THE "BASTION"
SHADOW BROKER RESIDENCE
ILMNOS, IALESSA SYSTEM
NOVEMBER 14th, 2188
MIRANDA LAWSON stood on unsteady legs in the medbay of the Bastion, a cold fury slowly working its way through her, trying awkwardly to make her uniform fit over the medical monitors attached to her body. Asari were everywhere, triaging and running all over. Above her head she could see the Phoenix hanging in a gantry surrounded by drones and the suited figures of technicians. Ugly score marks, dark holes and vicious tears in her skin marred the vessel. Hanging above it was a dark heavy shape she could not identify. Focusing on her more immediate surroundings, she saw Hoshiko on her feet and making her way from prone crewmember to crewmember, even though she appeared to be in no better shape than Miranda felt, Hoshiko's flesh vacuum-burned by exposure to space, bruises and abrasions from the fight. After a moment, Hoshiko saw her Captain up and limped over. Miranda tried to wave her away, which only slowed her for a second and then the young medic was pushing Miranda back toward the bed.
"Those monitors aren't portable, Captain." Hoshiko told her. "Stay put. Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor, Hoshiko-chan," Miranda replied with a small smile, relenting a little. Miranda took in her crew and her face went grim. She saw Flynn arguing with an asari medic and found herself relieved. "Our casualties?"
"Alieesh is very bad. Her legs and one of her arms are crushed. She's in stasis," Hoshiko replied, omnitool out and working.
"Saajila has compression fractures, many broken ribs and a shattered left iliac crest in her hip. Riley has severe burns on his face and a concussion." She paused and looked down. "Ellie is …dead. She was caught in the explosion that destroyed the cockpit. It appears she shielded Alieesh with her own body." She looked pained.
"They'll pay for that, whoever they are." Miranda's voice was flat and Hoshiko simply watched as she tried standing again. Hoshiko lent her an arm rather than futilely protesting.
"Illemna's nervous system is, according to one of the asari medics, 'fried'. I would not have put it that way, but it's essentially correct. She's also in a coma."
"Repairable?" Miranda inquired, her own engineered recuperative abilities at last asserting themselves. Hoshiko let her go and stepped back as Miranda stepped away and took a deep breath nodding to herself as she felt more steady on her feet. She then began to remove the monitors and Hoshiko again decided against attempting to dissuade her.
Hoshiko considered her Captain's question.
"Possible."
"Price is no object for any of them. Make that clear, Hoshiko-chan."
"I will." Hoshiko hesitated, seemed to choose her words and then said, "Ilola is missing. As is Asha."
Miranda looked sharply up. Hoshiko put a hand up to forestall the question coming.
"They aren't on the ship and they weren't in space. They're gone."
"Our consultants?" Miranda ran a hand through her hair, her anger growing. Too easily taken, one of her girls dead, the rest critical, her ship wrecked. Unacceptable!
"Major Flynn is, aside from his previously injuries, suffering from compression fractures similar to Saajila. It appears they were struck by some kind of concussion weapon."
"I see." Miranda frowned. Sonic weapons? High energy weapons and jump ships that leave no eezo traces. We need to know this enemy.
"Mr. Black, Specialist Shizuka and the other quarian, Kassidi Vas Raven's Fist are also missing." Hoshiko waved a PAD at Miranda. "You have hairline fractures in your right-side chest and right arm, and a rather severe knock to the head."
"That would explain the lump. Thank you, Hoshiko-chan. A few minute fractures aren't dire. My enhanced…" Miranda began but was interrupted by a sharp call.
"Holy shit, Cheerleader – you look like you had one man too many!" Jack strode easily toward them, encased in a suit neither recognized. She stopped a few feet away.
"Jack? How – you and Shepard have been reported missing for weeks!"
"We weren't missin' – we knew exactly where we were – sorta." Jack paused and took in the controlled chaos about her. "You all right?"
"Where did you come from?" Miranda asked instead. Jack thrust a finger above her head.
"That big bastard over your ship. We intercepted you and dragged your sorry ass here. The big question is what the hell happened to you?"
"We were attacked, obviously," Miranda told her. She saw Shepard approaching, outfitted like Jack, only to stop an asari medic for a brief word and then resume his approach.
"Miranda," Shepard said as a greeting. "Among the first on your feet. Not surprised." He cast a critical eye over her. "You feel up to talking?"
"They punched through our shields and barriers like they weren't even there," Miranda told him without preamble. "I don't know who they were or why they attacked us. They weren't mercenaries or pirates I recognized. Their tech was too good, like nothing I've ever seen outside lab R&D."
"Good call. The tech's, uh, not from around here," Jack added. Shepard agreed.
"We know who they might be, but unfortunately that's not saying a lot."
"Who?" Miranda demanded.
"They're called the Pandemonia. I don't know much as I should," Shepard informed her, "but we can find out."
"How?" Miranda's eyes flashed.
"You bagged live ones." Jack gave her a lop-sided smile. Miranda's eyes narrowed and her voice was predatory.
"Show me."
SOMETHING 'BOOMED' HEAVILY above him. His body was sluggish and sore and was in little hurry to react. The noise repeated only once more.
"Miri!" He muttered, voice angry. "Would ye get owt of the…!"
The asari tending him was startled and looked quickly down and then to the monitor attached to the bed. The neuroimager showed him to be still asleep. She pried an eyelid open to see the green iris underneath slowly moving back and forth. Unconscious, of course.
"Bollocks." He mumbled. "I did… it all arseways… made a right hames of it…" The words vanished under a loud sudden snore that caused the medic to step back in surprise. She shook her head in consternation and stepped back, felt the bridge of his nose and frowned. The thing had been broken any number of times and the last had been set poorly. A quick scan showed a compression fracture that she aligned and snapped into place, nimbly dodging the heavy arm that swung up to swat at her. The snore subsided but remained and she found a bone-knitter and clamped it to his face. The snoring stopped and the man coughed once and opened his eyes.
"What th' fook…?" He asked groggily, eyes fluttering against the light, hand coming up to ward it off. Beyond the glare, the familiar sapphire face of an asari.
"I've repaired your nose," she told him, slightly more chipper than he thought she ought to have been. "I was about to strip you down to repair your ribs. You were hit with some kind of concussion weapon, and I don't know how it happened, but only the bones on your left side have been affected."
Flynn shook his head to clear the cobwebs and set off a slosh of nausea. It passed quickly but lasted long enough for him to resent it. He tried to sit up but sharp pain sliced through him and he thought better of it. The medic cut his shirt open and lay a larger bone-knitter over his chest.
"Th' Bastion, so?"
The medic nodded. Her face was plain and her fronds painted with intricate designs.
"How'd we get here?" Flynn asked. He couldn't remember how close they'd been.
"Commander Shepard towed you in. He's returned!" she said, her voice had faint traces of awe in it. Flynn pursed his lips to cut off a retort. Big feckin' hero. Me arse.
"What's yer name," Flynn asked her, indicating his now-naked torso, "since we seem ta ha' made thi' a bit more pers'nal?"
The medic smiled at him and shifted the knitter.
"Nevi Wes'arj."
"Well, Nevi," Flynn winced as the knitter was shifted again. "How'd we do?"
"Ms. Lawson is fine," she told him. "You seemed concerned. I'm afraid the rest of your shipmates are not so lucky."
Flynn frowned at the mention of Miranda and his supposed 'concern'. Had he mentioned her? He didn't remember doing it.
"How many are…?"
"Sorry. One dead, a Specialist Ellie Crawford. The others are all severely wounded or outright incapacitated. I've been informed several are missing."
"Missin'? Who?"
"I don't know, sorry."
Flynn put his head down.
"Hurry wi' wha' yer doon. I canna lay here all day. There's work needs doin'."
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hoshiko conversing with another asari medic. Nevi checked his chart and clucked her tongue.
"You have injuries under your injuries."
"An' yet I'm still pretty."
She reached over and removed the bone-knitter from his chest with another smile. Flynn inhaled and nodded. Much better.
"So I'm gud, then," Flynn told her as he sat up. "Just find me a decent uniform an' I'll get outta here."
"Major Flynn… you can't be leaving. There's still a lot to…" Nevi tried but he waved that off.
"Bollocks. I'll sign any of ye' feckin' waivers. From the sounds 'o' it, I'm in th' best shape 'o' th' lot. Prio'tize, gurl." Flynn stared at her until she blinked.
"We could get in trouble," Nevi told him, inexplicably liking this odd human.
"So? I'll bust us owt an' getcha bolloxed afters, all roight?"
Nevi, not really understanding but getting the drift, reached over with an out-stretched hand.
"Deal."
Flynn shook it.
"Roight, don' care what'tis as long as I'm nawt total starkers." He fixed her with a stern gaze. "Not that it'll stop me if'n ye don' hurry."
"Very well," Nevi relented. "I'll find a fabricator and I'll be back shortly."
"Gud."
From Flynn's position he could see the other beds, but couldn't see who they contained. On the other side of the makeshift medbay, he could see Hoshiko checking on her crewmates. Across the way, he saw Miranda sit up, still groggy. If she saw him she gave no indication. Not that he expected one, anyway. After a moment, Hoshiko noticed her Captain awake and hurried to her. He was content to lay there and wait until two asari walked by and mentioned crew 'missing'.
"Oi!" he called. They stopped. If Nevi couldn't tell him, maybe they could. "Whatcha mean, 'missin'?" One of the asari came closer.
"I'm sorry, sir, but it appears several of your teammates have been abducted."
Flynn digested this news and waved them away. That changed things. He'd recognized the armor of the bastards when they'd first punched through the hull – the same that had destroyed New Chamberlain. Flynn pulled the health-monitor stickies from his flesh and swung his legs to the side of the bed.
They'd followed him. They must have, it was the only thing that made sense. He and Duke had led them straight to Miri and her ship. He felt better once he was moving, vague aches and pains complaining, but his own vigor was surging and he was feeling better with every step. He'd survived worse and done more in worse shape. A turn at each bed and he was quick to realize neither Duke nor Shizuka were among the wounded.
Gone then. Flynn swore. The Dullahan curse as strong as ever and his friend – his only damn friend – was once again the recipient of its deadly dividends. It was time he made up his own mind and set some priorities for himself.
He was not leaving anyone in enemy hands as long as he could have a say in it.
Across the way he saw Shepard approach Miranda and he snarled. There was no love lost between the two old squadmates. The Torfan Tribunal had cursed one and so Dullahan had been given lease. They'd forgiven the other and Shepard H. Saviour has his arse plated gold and heartily kissed by all and sundry. Flynn had his ambitions once. One word from his old squad leader would have saved his future, but silence was all Shepard had ever offered. Flynn would never give Shepard the dignity of his hatred nor would he ever lift a finger to serve the man again. The looker with him he presumed was Jack (some slight resentment more for Shepard there) and for the briefest of seconds he ignored them until he heard Jack say 'You bagged live ones.'
With a startled lurch he went after the asari he'd sent for new clothes.
He'd need more than a uniform.
HE'D NEVER BEEN BIG on learning whole cultures and histories when they had no practical military applications, nor was he inclined to deep study and quiet contemplation. His being was geared to master war, destruction and chaos. His heart was an empty and echoing thing and he felt no 'higher calling', no need to take heroic stands. They'd been here already too long and nothing seemed to be getting done.
Only vengeance mattered. Always vengeance.
"Well, that went bad rather quickly."
Cold pale eyes, the grim and stony face they were set in turned and regarded the owner of that feminine voice. The man had not smiled in five years. He scoffed as they entered the hanger. They'd been summoned by Liara at the first alarm, then redirected to the hanger when the vessels now above them had been close.
'You will be needed,' she'd informed them.
"It wouldn't have if the damned Ashari'i had actually shared what we gave her." His eyes went flinty. "I warned you. Two weeks and the bitch did nothing." He trusted no one, trusted nothing, no agenda, no plan.
"'Asari.'"
"Asari, Ashari'i." The words thick with contempt, a curse for swift doom and oblivion. One politely but firmly pushed past them. Not the same up close, but "… differences are minor."
"Your prejudices are showing." Asari scrambled around the hanger and she cast her eyes above them. Two ships hung high above, one damaged and sparking, the other heavy, dark and almost ominous. "Not that you haven't earned them." Her deep brown eyes regarded him with compassion. "We don't know that she did nothing. I can deal with this, if you'd rather stay away."
"Don't be ridiculous," he grumbled in his throat. "Nothing makes sense out here, Hour." His voice grated, then hardened again. "Too many unknowns." They had spent their time in study, the better to learn of this Galaxy, but had grown quickly weary of the computer reading aloud what he himself could not read silently. It felt too much like being lectured, with too much propaganda and not enough sense. "It's too damn …surreal. Faces… but they don't fit."
"Your eternal suspicions won't help us. We agreed that we would do what we could to help these people against the Pathosis."
"Killing Ashari'i is my service to sentient life." She could hear his knuckles crack as his hands curled into fists. "No matter what they look like. It is not to play nice and negotiate."
"They're not like that here, for Shi'iv's sake!" she reiterated hotly, trying to make sure he remembered it. "You saw their 'Net. Asari are polar opposites to what we know. We need these people to understand!" A chime sounded above them and the cool voice of the Bastion's AI announced the Phoenix was to be wrapped in heavy kinetic barriers and no one was to approach until technicians cleared it.
"Look at those holes in the hull." He pressed the side of his temple and his optic overlay snapped on to zoom in on the side of the Phoenix. She did likewise, nodded slowly as she perused the damage.
"Piercer damage. They were boarded."
"Pandemonia boarders."
The man in armor pulled his gaze back down as stretchers were hurried by, prone bodies on them. Chatter indicated all were alive save one.
"Not a bad accounting of themselves. The Piercers missed a few."
"Don't be so dour," Hour rejoined. "You've heard the reports – any other ship hit here by those bastards was emptied and left a mystery." One of the asari passed by with a report to the Broker of boarders being discovered alive. "And that's never happened before." She turned to him a faintly smug look on her face. "Not the best start, but that's a level of formidable we can't ignore."
"Formidable? All those survivors are injured or crippled. Take a good look at their ship – it's scrap." He sniffed. "Walking away is not a damn victory. It's luck."
"You're forgetting one thing. They managed to take Pandemonia prisoners. "
"Not cheaply."
Hour sighed in the face of his perpetual pessimism.
"We've no real choices. It needs to be done," she told him, voice confident, if laced with some faint sarcasm. "On the bright side, you're Patrick Shepard. You're indestructible."
"I know what's necessary," he told her, sounding irritated. "I just question your insistence on being here. I won't lower myself to make nice with stinking Blitches."
'Blitches'. Blue bitches. Hour found the child slang odd coming from him and almost laughed when he said it. She wondered if it weren't some kind of defence mechanism during inaction, something he hated even more than Ashari'i. She changed her mind. One of his sons had used that juvenile word. Doubtless it simply served to keep his hate fresh.
"Just don't kill anyone that doesn't need it." Her body ached and she ran a diagnostic on her armor. It found nothing. Just tension then. His endlessly negative attitude was beginning to grate on her. Hour heard him take a deep breath and expel it slowly. Across the hanger four figures stepped from an elevator and caught his attention. He zoomed his overlay in to look at them.
"A Turjian," he intoned, faintly incredulous. "What's the big one?"
"It's a 'Krogan', something, I think." Hour squinted, not really interested. Patrick suddenly huffed the short bark that he sometimes called a laugh.
"Now she's interesting."
Hour rolled her eyes and used her own overlay to get a clearer view. So, she'd meet her sooner rather than later. The face the same, the body slimmer but the stance as confident. She had far less hair, however.
"Not a bad look for me. So is the soldier… you?" Hour asked.
"He looks nothing like me." He shook his head. "I doubt it." He changed the subject abruptly. "I want a crack at those Pandemonia."
"You'll have to ask the asari," Hour told him, eliciting a heavy frown from him.
"You mean you will."
"Naturally. Let's get to it before they execute or torture them or something equally useless."
"I'm no fan of these people so far," he said stepping past her and angling toward the four, "but I can't see them being that stupid."
"Honestly, I agree with you," Hour told him as she followed. "It's just that personally I would really just like to do what we have to and go home."
"We can't go home and you know it." His footfalls were heavy beside her. He slowed to let her catch up. "You're an optimist. That's not healthy."
"Optimism hasn't killed anyone yet. We'll find a new home. Somewhere."
The look he sent her was heavy with skepticism.
"This is somewhere." He started walking again. "It's no better."
Hour powered past him, exasperatedly grumbling under her breath. She stopped suddenly, frozen in one spot.
Puzzled, Patrick slowed and was about to inquire when he saw what Hour had. Something in his head rolled over and stared disbelieving through his eyes. The same dark hair. The flashing eyes, the unconscious arrogant poise. A howl sounded dimly deep in the back of his mind and died keening.
Unknowns. Surrealism. Faces that didn't fit, and now…
…ghosts.
IT WAS THE SMELL that woke him. The smell of ceramic and metal and chemical scents he couldn't identify. A hard floor under his back and a dull achy throb through his body that keep him inclined to lay where he was and absorb sense data.
The faint hum of power conduits, whiffs of ozone and the slight burnt metal smell of objects exposed to space. The density of the air confirmed he was on a spacecraft, the odd pressure it exerted on his skin, the slight ebb and flow of it as it circulated. The ship meant sophistication and sophistication meant scanners that could easily tell when he was conscious.
So Winston Black spared the pretense and sat up in one smooth motion and opened his eyes. He was in a small room, more an alcove really, the light blue with grey edges. An open door greeted him and he contemplated it. The odds were very good that his hosts were not his friends nor wanted to be, and that the open door was likely not as open as it appeared. Black pulled himself slowly into the shadows in the corner of his tiny space and considered the door further. A slow check of his person revealed that he was intact, if still awash in a residue of pain of shocked nerves and too-tense muscles held too long. His pockets had been emptied and he was not surprised by that. He explored further…
…his fingers froze on his belt.
They'd missed it. His fingers spidered slowly to his back.
They missed that one, too. A moment more. The twin to the first there and intact.
That changed things.
Heavy footfalls sounded and came closer, a shadow proceeding them and the light reflected red through his door as a large armored figure passed. It did not slow or look in on him. More footfalls sounded a few paces behind and two more armored figures passed, these in white marked with black skeletal etchings and Winston suddenly knew where he was and how he'd arrived.
That definitely changed things.