Chapter 8: All Part of the Plan

Anaya said yes in the end. She wasn't thrilled about leaving the backdoor into their database wide open—and she'd probably have a fit if she found out Cerberus was using it—but she was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. For now. She was very clear on that point. As well as the many illegal, painful and anatomically impossible things she would do to me if I double-crossed her.

Having accomplished what I came here to do, I indulged in a minute or two of chit-chat before going to the washroom. Thane waited outside while I did my business, then waited some more—until we left the precinct—before speaking. "It is good that Detective Anaya was so amenable."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Makes our job easier." Which it did—both in steering Trask in the right direction and not having to worry about any cops nosing around, accidentally interfering and inadvertently giving us away.

"Are you going to move to the next phase of the plan?" Thane asked.

I shook my head. "Not yet. I want to give Trask some more time to whip himself into a panic."

There was a fine art to all this, you see. I didn't want Trask to over-react, but the other extreme was just as undesirable. I needed him to be just paranoid enough to react in the right way, at the right time.

Right now, the sitrep went like this: Peyton had arrived two days early. He'd dropped off the package. Then he disappeared, leaving Trask to wait. And wait. And wait. Maybe he told himself not to panic, not to worry. But the pressure was probably growing by the hour, as the paranoia kept feeding on itself. Especially since, according to the schedule, the package should have been handed off today. Instead, the package was still collecting dust inside the floating cannibalized starship underneath his hotel and casino.

By tomorrow, things would get even worse. Word would filter back to him that various parties were trying to buy off his security staff. Some of them had come forward—his more recent hires, to be exact. Which would make him wonder how many of his old-timers and long-time employees were secretly on the take.

He'd also be hearing rumours supposedly circulating amongst the local cops that a justicar was in town. Everyone who wasn't scrupulously, squeaky clean would be worried. Someone like Trask would probably be freaking out.

And if he had known that Kasumi had broken into his office, or that someone was siphoning credits from one of his accounts, he'd probably have a heart attack… which, come to think of it, would be a bad thing. Hopefully, he wouldn't panic that much.

While I was reviewing the train of thought behind my decision, Thane was nodding his head. "Agreed," he said. "We would gain more from being patient."

Glad he'd come to the same conclusion. It's nice to have that kind of reassurance. We walked for a couple more minutes before Thane asked his next question: "What is our next move?"

"Check in with Garrus and Jack," I replied, "and see what goodies they've found."

One of the many revelations we'd gleaned from Trask's files was the existence and location of a Cerberus safe house. Well, I called it a safe house. Trask called it a safe house. But someone, at some point, had called it 'a depository of offensive and defensive tools for tactical and strategic scenarios.' Swear to God, I'm not making this stuff up. When I first read the description, I couldn't help but look at Miranda to see if there was some obscure reason for this. She rolled her eyes before shaking her head. Her best guess, she said, was that someone had been unnecessarily verbose in the description and the decentralized nature of Cerberus meant that no one was in a position of authority to change it. (1)

If we were anywhere else, the safe house would be in a plan, non-descript, unassuming building that blended into the neighbourhood. But this was Illium. Which meant the safe house had polarized floor-to-ceiling windows, a lot of ostentatious architecture and enough neon to present a visual cacophony to the senses.

I looked at the sign that blazed, flashed and strobed overhead. 'Matriarch Invaethya's Aura Reading Shop,' it read. A smaller sign, located to the right of the door added 'Under renovation. Thank you for your patience.' Seemed like a pretty bad cover to me. A place supposedly under renovation that never saw any renovation? Really? (2) But then, I suppose no one asked me for my opinion when this place was set up. Besides, it was listed in Trask's files, so they must've gotten away with it.

The door was locked, of course. Normally, I'd try to bypass it. But there were two reasons not to. First, the safe house was rigged with explosives. Like, enough explosives to level the building, flatten the surrounding buildings and turn every sapient into a wet smear on the ground. Call me crazy, call me boring, but I'd rather avoid that if at all possible.

Second, we had a keycode. It was only good for one use, after which it would randomly change. That wasn't a problem as long as you remembered to check the stand-alone computer inside the safe house that generated the new keycode… or if someone was already inside and could open the door for you. Like, say, a certain former turian vigilante or a certain psychotic biotic. I opened the comm channel. "Garrus? Jack? Anyone home?"

"Yeah," Garrus replied. "Hang on."

The door opened a few seconds later. Whatever I was going to say died on the tip of my tongue when I saw the gleam in Garrus's eyes. "What is it?" I asked.

Garrus grinned. "Oh, you wouldn't want me to spoil the surprise."

Okay. Now I was curious. Garrus moved aside so Thane and I could step inside and...

…

Wow.

There were racks and racks of weapons lining the left wall. Every kind of weapon, from the M-3 Predator to the M-96 Mattock. There was even an M-98 Widow with a tag dangling from the trigger. 'Do not use unless you have a problem with intact bones,' some wit had written. (3) There were several crates in the far left corner. Some of them were empty. Some were overflowing with thermal clips, so people wouldn't have to turn all these guns into very expensive clubs.

The right wall held several jumpsuits and hardsuits sporting different colours, patterns and styles. There were even a couple Eclipse hardsuits and tuxedos, probably for infiltration purposes. No Cerberus logos, though. Whoever outfitted this safe house had that much sense, at least.

The back wall was reserved for other equipment. Biotic amps, vacuum-sealed in protective packaging and ready for insertion. Loads of omni-tools from different manufacturers—something I hadn't seen since the days when I was hunting for Saren. And mods. Loads and loads of weapon and armour mods galore.

A large table occupied the centre of the safe house. I saw several haptic interfaces built in for any computer work that had to be done. But the majority of table space was undoubtedly for assembling and modifying weapons.

I did not that there were no beds or cots to lie down or private rooms to change. Modesty and sleep were clearly not a priority here. But I didn't really care about that. I was too busy wrapping my head around how large a treasure trove I'd stumbled upon.

Garrus caught my eye. "What do you think, Shepard?"

As the Captain would say, this was awesome. (4) Well, he might not find anything that wasn't related to exercise equipment or sports. "I think Christmas came just a little early this year," I declared. (5)

"Couldn't agree with you more," Garrus nodded. He'd probably heard of Christmas during his C-Sec days.

"Where is Jack?" Thane asked.

I guess I was too busy drooling over all this loot to notice, but he was right. Jack was nowhere to be seen—unless there was a hidden room in the safe house. Or maybe a trapdoor leading to a basement. "Yeah," I said belatedly. "Where is Jack?"

"Renting a skytruck to take all of this away," Garrus replied, sweeping his arms around the room. "I don't know about you, but I can only carry so much loot. Hardsuits don't pack as much as they used to."

Seeing Garrus following my example and taking the initiative like this. I felt so proud. (6) "Good thinking," I approved, "but wouldn't someone notice us loading it up? And how did you convince Jack to rent a skytruck instead of stealing it?"

"We can put the weapons, equipment and so on in those crates," Garrus replied, tilting his head towards the far left corner. "No one will notice if we wait until, say, 1730 to pack it up."

"That's a fairly specific timestamp," I observed.

"Because there's a parade going on today," Garrus said. "Everyone's lining up one street over to watch. The parade should pass by in about twenty minutes—"

"And the time is now…" I checked my chronometer. "1710. Makes sense, though I can't believe there's a parade that late in the day, though."

"This is Illium," Garrus reminded me.

Right. The planet that never slept. "And Jack? She was okay with renting a skytruck instead of stealing it at gunpoint?"

"Jack found the idea of using Cerberus credits to pay for the theft of a Cerberus safe house hilarious."

She had a point there. "Are there any vid-cams monitoring this building?" I wanted to know.

"Yes and no," Garrus replied. "Most of them are broken. The rest are trained on the gym two buildings over."

"What's so special about the gym? Don't tell me the sight of all those asari working up a—never mind," I stopped myself.

"Yeah," Garrus nodded.

"Agreed," Thane chimed in.

"Then I guess there's just one more thing to figure out," I decided.

"What's that?" Garrus asked.

"Where do we start?"

We managed to pack everything up—and I do mean everything—and load it into the skytruck, music and cheering ringing in the background. Then we hauled it all back to our base.

Now we could unload everything, but why not make it a team effort, I thought. So I went in and asked for some help. Everyone came out—except Legion. A geth is just way too conspicuous, even on a world as cosmopolitan as Illium.

Miranda and Samara took the sheer amount of loot in stride, though they did condescend to raising an eyebrow. Each. Tali showed a little less restraint. "Keelah!" she gasped. "The safe house had that much in there?"

"Don't worry," I reassured her. "I'm not going to keep it all."

There was a pause. And a lot of skeptical looks.

"Shepard?" Tali managed at last.

"Are you feeling all right?" Miranda frowned.

Garrus reached over and laid the back of his hand against my forehead. "Maybe a bit hot," he offered. "Could be a fever. Let me run a medical scan with my omni-tool."

"Do it and you'll need an implant for the other side of your jaw," I said sourly.

"Touchy, touchy," Garrus chuckled.

While my squad might have their doubts—why that was the case, I couldn't possibly imagine—I really did plan on giving most of the loot away. Some of the weapons, mods and so on would go to Liara as a thank you for the intel, base and other resources she provided. (7) Some would go to Detective Anaya as a peace offering after asking her to take a leap of faith. And some of it would be anonymously donated to the Alliance, so their soldiers would actually have an option besides the crap they were usually issued or bankrupting themselves to buy a better weapon.

The rest I'd take back with me. Might be a tight squeeze to pack it along with the rest of the squad, and the armoury was already fully stocked, but I'm sure I could find some use for it. If nothing else came to mind, I could always melt it down into omni-gel. (8)

I explained my plans to the squad once we got everything back inside. Well, the members of the squad that were actually here and not maintaining their cover at the Grand Mirage.

"He must be sick," Tali said. "Don't worry: I'm pretty sure I can upgrade the medical suite in his hardsuit. I'll look through the inventory as well. Maybe I can put together some kind of air filter that would prevent any further infection."

"Dr. Chakwas should be alerted as well," Samara suggested. "I have no doubt that her treatment of Commander Shepard would benefit from some advance notice and preparation."

"You guys are a laugh riot," I said sourly.

"Guys," Tali repeated. "He doesn't recognize that Garrus is the only other male here. Clearly he's delusional."

"Do you guys want to start divvying up the goodies here or would you rather poke fun at my expense?" I demanded.

"Women can do both," Miranda informed me.

"Wonderful," I said sourly.

Miranda finally took pity on me. "All right, let's help the conquering hero sift through his treasures. We've got time to do that."

She was right. We did have time. Not just time to figure out how much loot we had, what to give away, or what choice spoils to keep for ourselves. Time to just sit, prepare and wait.

When was the last time I did that? Seems like all I did these days was stumble into trouble or airily waltz into the battlefield with a vague objective in mind. No preparation. No layout of the land. No intel on the bad guys—size, numbers, identities, weapons, anything.

How many times had I gotten turned around or lost? How many times did I have to backtrack? How many times did I have to just blindly stumble through? How many times was I forced to take out bad guys in the heat of the moment, hostiles who I didn't know about until the last minute? How many times did I hold my breath when someone got hurt, praying that the injuries weren't serious? That their hardsuits could deal with it? And, if they couldn't, how many times had I checked to see how many packs of medi-gel we had and whether it would be enough to see everyone through?

All those times, I felt so stupid. So lost. So helpless. (9) And now? Now I knew. I knew my objective. I knew who was watching my six. I had eyes and ears and resources—and that was before I'd hit the mother lode. I knew who the bad guy was, where he was, how he might react and a plan to take advantage of that. And the cost of that was getting razzed by my squad for all the loot I'd swiped and waiting patiently while some other schmuck sweated it out.

I could live with that.

Kasumi and Grunt came by the next day. At first I thought Kasumi wanted to see how things were going or that she'd finally run out of clothes to buy. But then the truth came out:

"Grunt snuck out and tried to buy a lap dance." I repeated.

"I know, right?" Kasumi huffed. "He was feeling her up and everything!"

"Grunt?" I prompted.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Didn't Okeer give you any info on this sort of thing?"

"Nope. Taught me everything there was to know about how to kill asari and how powerful they were with biotics, but that's it. Never realized how pretty they were."

Grunt had a dreamy look on his face. Did I have to give him The Talk? Go on about the birds and the bees? (10) Wasn't this stuff above my pay grade or something? "And what did you learn?" I asked.

"Boobs are squishy."

Somehow, I had the feeling that we'd have to have The Talk. Hoo boy. "Come on over here, Grunt," I sighed, trying not to look at Samara. "I think I have to explain a couple things."

"Hang on," Garrus said. "Maybe I can probably help you out."

To be honest, I didn't do that well. If it wasn't for Garrus, I would've royally screwed it up. As it stood, we probably still botched it up to some level. But I think he eventually got the gist of things. He certainly seemed to understand some of the consequences that could come out of all those offers he got after killing the thresher maw during his Rite of Passage. I say that because he looked really worried and was running what looked like a medical scan. Either that he was worried that he'd caught something or he was trying to take some measurements. I'm not sure which and I really didn't want to know.

But I digress.

The other reason Kasumi had for dropping by was to tell us that after hacking into Trask's computers—twice—it occurred to her that his computer had an extranet vid-cam attached to his computer monitor. Which meant we didn't have to go anywhere and spend an obscene amount of credits for entertainment. We could sit here, prop our feet up, turn on the computers and get our thrills and jollies for free.

So that's what we did. It was quite a show.

0700: Milbarge hesitantly entered Trask's office. He looked really pale. Sweating. Trask asked him what was going on. Milbarge tried to stall, mostly with compliments on his excellent taste in clothes and what kind of product did he use on his shoes and what a beautiful view he had and on and on and on. Trask stopped him after a minute of sycophancy and asks him to get to the point. After hemming and hawing, Milbarge finally admits that Jacob and Zaeed approached their shift supervisor and reported that someone had tried to buy them off. To say Trask wasn't pleased would be an understatement.

0800: Trask finally found out that 'one of those asari cops' heard from a turian who heard from a human who heard from a guy that a justicar snuck her way into Nos Astra. He poured himself a glass of wine. Seemed a bit early if you asked me.

0837: Second visit from Milbarge. Cathka had just told his supervisor that someone slipped him a thousand credits as an advance payment for the inside scoop on the Mirage. I couldn't help but notice that Milbarge hadn't. Unless he hadn't noticed yet. Trask finished his wine.

1044: Another report from Milbarge. Another Blue Sun came forward. Another glass of wine was poured. Trask didn't seem to be the sort to take bad news well, if this was his way of coping.

1111: Speaking of bad news, Little Nicky was back. Three guesses what he was here to report, and the first two guesses didn't count. Trask was practically chugging the wine down by this point. Miranda was not impressed; no matter how many times Kasumi insisted the wine was cheap ten-credit crap. Which, by the way, is the cheapest you could get on Illium. Anywhere else? It would be two-credit crap.

1253: When it rained, it poured. (11) Now Trask was just drinking straight out of the bottle. LOL That would be the second bottle. The squad started laying bets on how much cheap wine he'd finish.

1300: The rest of the Blue Suns came forward. Trask skipped his daily rounds and kept drinking.

1306: Trask passed out halfway through the third bottle. It might be the first time in recorded history that an organic—several organics, actually—had lost a bet to a synthetic. Naturally, Legion didn't have a problem keeping any hint of smugness off their head.

1315: Milbarge tiptoed in, no doubt wondering where his bestest buddy was. He saw Trask, saw the empty bottles and the half-empty bottle, and put two and two together. Seeing him tiptoe out was kind of hilarious.

1500: Trask was still out like a light. I think Grunt was trying to look at porn. He didn't have much luck, considering that Tali had full control over our extranet access. The squad started laying bets on when he'd come to.

1738: A lot of groaning heralded Trask's return to the land of the living. He was touching his head and wincing. Two and a half bottles would do that. Miranda took our credits without rubbing it in... except when it came to Jack. Trask looked at the chronometer, winced, got to his feet and stumbled towards the door. He was late for dinner. And having something in his stomach other than alcohol was probably a good idea right about now.

Come to think of it, I hadn't eaten in a while. I looked at the others. "Trask has had a rough day. Think we should let him enjoy one last meal before pulling the rug out from under him?"

"It seems like the least we could do."

"Then we'll wait 'till, say, 1900."

"Sounds good."

There was a quiet moment. Everyone started to drift away and separate, going off to find their own way to amuse myself. Soon, it was just Miranda and I. It occurred to me that we could find our own way to amuse ourselves as well. We had a few hours to kill. We could go out. Like civvies or other normal people.

Of course, I'm not really an expert on dates. First dates, second dates, any dates. Getting turned down, that's an entirely different story. I could probably write a couple books on the subject. But dating? That, I have no idea.

Somehow, I remember something about having a place in mind. Which wasn't a good start because I hadn't been on Illium long enough to figure this stuff out. Then there's the part about paying. Do I pay or let the other party pay or do we split the bill and how do I know which one it is?

But maybe I was making this a little too complicated. I was free. Miranda was free. We were on Illium, one of the most exotic and glamourous places in the galaxy. And we were looking at what could be our first date. Well, our first date that didn't involve staying in the office and dealing with administrative crap. (12)

Which was all kinds of scary in and of itself. I took a breath. Then another. Then—

"Do you want to go on a date?"

...

Apparently my mouth had decided to take the initiative. Or commit suicide. Not sure which.

...

Miranda smiled. "I'd love to."

Wow. Way to go, mouth.

So Miranda and I went out. It was nice. Really, really nice. Incredible, even.

We dropped a certain package off before returning to the base. By the time we came back, it was just after 1900. Everyone was present. "Sitrep," I prompted.

"Trask hasn't done a lot of work today," Garrus reported. "Too busy handling all that bad news by drinking himself into a stupor and suffering through a hangover."

"He hasn't sent anything to Cerberus," Tali added. "No messages, no reports, nothing."

"That's 'cuz he's too busy freaking out," Zaeed said. "I got a good look at him while he was eating. He looked calm. Well, as calm as you can be when your head's pounding. But you could tell he was freaking out on the inside."

"Then let's sit down and get comfortable," I grinned. "Things are about to get interesting."

I should explain.

We'd fed Trask's spark of panic until it had blossomed into a nice cheery fire. Now it was time to kick things to the next stage—letting Peyton's dead man switch go off.

It occurred to us that Trask might be able to trace the signal back to us. That's why Legion, Tali and I had added a little program that would delete my digital stall tactic at a preset time, thus allowing the omni-tool to run whatever failsafes it had unimpeded, finally realize that Peyton was dead and alert Trask. After that, it was a simple matter for Miranda and I to drop the omni-tool off in a garbage can somewhere in the middle of Nos Astra, far away from our present location.

Any second now, the dead man's switch should be going off...

...

Any second...

...

Gee. I hope we did this correctly. It sure would be embarrassing if we did all this planning and had all this fun only to screw it up at the last moment.

...

A ping broke the silence. It took a second for me to realize it came from Trask's office. We leaned forward to watch. Trask opened his e-mail browser and began reading. It didn't take long—the message that was automatically sent by the dead man's switch was only a sentence long. He froze. Looked wildly around the room. Looked back at the screen. He raised his hands to his head, gripping it as if to make sure it was still attached to his shoulders.

Then he slowly lowered his hands towards the keyboard. I opened the keystroke log and watched. Sure enough, he was activating the exact contingency I'd wanted him to choose. This phase of the mission had just successfully been completed.

Now that Trask's job was done, I was curious to see what he'd do next. As I watched, his hand reached across the desk for the bottle of wine that he hadn't quite finished. It paused...

...moved away...

...and opened a drawer at the side of his desk. Trask pulled out a small bottle. I leaned forward, accessed the controls to the vid-cam attached to his monitor and zoomed in on the label. 'Ryncol,' it read. Trask opened the lid with a twist of the wrist, tossed it over his shoulder, raised the bottle to his lips, threw his head back and started chugging away.

He really didn't seem to handle unexpected stressful situations very well.

Hee, hee.

The confirmation e-mail came a half hour later. Trask was somewhere between three sheets to the wind and passed out by that point, but we could read it just fine: the message had been received and Cerberus was sending a team to retrieve the package. (13) Which meant Phase One was officially complete.

According to the e-mail, the team would arrive in three days. Three days for us to take care of any odds and ends. We did one last cleanup of the base—after Liara so generously loaned it to us, the least we could do is make sure it wasn't a complete mess when we left. The weapons and whatnot that I'd set aside for Detective Anaya and her precinct were quietly delivered to yet another abandoned warehouse, after which I sent her a message, one with enough hints that she'd be able to figure out who gave her this unexpected gift.

More importantly, we needed to monitor Trask and the Grand Mirage, just in case there were any unexpected developments. But there was no reason to have everyone doing that. Especially since the squad was starting to get really bored and really restless. Apparently there were only so many times you could play cards. Who knew?

Miranda organized a monitor schedule, rotating everyone through shifts so we could have as many people off enjoying the sights as possible, while still leaving a few bodies to call us back and gear up if needed. Granted, we could've just let Legion do it all the time, considering we couldn't risk them leaving, but that didn't seem very fair. Not when they got to spend some time out in the sunlight—and neon light—as well.

Initially, I had concerns about letting Legion out. Illium might be cosmopolitan, but it wasn't that cosmopolitan. All it would take was one sapient who knew what geth looked like, and we'd have a disaster on our hands. Civvies running around screaming, some trigger-happy nut trying to play the hero, Cerberus finding out and sending every damn soldier they could lay their hands on... the list of potential nightmares went on and on and on.

Luckily, the sheer amount of random crap in the base came in handy once more. We were able to cobble together a few pieces to slap over Legion's chassis. Now they looked like a highly customized, mech. Much less threatening and innocuous than a geth.

Even though I gave the all-clear to leave the base and wander around, no one wandered too far. That way, we could quickly respond if Cerberus sprang any more surprises on us or if one of us got in trouble. Still, that left plenty of opportunities for everyone to go out and enjoy the sights. We went to museums. Admired monuments. Visited famous buildings. Even went to an aquarium.

The days and nights passed. Too quickly, if you were out pretending to be a tourist. Too slow, if you were keeping an eye on Trask.

On the morning of the third day, it was the latter. For me, anyway. It was my turn to stare at the monitors until my eyes started bleeding, I nodded off or I was relieved of my less-than-stimulating job. I couldn't really complain, though. Waiting and watching was one of the things I was trained and expected to do, back before I went through the N7 program, accidentally became the Hero of Elysium, got volunteered to be a Spectre and found out way too much about Protheans, Collectors and Reapers for my liking. Besides, I wasn't being shot at, which was a minor miracle these days.

Still, there was no denying that it was boring. So it was quite a relief when I heard a ding, followed by a cheerful voice saying "You've got mail." That last bit was an addition from yours truly, just to pass the time—Trask didn't hear it. He just heard a boring 'ding' to indicate a new message arriving in his inbox.

Thanks to Kasumi's digital magic, I could read the message as he opened it. "Successful transit from Tasale relay. ETA at Nos Astra Starport: 2 hours."

We'd now moved from Phase Two to Phase Three. Perfect. I checked my chronometer, set a countdown signal and sent the signal to assemble the squad. Then I bought some tickets. I was just confirming that the purchase had gone through when the first couple people came in. No questions were needed. Just quiet chit-chat and double-checking things like hardsuit seals and weapon mods while I kept myself updated on Cerberus's progress.

Once the last couple stragglers came in and got ready, I started the briefing. "The Cerberus team entered the system. They'll be landing in," I checked my chronometer again, "one hour, seventeen minutes. Jacob and Zaeed will be standing by at the Grand Mirage to maintain their cover, as well as providing eyes and ears on anything going on."

"While Tali and Legion monitor things from—"

"We're coming with you," Tali interrupted.

Proving once again the wisdom of that old saying 'Expect the unexpected.' "What?"

"I'm tired of sitting here, cooped up inside," Tali explained. "I want to come with you."

"You want to run around and risk getting shot at?" I asked.

"What can I say?" Tali shrugged. "You're a horrible influence."

"That's true," Miranda said with a straight face.

"We have built a portable comm unit for field use, Shepard-Commander," Legion added, presumably referring to themselves as well as Tali. "The broadcasting and encryption capabilities are sufficient to meet our needs."

"And who's going to be lugging it?" I wanted to know.

"This platform has sufficient load-bearing capacity to transport the comm unit," Legion stated. "We will also be able to monitor local channels, Trask's personal computers and provide hacking assistance when needed."

"Okay then," I decided. "You've managed to answer all my questions. Legion, Tali; Give me a few minutes to grab my gear and we'll move out."

"Geez, Shepard, you're not ready yet?" Jack demanded.

"Someone had to monitor things," I reminded her.

"And they say you always have to wait for women," Kasumi grinned.

According to the protocol Trask had activated, the Cerberus team would travel light, without any weapons or equipment that might set off security alarms when they tried to get through Customs. As a result, before arriving at the Grand Mirage, they'd first stop off at the designated safe house to stock up. Yes, the same safe house that I'd cleaned out a couple days ago. I was looking forward to seeing the looks on their faces when they found out.

Assuming, of course, that we actually got there in time. "What's going on?" I wanted to know.

"Mid-air collision between two skycars, both of whom crashed into the side of a building," Miranda replied.

"Yikes," I winced. "Well, can we take a left?"

Miranda checked the local comm channel dedicated to traffic reports. "Wouldn't recommend it," she shook her head. "That entire section has heavy traffic due to road construction."

"How does road construction affect skycar traffic?" I wanted to know.

"It's complicated."

"Fine. How about taking a right?"

"That could work, but only for a couple blocks."

"Accident or construction?"

"Construction."

"Of roads?"

"Skyscrapers."

"Wonderful," I groaned. "Still, better than nothing... wait... I thought you said it should be okay for a few blocks."

"Checking." Miranda turned up the volume. "Skycar stall on the highway. Traffic's being re-routed... right into this street."

Oh for crying out loud. "Are any of the other guys having better luck?"

"Nope."

Clearly, the galaxy still enjoyed seeing me suffer in new and ever-so-painful ways.

Despite the multiple delays, we still managed to beat the Cerberus team to the safe house. Unless they'd already come and gone. "Legion?"

"Standby, Shepard-Commander. No new messages. Updating... Alert: receiving message. Message reads as 'Experiencing traffic delays. Will contact when en route to GM.'

That told me two things. First, our window of opportunity just increased dramatically. Any questions about why the team took so long could simply be explained by the word 'traffic.' Second, the portable comm unit worked just fine.

"Okay," I said. "Places, everyone."

Garrus led Team Two—slightly understaffed with the absence of Jacob and Zaeed, but no less lethal—out the door. Miranda did the same with Grunt, Samara and Legion. That left Kasumi and Thane to keep me company.

...

...

This could get boring really, really quickly. "So," I said.

"So," echoed Kasumi.

"So," Thane said dutifully.

...

...

"So it's been weird paying for clothes," Kasumi suddenly burst out, "walking in the front door during business hours instead of slipping in through the back when the store's closed. A girl could get used to this kind of thing."

"You only say that because it's not your money," I said, somewhat sourly.

"Irikah used to have similar experiences," Thane smiled, remembering his wife.

"Didn't you have an issue with her draining your accounts?" I asked.

"She had a way of making it up to me," Thane replied. "Laughter heralds her arrival. She sweeps into the room, silk flowing around her body like water. Look at what I bought, she says. 50% off! And wait until you see the lingerie—"

"Okay!" I said loudly. "You can stop your trip down memory lane right now!"

"Too much information!" Kasumi agreed, her voice just as loud.

"I can't hear you, I can't hear you!"

"Lalalalalalalala!"

Thane coughed in embarrassment. "My apologies."

We fell into an awkward silence. "Did anyone else find the traffic jams annoying, or was it just me?" I tried again.

"It wasn't just you," Kasumi shook her head.

"It was... somewhat aggravating," Thane agreed.

"And why did they have to do all that construction now?" I wanted to know. "Couldn't they have done it at night—well, no, there's still a lot of traffic. But they could have done it at a time when there was less traffic. Makes sense, doesn't it? And—"

"Garrus to Team 1A. Shepard, you still there?"

"Still here. You interrupted a very scintillating conversation," I scolded, ignoring Kasumi's eye-rolling. "I assume you did so because a certain group has been sighted."

"Possibly. Four men sighted on your side of the street, moving a little too quickly for casual strolling. ETA: one minute."

Good. Showtime. In one minute, they'd be at the door, entering the keycode...

...

Aw, crap.

(1): Clearly the irony in Miranda's response was lost on her.

(2): Shepard didn't fully appreciate the bureaucracy and cost associated with getting the necessary authorization and resources for renovations on Illium, all of which were staggering and onerous.

(3): The advantage gained from the Widow's sheer stopping power was offset by the equally vicious recoil, which could shatter the bones of anyone who wasn't significantly augmented, krogan or geth.

(4): Dr. Devon Woodcomb, husband to Shepard's surrogate sister Ellie. Often referred to as Captain Awesome for the breadth and depth of his talents, as well as his frequent use of the titular word. This is one of the rare occurrences where Shepard uses such a nickname affectionately.

(5): A commemoration of the birth of Jesus Christ, the central figure of the human religion Christianity, celebrated on the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth month of the year. Humans who follow Christianity religiously tend to hold some form of prayer service the night before or during that day. Most humans, however, celebrate this event as a more secular holiday through activities such as the giving and receiving of gifts.

(6): Garrus had obviously spent too much time with Shepard. When I pointed this out, he said he '[didn't] know what [I was] talking about.' Further proof, if any was needed.

(7): A welcome gift indeed.

(8) Shepard would use it to set up a secret cache for his own personal use. Ironically, he was unable to access it during the Reaper War because it was too deeply embedded inside contested territory.

(9): I can personally attest that Shepard made it look so easy, the way he adapted to the fluid, ever-changing battlefield with a shrug and a joke. You would never have guessed how stressed, worried and uncertain he felt.

(10): A human catchphrase for explaining concepts such as puberty and sexuality to adolescents.

(11): Another human idiom suggesting that bad things tend to happen at the same time.

(12): Shepard and Miranda would insist that their first real date was on the Normandy SR-2 during their preparations for what appeared to be a suicidal mission against the Collectors.

(13): Yet another human phrase meaning severe intoxication or inebriation. It stems from the days when humans would travel between continents using sea-based vessels, which used large cloths or 'sails' to capture the winds and use them as a means of propulsion. The 'sheets' in the phrase referred to ropes used to control the sails. If the sheets were loose, the sail would flap around rather than providing control for the ship. Multiple loose sheets would cause the ship to rock around in a fashion reminiscent of a drunken human.