I really had to pee.

(1): Salarian sex is entirely devoid of romance, sexual attraction or the usual biological and social complications encountered by most species. Reproduction, or to be more precise, fertilization, occurs after months of careful negotiations between the parents' clans, using data such as detailed pedigree charts, to further or improve political and dynastic alliances.

(2): Most people would say the former but skip the latter.

(3): A human idiom requesting some sort of small hint, favour, concession or recognition.

(4): Another human expression where an individual, having witnessed or experienced one event, waits for another event to occur.

(5): Little did Shepard know how prophetic that example would become.

(6): C2, or 'command and control,' is a human military term for the exercise of authority, leadership and direction by a commander to accomplish the mission. This is done by using a combination of personnel, equipment, facilities, protocols and other resources in planning, directing, coordinating and coordinating forces and operations.

(7): Specifically, Shepard recruited Samara away from Illium, found evidence linking the mercenary group Eclipse to a dead volus merchant and found further evidence that the merchant's partner was smuggling drugs and weapons into Illium for Eclipse.

(8): A fictional character renowned for being the first hanar Spectre, having 'a lover in every port and a gun in every tentacle.' He originally began as a joke on a first-person-shooter/role-playing-game extranet thread, but the concept became popular enough to spawn numerous graphic novels and films.

(9): Thane pulled a similar vanishing act back on the Citadel, when Shepard was helping him with a family problem.

(10): While cooking wasn't exactly Shepard's strong suit, I have been told that it was never that bad. Furthermore, I have been assured that it has improved over time.

(11): He was right on that count.

(12): Dr. Eleanor Faye Bartowski-Woodcomb grew up with Shepard, thanks to their parents' efforts to give their children a measure of stability and consistency in their childhood as they moved around. As a result, Shepard regarded 'Ellie' as his surrogate sister and was ferociously protective of her. The sentiment, by the way, was 100% reciprocated.