MASS EFFECT: INTERCEPTOR 2
*Episode One*
Six months after the Battle of the Citadel…
The sky was perfect. Cloudless, bright and achingly blue, its clarity was reflected in all the shining towers and temples of Armali, Thessia. Traffic swam languidly between the sweeping curves of its buildings like threads of silver while streams of native asari walked the streets below with quiet complacency.
Hidden within the shadows of an alley, unnoticed by the passing crowds, Aruk pulled a hood over his head and tied his simple robe at the waist. The batarian knew his appearance would draw instant attention, so he hid his features as best he could - both pairs of eyes, his muddy brown skin, it all had to be concealed under sheets of pure white cloth. Even then, he looked a poor match for the graceful siari priestesses that frequented the nearby temples, but it was enough.
Aruk touched a finger to his heart and repeated an old batarian mantra, one to bolster his courage and inflame his anger. It was slow in coming and he thought back to his homeworld of Khar'shan.
His brothers were engineers, his sister a mother to three nephews. His family was poor and would never touch the stars as he had. Aruk knew they would feel only shame if they knew his intentions that day.
With a quiet grunt of frustration, he yanked the robe's hood tight over his head and stepped out into the balmy sunlight.
What did his family know? They had been abandoned too, shunned by a galaxy that despised them but unlike those docile chattel, Aruk fought back. This was his purpose, Aruk felt certain of it now as he pushed aside all thoughts of his family, along with the last tendrils of his guilt. He had given it all up long ago to join the Crimson Fist and weakness would not be permitted that day.
He was slim for a batarian, with slight arms and legs that moved quickly. It made the bulky shape around his torso less obvious and dozens of blue-skinned asari passed him in ignorance as he slipped out into the crowd. He crossed a slender footbridge spanning yet another lake, just one of many in that wretched city.
His destination was heard long before it was seen. The mass of people around him swelled and thickened, and a strong female voice called out over their heads.
'...between our people have never been stronger. United by this bond of friendship, displayed so heroically during the geth attack on the Citadel...'
Aruk stiffened in anger at the words and looked up with such force that the hood nearly slipped from his head.
Rising in front of him like a square-edged sentinel amidst the asari cityscape, a new human commercial building sat arrogantly amongst its neighbours. The crowd that clustered adoringly before it fawned and smiled, exchanging appreciative murmurs and laughing remarks.
The asari, ever the diplomats, cheered with nauseating enthusiasm as a human male bowed to the one who had spoken.
Whores, Aruk thought to himself as his eyes flickered from one bystander to another. Painted concubines for the galactic harem, all of them.
Presiding over the crowd, Aruk recognised Governess Imali, honoured matriarch and administrator of Thessia's capital. Though nearly nine hundred years old, she was still beautiful, with only the faintest of lines to mark her azure complexion.
Beside her, a human smoothed out his grey business suit, his smug grin already stoking the fires of Aruk's rage as he spoke to Imali with oozing familiarity.
And there stands one of their patrons, Aruk seethed, eager to lap up all the flesh and wealth he can.
Imali addressed the gathering, her hands moving to accentuate each word. 'And so we are proud to dedicate this grand opening of the Pritchard Trade Centre to those brave Alliance soldiers who died while rushing to aid our ships that day. Let them be remembered by all and may they find everlasting peace in the arms of the Goddess.'
The people around Aruk clapped solemnly. He joined in to avoid suspicion, though his eyes were on the pair of security guards at either side of Imali. The asari were capable warriors and Aruk knew he would not have much time to make his move.
His chest felt heavy and his senses swam as the knowledge dawned on him that the time had come. He mouthed his burning mantra once again and he let out a long, slow breath as he started forward.
The first of the asari to notice his waxy skin and sharp yellow teeth simply stared, trying to understand who and what he was. More people joined in as Aruk shouldered his way through them, his eyes firmly on the entrance to the commercial centre. He knew where to stand. He had rehearsed what to say. All that was left was to walk.
The first shouts came, warnings from the security guards. Their pistols were blurry and dark at the edge of Aruk's vision and the shouts grew louder and more pronounced. The sudden pounding of feet boiled at his back, pierced by panicked screams as Aruk let his white robe fall to reveal a bulky vest of wires and blinking red lights.
The bomb vibrated as it armed itself.
Flashes sparked and Aruk felt pain. His hip and thighs exploded with an agony that made him gasp but still he pressed on, crossing over the smooth stone paths with implacable determination. He sensed Governess Imali to his left, struggling to get away against the tide of fleeing civilians who would not part for her despite the loud commands of her bodyguards.
Although his breathing was slow, his thoughts mired in pain, Aruk was strong as he looked up to the sky.
'For Khar'shan!' he cried, before the last moment of his voice was silenced.
The explosion ripped through the street, sweeping away parked shuttles and charring trees to cinders. Orange flame billowed and crashed against the human building, shattering windows and scorching everything within. Smoke rose, black and thick to spoil the perfect sky and the peace of Armali's streets was broken as the hated human construction sank into dust.
~~~ME-I2~~~
A quarian was not quite a common sight in Citadel Security. Most officers' only experience in dealing with the species came from booking them for vagrancy or theft, or issuing eviction warrants for squatters.
Yet in the depths of C-Sec headquarters, in the command centre of the Citadel's Joint Security Task Force, a young quarian woman stood alone atop a wide dais, her hands placed on her hips as she stared at a gigantic screen against the far wall. No one objected to her presence and the only looks she drew were ones of admiration, and none would dare treat her as they would others of her species. They deferred to her instinctively when they needed to and when they didn't, they respected the golden commander insignia on her shoulder and went to her subordinates instead.
Her slim fingers tapped erratically against the hips of her envirosuit, one crafted solely for her in C-Sec blue and black. White eyes narrowed beneath her thick glass visor, and her voice was given a slight buzz by her helmet as she raised it above the murmuring voices and chiming of terminals.
'What's the word coming in from Armali security?'
A lean asari maiden came to stand beside her, blue eyes clear within shrouds of dark, tired skin as they too fixed on the main screen.
'Official bullshit, as usual,' the asari said. 'Gas pipeline, shuttle crash. Every line they feed the media, they feed us first.' She pursed her lips into a tight smile. 'You know the score, Lina, it'll be at least another hour before they're organised. We'd be better off asking the Consort.'
Commander Lina'Xen Nar Moreh sighed, sending the small lamp covering her mouth into a flutter. Being the head of JSTF was a near-impossible task in itself. It was made even more difficult when the galaxy did not match its pace to hers.
'We don't have one minute, let alone one hour,' she said, voicing her frustration.
The quarian removed her hands from her hips and leaned forward to rest on the dais railing. Plastered across the main screen, images of fire and rubble sat next to videos of a powerful explosion. They were taken from a dozen sources - security cameras, satellites, eye witness omni-tools - all different chapters of the same story.
'If there's one thing I've learned, Lorica,' she lamented, 'it's that all the jurisdiction in the universe can't cut through bureaucracy and it's the innocent who invariably end up paying the price. And to think, just a little longer and we could've prevented this.'
Lorica's smile faded. 'You don't really believe that, so don't give me the act. We only learned Crimson Fist were making their move a few hours ago, so to have gotten this far is a hell of an achievement. Besides, it was Governess Imali herself who ignored our warnings and held the damn event anyway in spite of the danger.' She nodded at the main screen. 'Guess she won't be making that mistake again.'
The grim barb may once have offended Lina but both their consciences had been hardened after a year of making decisions that had prevented wars, atrocities and invasions. The horror of the geth attack on the Citadel six months earlier had only toughened them further, and nothing could be said at that moment that could affect either woman.
Small figures scurried across the vids, emergency workers and brave locals, Lina judged. Her grip on the railing tightened.
'An asari governess dead, along with dozens of civilians,' she remarked soberly. 'Alongside the other attacks, the Council will start asking why this was allowed to happen. Then Executor Pallin will ask us. Right now, all we have are a pile of bodies across three worlds in the space of two hours and all we can tell him is that there's one more to come - and we have no clue where or how it's going to happen.'
Lina's frustration was earned. Nothing had been achieved so far, despite Lorica's claims to the contrary. They had traced the sale of three high-grade explosive devices to the Crimson Fist batarian extremist group but the intel from within the cell pointed to four targets, not three. Its members had slipped their tails just after the scheme came to light. The destruction Lina saw before her was the result and the only thing JSTF had to go on was the knowledge that there was one more target unaccounted for and they had no idea in what form the attack would come.
Lina shook her head, clearing her mind. Lorica was right about one thing; recriminations and uncertainties were luxuries they couldn't afford. There was still time.
Mechanical habit took over as Lina straightened and waved her hand over a nearby haptic panel. Amber shapes swirled under her fingers and the main screen shifted, the present footage shrinking to allow feeds of two other bomb sites. Her actions were that of thoughts and impulses processed far beyond the scope of most individuals, with a clarity attained by the ability to purge all distraction. It was what made her damn good at her job.
'First Adanis,' she listed as each display appeared, 'then Boro and now Thessia. All non-human worlds, yet all targets were human-centric interests. We have chaos, confusion and heightened threat levels but no real lasting damage. Crimson Fist used up all its ordnance on soft targets, which means they're either stupid or they're saving the best for last. Comm chatter mentioned a fourth target, meaning they must have one more bomb waiting to go off. The question is: where?'
'There's a lot of galaxy out there to choose from,' Lorica murmured before handing the datapad she was carrying to Lina. 'The good news is my team has narrowed down two leads. Increased activity across the batarian military net points to a strike not against a human colony but one of the other Council races. After the X-57 incident last year the batarians know they'll never get within a hundred light years of another human world. The Alliance are shooting anything that moves right now, so for the Fist to risk their last bomb - assuming it is a bomb - when they're unlikely to get anywhere near planetside is a stretch.'
'You're right. We can't discount the likelihood that just because they've only assembled three bombs recently they haven't had another up their sleeves from the start. Ditto with the likely target. It's probably a general response to the humans' admission to the Council. Turians and salarians are just as bad in the batarians' eyes these days.' Lina turned her head. 'And the other lead?'
'Just came through. My team's close to something big, I'm sure of it. Ket's been following up on a set of falsified security credentials seized by a Patrol bust last month.'
'You think one of the Crimson Fist snuck onto the Citadel illegally?'
Lorica smiled sarcastically. 'You managed it easily enough, didn't you?'
From anyone else the comment would have irritated Lina but to Lorica she gave only a brief, disinterested snort. 'Quarians aren't exactly ten a penny down in the Wards but batarians? Customs would've forwarded their traces to us the second they hailed Citadel Control.'
The reality of what Lorica was implying finally hit Lina and her gaze snapped to the asari.
'You're saying we have evidence to suggest the Citadel might be Crimson Fist's next target?'
Lorica's expression became utterly serious and her eyes unconsciously flickered to the scenes of carnage on the main screen.
'Not conclusive evidence, no,' she said, 'but you know by the time something becomes conclusive, it's already too late.'
It was the logic to which they and all who worked within JSTF had become accustomed; the need to be decisive based on only the thinnest shreds of proof. While C-Sec trawled through the facts when the worst had already happened, the Joint Security Task Force had been built from the best and brightest of every division to prevent the worst from ever happening to begin with.
'Let's see how far Ket has gotten, then,' Lina said, turning from the display. 'I could use a break from staring at death.'
Lorica led the way and together they descended the dais ramp. The command centre was housed within a large, circular room around which various teams of analysts and agents were arranged in tiers. The staggered rings of desks were more familiar to Lina than her own apartment and she overtook Lorica without a thought, striding up the central aisle and making a right turn into the third tier.
Lorica called out after her, 'I had Kimberley draw up a list of potential targets. Not much to choose from, as you can imagine, but nothing immediately stood out. That said, I haven't exactly been keeping up with the social calendar this year, so who knows?'
'I can imagine you've had a lot of free time since Chora's Den shut down,' Lina joked. The salacious club had not recovered from the geth attack and before that, the murder of its owner, though most in C-Sec had not mourned its passing. Far more trouble came out of the place than it was worth.
'Well, it was either strip clubs or the Consort and I only shake my ass as a hobby,' came the acerbic reply and as they neared her section, Lorica's voice snapped out, bringing up the heads of all those working nearby, 'Ket! What's the word on those phoney IDs?'
A scrawny salarian raised his head. His brown skin, fading to black around his lower jaw, shone wetly as he set his jaw in defiance. His eyes were dark orbs that fixed on his superiors with equal parts obedience and disdain.
'The word is evasive, dear team leader,' Ket replied haughtily, his words dripping with sarcasm. 'As if it weren't degrading enough that I spend my time playing operator to every dull-witted Patrol ship-jockey on the force, they insist on giving me the run around to boot. Not. Playing. Ball.'
Lina sighed to herself. Ashunta Ket was an exceptional analyst, a cut above even his fellow salarians but his ability came at a heavy price. She gathered her patience, forming it into a hard block in her stomach as she did whenever she needed to beat someone over the head with it.
'So you had me dragged all the way over here for nothing?'
The words made Ket blink in hesitation. He understood Lina's tone, though she knew he would forget it soon enough. 'No, Commander, not nothing. Just…need to get Patrol to release their evidence instead of a vague description. They seem to think we're interested in breadcrumbs when we need the whole loaf.'
Lorica responded with a smile that was anything but genuine. She clapped a hand on his shoulder, slapping it down hard enough to make the salarian wince. 'You're a smart guy, Ket. I'm sure you'll manage.'
'Managing isn't the problem,' Ket complained as he returned to his terminal and continued to mumble into his screen. 'It's the fact that I must do it all practically unsupported that makes it so intolerable. Of course, it's unreasonable to expect fellow staff of my calibre but if you insist on hiring monkeys, do ensure they're at least well trained.'
Lorica frowned angrily and behind Ket, his fellow team members bristled in mute irritation. They were both human, one male and one female, and the latter glanced over her shoulder, her short red ponytail wagging as she turned.
'Ignore him, Kim,' Lorica warned sternly.
Kimberley Farrell was young, with freckled olive skin that always shone with health, no matter how hard she pushed herself or how little she slept. Her desk was cluttered with datapads and personal paraphernalia; family photos, small figurines and other keepsakes. The cheerful young woman in the photos was somewhat at odds with reality as her chestnut eyes narrowed in naked dislike at her salarian colleague.
'I'll do more than ignore him if he keeps up his bullshit,' Kim snapped. 'You hear me, frog-boy? Call me a monkey one more time and I'll wipe that look off your face for good.'
Ket shook his head, though he kept his retort low enough not to be overheard. 'Providing you can use those opposable thumbs of yours for purposes other than playing with those ridiculous dolls.'
'Enough, you two,' Lorica ordered. She kept her eyes on Kim until the human reluctantly turned back to her work before stooping down to observe Ket's screen. 'We need that intel from Patrol. Names, physical descriptions, anything we can go on. Keep the pressure on Patrol to release it and don't let them give you any jurisdictional crap. Throw around the executor's name if you have to, say you're his chauffeur or something, I don't care. Just get us those IDs.'
For a moment Ket looked ready to object but clearly thought better of it. With a sigh, he dipped his head and his fingers tapped at his keypad twice as quickly. 'Yes, dear team leader, right away.'
Lina watched the exchange, some distant tendrils of amusement threading between the urgency of her thoughts. It was only a year ago that Lorica herself had been so difficult to work with, until the Forgotten Legion crisis uncovered more about both of them than either could have imagined.
Lorica moved across to Kim's station and placed a hand on her shoulder, though far more delicately than she had done with Ket.
'Bear with him for now,' she murmured in Kim's ear. 'This is too important to allow any personnel transfers, so he's stuck here until this mess is resolved. For all we know there's a batarian in a fake moustache pretending to be a plumber, taping a bomb under Pallin's desk this very moment.'
The images of such a scene cracked into Kim's sour expression and with a grin, she nodded back at Ket. 'I just hope we find it in time to shove it down that slimy prick's throat.'
Chuckling, Lorica lowered her voice. 'You're not the only one.'
Kim's eyes moved up to catch her team leader's, a hint of mischief glinting in their bronze depths. 'And what was all that about your "social calendar"? I know we're holed up down here most of the day but did you forget this big appreciation weekend the Council are holding? I can forgive us having to cancel the tour of that new turian dreadnought but I was really looking forward to seeing Krannt with you tonight.'
Lorica gave Kim's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. 'Unless Crimson Fist have bombed any other multi-species heavy metal bands that I'm aware of, I'm afraid we'll have to suffer without them. Besides, I've heard your human music and I can't say I'd miss it.'
'Don't even joke. No other band has a krogan singer,' Kim grumbled as she returned to her terminal.
Lina cleared her throat sharply and Lorica started, withdrawing her hand from Kim in a heartbeat. She flashed Lina an apologetic look and the quarian strode past her, muttering under her breath.
'You never change.'
'Don't start,' Lorica replied without a sign of resentment. She deferred to Lina's authority without another word, allowing the commander to move past and address the other human.
'Deveraux, isn't it?' Lina said to the young man seated between Kimberley and Ket, his back to them all. He had only just transferred to the unit yet Lina felt a private tug of shame at having to ask him to confirm his name.
The human's head bobbed up and down, his pale hands working in a blur as he processed report after report, stopping only to push a pair of thin-framed glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.
He didn't respond and Kim smiled up at Lina. 'He prefers Mike, Ma'am.'
To Lina's surprise, Kim took up an empty water bottle and threw it at her desk partner, hitting him in the head with a hollow pop.
'Hey, Mike! The boss is here! Show a little respect, will ya?'
Deveraux lifted his eyes from the terminal and stared about in curiosity, as if waking up from a deep sleep. After a few bewildered moments he caught sight of Lina and swallowed against a visible pang of terror.
'Commander!' he announced, rising from his chair. 'Sorry, Commander, please tell me I didn't keep you waiting too long? I meant no disrespect, really, I-'
'Relax, no offence taken,' Lina reassured him. 'Just show me what held your attention so completely.'
'He's always like that, Ma'am. He goes into his own world taking a piss,' Kim stated matter-of-factly before realising her error. 'Um…or so I've heard. I've never looked. I don't go into the men's room. But you know what I mean.'
Ket snorted at her back. 'A swing and a miss.'
'Shut it, Ket,' Lorica warned.
Deveraux fidgeted in his seat for a second before finally gesturing to his monitor. 'Well, I've been running background checks on all registered batarians in the Citadel. As you can imagine, there weren't many to begin with and thanks to the new DNA recognition systems they installed after the geth attack, we've got a better picture than ever of everyone coming in and out.'
Lina circled the desk and leaned over to rest on her elbows, her pale eyes scanning the screen carefully. 'Assuming our batarian friend entered via customs, we've got something to cross-reference the stolen IDs with when Patrol finally get off their arses and send them over.'
'Assuming he entered through customs,' Deveraux repeated, scratching his head, 'C-Sec's been dealing with reports of "vent riders" for months now; people jettisoning from shuttles or public craft onto the Citadel's hull and entering the Wards through keeper access ducts to avoid the scanners. Mostly criminals and smugglers but some refugees are desperate enough to try it too.'
'Way too dangerous,' Lorica said immediately. 'Those people take their chances and most overshoot the Ward arms completely. Patrol bring in the few they manage to intercept but most of them are lost forever. Not to mention that out of the lucky ones who make it inside, most find themselves plunging headfirst into protein vats in the keeper tunnels. I don't think Crimson Fist would chance their last operative on something so risky.'
'Right,' Lina agreed. 'We're looking for an intelligent, definitely well-prepared and motivated terrorist, not a desperate stowaway. Did your background checks turn up anything useful?'
His lips parting in hesitation, Deveraux's fingers twitched before he replied. 'Well, it's not so much new intel, rather a way we can get our hands on what's already there.'
'You're talking about the information Patrol is holding? The forged credentials?' Lina said warily.
'Yes, Commander. There is a way we can sneak it out the back door, so to speak. We all know how it's been since the geth attack. Every department is competing for more of this increased funding, they don't want anyone else to be seen as more successful or more vital. Patrol will drag their heels as long as possible and we need it now, not in a few hours.'
Instantly, Ket straightened and threw a severe look at Deveraux. 'Then by all means, let's see you do better dealing with these cretins. Of course you couldn't. The mere mention of confrontation has you hugging your knees and rocking back and forth while your zoomate barrels into every discussion beating her chest like the rest of her ancestors.'
Lorica sent Ket back to his work with a sharp glance before pushing closer to Deveraux, her blue features creased in concern. 'More to the point, you're talking about carrying out a cyber attack on another C-Sec division. A major crime, something even Pallin wouldn't look the other way for.'
Smiling timidly, Deveraux pushed up his glasses. 'Only if we're caught, Ma'am.'
'What's your plan?' Lina asked, drawing everyone's surprised attention.
'It's simple, really,' Deveraux began, turning back to his terminal. 'We fake a distress call from a civilian craft. It's a basic signal, real Mickey Mouse stuff.'
'Mickey...Moose?' Ket repeated, mangling the human words in his distaste. 'Make sense, idiot.'
Deveraux ignored him, looking only at Lina. 'Patrol will send out a craft and liaise directly with their response centre in Citadel Control. Those signals are unencrypted. They have to be by law, in case civilian equipment needs to be commandeered to receive the signals in an emergency.'
'Such as during the geth attack,' Lina confirmed.
'Exactly. I can easily piggyback the signal and sneak in one of our covert data mine programs.'
'Nothing we have will be able to fool C-Sec's security protocols for long,' Lina replied, shaking her head. 'If we're caught it'll cause a huge scandal and the last thing we need right now is the executor breathing down our necks.'
'Not if we rig the code with an auto-delete function,' Devereaux countered. He tilted his head, clearly enjoying the exchange and Lina felt a liking for the man as he adjusted his glasses again. 'That, along with the fact that we've got the kind of undetectable hacking software that Network would kill to get their hands on, it'll give us enough time to get what we need before anyone's the wiser.'
After some consideration, Lina finally gave a quick nod. 'All right, but don't take any chances. We can't risk discovery, not at a time like this.'
Grinning, Deveraux set to work without another word and Kimberley punched him playfully on the arm in congratulations.
'It won't work,' Ket warned, his large head weaving from side to side in fierce disapproval. 'Just watch. We'll have sirens and flashing lights outside our doors before you know it.'
Lorica gave him an angry look as she followed Lina away from the desk, making sure he got the message.
'You think those IDs are worth the trouble?' she asked, keeping her voice low as she walked.
Lina sighed. 'Somewhere on the Citadel there could be a batarian who's using a fake identity, that's bad enough. It already worries me that a security breach like this wasn't handed over to us immediately. We have to consider the possibility of a mole within C-Sec but whatever the case, it's the only solid lead we have. We trace the names on those IDs, we trace the scumbag. Put all our agents on standby, we need to be ready to move as soon as we have confirmation. And get Special Response on the horn, we may need to scramble tactical teams if we've stumbled on a whole cell of the bastards.'
'Right away,' Lorica responded, already prodding away at her omni-tool. 'Hey, look on the bright side. If Deveraux's plan works, we should be done before five.' She feigned resignation. 'Oh crap, Kim might just be able to drag me to that damn concert after all.'
Gazing at the main screen, Lina's reply was filled with doubt. 'It's after midday and we're about to hack into C-Sec's own systems for intel. Don't kid yourself, Lorica. This is going to be a long shift.'
~~~ME-I2~~~
The voice of turian Sergeant Farro cracked over the heads of his officers in a series of coarse, profanity-laden bursts. Having to compete with the drone of a malfunctioning air duct was clearly getting the better of the old sergeant's temper and his tone grew more fractious with every passing moment.
'People, if I have to repeat myself one more time I swear I'll put each and every one of you in Huerta, is that clear? Now sit down!'
He wasn't alone in his frustration. The briefing room of C-Sec's 27th Zakera Precinct was sweltering thanks to the cooling unit malfunction and thirty officers were packed into the tight space, muttering under their breaths and mopping their damp brows without pause. Adding to their discomfort, the room was dark, the only light coming from a set of half-shuttered blinds to their left. Barely anything was working as it should after a piece of geth warship smashed into the building next door six months earlier.
'Now this ain't the first time Krannt have played on the Citadel,' Farro snarled irritably, 'but it is the biggest show by far. All part of this big happy show of Citadel unity the Council's putting on over the weekend, so we get the job of stopping everybody who wants to spoil the fun. After nearly a dozen death threats in the past twelve hours alone, Krannt's manager ain't taking any chances. She wanted to pull the plug but the band said no, so now we got the job of keeping 'em safe, lucky us. Now, crazy fans are the least of our worries here. We got solid proof that Clan Weyrloc - former family of Krannt's krogan frontman Weyrloc Shuul and founders of the Blood Pack mercenary group - is out for his blood. That make 'em too dangerous to ignore. Officer Lang!'
Eddie Lang's head shot up for a bewildered moment, sweat running down his wide chin. The young human ran a hand through his damp blond hair as he tried to compose himself.
'Is there a problem, Sir?' he asked. 'I was listening, honest.'
Farro narrowed his eyes until they were angry yellow slits set deep into his ash-grey skin. 'Is that right, Lang? Then maybe you'd like to offer a little expert insight, seeing as we all know you're a fan of this nonsense.'
Lang's wide bulk shifted in his seat as he glanced askance, searching the room for sympathisers. He was well-liked in the precinct but most of the other officers met his gaze with only a brief, uncomfortable wince. He was on his own on this one.
Undaunted, Lang cleared his throat. 'Well, Sir, Weyrloc Shuul used to be the shaman of Clan Weyrloc back on Tuchanka. That clan means serious business back on the krogan homeworld and when Shuul left the clan they saw it as an insult and put a huge bounty on his head.'
Lang looked about, catching the amused expressions of his comrades. He smiled back at them, used to being seen as the naive young idealist for so long that he no longer felt shame in it.
'So Shuul formed Krannt about six years ago,' he explained. 'Heard a style of human music known to us as 'heavy metal' and, figuring it was a real fit, he set about drawing in musicians from all over the Citadel Wards. They write songs based on krogan war chants, battle stories and even Weyrloc clan exploits - something his former bros took a serious exception to.'
'Yeah, yeah, that'll do,' Farro snapped, waving a dismissive hand. 'The rest of you get the idea. Obsessive groupies like Officer Lang here are one thing but a pissed off krogan clan are another. The Blood Pack are a big name in the Terminus Systems, they're brutal and they're organised. They ain't above trying to kill Shuul right under our noses. As you know, the concert will be held in the Dilinaga Concert Hall over in Tayseri and the executor's pulling teams from all over to work security. You people drew the short straw. You get to handle the front desk.'
Lang's face dropped in awe and he couldn't help but blurt out, 'Whoa! Are you serious? Come on, Sir, you're not kidding around, right?'
'Since when have you known me to be the joking type, Officer Lang?' Farro replied sharply before folding his arms.
Slowly, he took a few steps back to reveal a large screen set against the wall. The eyes of every officer lit up with lines of glowing blue as blueprints and floor plans filled their vision, the images scaling and twisting as Farro continued.
'Forget the politics, the organisers know how much cash this gig will bring into the sector, cash that could go into restoration of Zakera after the geth attack. Maybe even fix the ventilation, you never know. Beyond that, the public needs something good to finally come to this place, so the keywords here are "invisible prevention". The suits think an armed deterrence will send the wrong message so we'll be running entry scans only and keeping the internal surveillance under wraps.'
A groan rippled throughout the room but Lang's expression only brightened. 'So we'll be going undercover, is that it, Sir?'
'Keep your pants on, kid,' Farro grumbled. 'Yes, we'll be maintaining a heavy plainclothes presence on the ground with uniformed personnel running bag checks at the entrance. And no, these ain't volunteer jobs, Lang, so don't get your little hopes up. You're going to be at the gates where you can't slack off.'
The others chuckled as Lang sank in disappointment, leaning back in his chair.
'The rest of you, check your omni-tools for further instructions and if you still got any questions, you know where to find me. Dismissed.'
The briefing room heaved with voices and scraping chairs as the officers filed out in groups. The door opened and they blinked as they shuffled into the blinding light but Lang was not among them. Instead he approached Farro as the sergeant organised a stack of datapads on his nearby desk.
'Don't even try it, son,' Farro said, pre-empting him.
Undeterred, Lang pressed closer and spoke quietly and seriously, 'Come on, Sir, you know I can do the plainclothes job with my eyes closed. When have I ever let you down?'
Farro turned to look at him without a trace of the cantankerous hostility he'd shown during the briefing. There was no need for it when the other officers weren't around and as he always did in private, Sergeant Farro spoke as softly to Lang as his own son.
'You haven't, but that's not the point. You've been on the force less than two years and I'm not about to throw away one of my rising stars by giving you an assignment you're not ready for.'
'Who says I'm not ready?' Lang argued. He looked pleadingly at his turian superior, the man to whom he had looked as a mentor since coming to the Citadel.
Farro sighed. 'I do, kid and that should be enough. I've been on the job for damn near twenty-five years now and I've seen too many young hotshots take a bullet to the head for being too eager.' He placed a hand on Lang's shoulder. 'I met your pops at your inauguration, liked him right away. Reminded me of myself. So do you, when I was straight out of boot camp. Green as Palaven palm leaves, as they used to say.'
Lang's expression remained unchanged. 'That was eighteen months ago, Sir. I've been busting my ass since then, always the first one in in the morning and the last one to leave at night. That's got to count for something.'
'Yeah, it does,' Farro admitted, withdrawing his hand and resuming his organising of the datapads. 'You'll be on the main entrance with Tully, checking bags and omni-tools. Ain't the most glamorous job but who knows? When this Krannt fad blows over and they're not drawing heat from the most violent krogan group in the Terminus, maybe you'll get your chance again. Till then, keep your mouth shut and do what I tell you. Clear?'
Lang let out a breath, hanging his head. His reply was reluctant but firm nonetheless. 'Yes, Sir.'
'Now go and gear up. Tully's under orders to shoot you if you're late.'
Despite himself, Lang smiled. He adored the gruff sergeant and couldn't help but nod his thanks. He turned to leave, calling out over his shoulder, 'If she does then I get to enjoy the show until the ambulance arrives, right?'
'Get out of here, kid,' Farro answered affectionately.
Lang obeyed and walked blinking into the bright corridor. In spite of the fact he wouldn't get to see Krannt themselves he couldn't help shaking with excitement at the thought of what was to come.
~~~ME-I2~~~
The room chosen for Serica Ronn's meeting backed directly onto the dancefloor of Dark Star, one of the more popular clubs in Zakera Ward. Dark blue lighting had been fitted, giving the place a seamy gloom that made Serica's senses swim.
The turian glanced at the walls, which thrummed and vibrated with every pound of drum and bass, before looking over the contents of the briefcase once again. It lay open on an elegant glass table in front of him, the dismantled pieces of a high-powered rifle gleaming within.
'Should be enough,' Serica murmured, his bright blue eyes shifting against skin of pure black. Red paint curved around his eye sockets like twisted wounds as he tilted his head, checking over every component of the weapon. 'Can't go wrong with a Rosenkov Viper. Lack of punch but the semi-auto will come in handy. Will probably need a few rounds to take him down.'
The young human to whom his assessment was directed sat back on a leather couch, his arms trailing across the shoulders of two asari maidens who eyed Serica seductively. Their temples had been painted with graceful crimson patterns and their lips with a single stripe of enticing pink. Serica supposed the women would look irresistible to some but he had other things on his mind.
The human motioned to a tiny box next to the rifle case. 'That's what those are for, mate.'
'Tungsten rounds? You sure that's wise, boss? They're twice as likely to set off the passive sensors. Shredder rounds would be safer.'
The human leaned forward, ignoring the asari completely even as their hands snaked lithely over his body.
He was unlike any alien Serica had ever known, a pale stick of a man with a shock of bleached white hair in spite of his young age and eyes of piercing grey. The lack of colour seemed a personal obsession; his clothes too were white, from the formal pants and shoes to the creased shirt with rolled-up sleeves. The shirt lay open to reveal knots of hard muscle, telling of great physical strength despite his modest frame.
'Bollocks to that. You know anything else that can pop a krogan skull at a hundred yards?' the human asked in a rough voice before letting out a rasping laugh that always sent a subtle chill down Serica's spine. 'Why not take both? You can crack the shell, then chew up the meat inside!'
'You know me, Zwei,' Serica said with a slight grin. 'I like to be thorough.'
Zwei clicked his fingers and pointed at Serica, his teeth bared in a shark's grin.
'And that's why I like you, Ronnie. You're thorough. Me?' He shrugged helplessly. 'I'd have the whole damn Citadel after me inside of five minutes - guns blazing, blood, exploding babies, crying mothers, oh it'd be terrible. Fun, but terrible.'
The asari giggled and one bit her lip as her fingers ventured into Zwei's trousers. The humming bass filled the room, picking up in tempo and still Zwei didn't seem to register any of these sensations, instead fixing Serica with a smile the turian knew was far from benign.
'Weyrloc Shuul,' Zwei said, nudging the table slightly with a foot. 'Four hours from now I want to see his corpse plastered all over the extranet, across every news channel in the galaxy. That info on C-Secs dark zones cost us a few bob and I want it made use of before they finish patching everything up around here.'
Serica bent over to shut and pick up the briefcase. He rose with a stone-hard expression and spoke without any trace of doubt. 'Have I ever failed you, Boss?'
Zwei's grin widened into a silvery crescent that threatened to slice his face in two. 'You wouldn't be standing here if you had now, would you, mate?'
Serica chuckled and turned away. His boss may have been crazy but therein lay his appeal. Serica revelled in Zwei's penchant for violence and sick humour, intoxicated by its allure. For one beaten and cast out by turian hypocrisy, it was like nothing else in the galaxy, and Serica had seen enough of it to know.
He started to walk away, only to stop as Zwei spoke again.
'Make sure your man knows what to do if you're followed. C-Sec is on our arses enough as it is and we'll have to go invisible for a few days after tonight. That said, these krogan tossers don't mess about so we need this guy dead no matter what. I don't mind a bit of claret so long as the job's done, you know me.'
Serica looked back and nodded respectfully. 'As you say, Boss. I'll make sure no one interferes. Shuul will be dead before the encore.'
Zwei grinned once more. 'Do try and enjoy yourself, Ronnie. Two jobs in one night and we're sitting pretty for a good while. We'll be back in Afterlife before you know it, drinking the place dry again.'
Serica ignored the squeals of pleasure from the asari as he set off, his mind bent on the task set before him.
'Come now, ladies,' he heard Zwei say. 'We've got a party to get to. You don't wanna be late do ya? You do? Oh, all right then...'
~~~ME-I2~~~
Eddie Lang rapped his fingers against his thighs in time with the beat, humming the deep, roaring melodies as he scanned the heads of the crowd.
The Dilinaga concert hall was vast in scale, the curved dome roof rising high above until it seemed to touch the stars beyond, and not even the spots of damage sustained in the geth attack could tarnish its majesty.
Thick queues of people lined up in front of Lang, members of every species keen to see the latest craze that had swept Citadel Space.
He smiled. Krannt were a monumental show of inter-species solidarity when the galaxy needed it the most; a krogan singer, human and turian guitarists, a quarian bassist and salarian drummer, with an asari presiding over them all on synth. The music was far from peaceful but that hardly mattered. Such an eclectic ensemble was bound to gather a huge fan base and Lang was proud to be among them.
His C-Sec uniform marked him out as someone who could let the fans in and as they neared, the queues spread out into loose gaggles of impatient revellers. Nearby, an asari mouthed an obscenity at one of the other officers as he checked her bag and the deep drone of an elcor voice sounded over them all, complaining bitterly that he was missing the show.
You and me both, pal, Lang thought to himself as he cleared a couple through the checkpoint.
'Hey,' he called out to a fellow officer, raising his voice as the music behind him exploded into a chorus of cheers. 'Hey! Tully!'
A female human with short black hair frowned at him and he gestured back through the entrance.
'I need to take a leak! Cover for me!'
He didn't give Tully a chance to object and a series of frustrated groans went up as the fans saw him leave.
Lang grinned as he pushed his way through entrance tunnels lined with posters advertising concerts, plays and conventions. He bobbed his head as a tune he recognised started to play and he picked up the pace, stopping only when the tunnel opened out into the concert hall itself.
Krannt were there, bathed in fog on a stage that towered above the dark sea of fans. Weyrloc Shuul dominated the scene, his massive krogan bulk clad in an elaborate suit of black armour spattered with mock blood. He snarled incomprehensible syllables into the microphone as if he were undertaking an ancient krogan rite - and probably was, if the stories Lang had heard were true.
Shuul's voice resonated, a throaty growl that shook the hall. It was matched by rough, deep guitar riffs from the turian and human, themselves decked in long coats of black and red. Even the quarian's outfit matched and a splash of red paint showed on her suit's visor even from where Lang was standing. The salarian drummer's quick and intricate movements were distinctive even through the fog, mechanically perfect.
Simply seeing them all rooted Lang to the ground and carried by the mood, he whooped joyfully, thrusting a fist into the air. The crowd cheered alongside him and for a moment, all strife in the galaxy was forgotten.
Lang didn't know what made the nearby man in front of him stand out. There were thousands of people in the concert hall but one seemed to detach from the rest, his stiff gait bringing a furrow to Lang's brow. The guy simply looked out of place among the screaming fans. Where they were lost in the music, he was distinctly aware and Lang moved closer to get a look at him.
It was a turian, dark-skinned with white patterns around his eyes, leading up his nose and crest. He wore a smart turian suit of black and grey, and an ugly scar crossed his forehead, giving him a menacing look.
A giant hologram of Weyrloc Shuul sprang into being above the crowd, mimicking the krogan's movements on-stage and sending the fans into a frenzy. Lang closed his eyes for a moment as a white strobe passed in front of his face, blinding him and when he opened them again the turian was gone.
Lang tensed, not quite knowing why. He looked across the shifting wall of arms and faces, themselves speckled with the coloured lights from the stage. The music went from exhilarating to oppressive as it bore down on him, compounding his thoughts and making it difficult to focus.
A flash of white face paint made him glance to the right, just in time to see the turian disappear down another tunnel. Even from a distance, Lang could make out the bulky outline of a pistol at the man's hip. The sight brought a fearful knot to his stomach.
Coming to a decision, Lang walked after the turian, picking up his stride so as not to lose him. He keyed the radio attached to his ear.
'Tully, it's Eddie. I've spotted something, someone, whatever- Do we have any turians working plainclothes, Edessa colony markings?'
Lang's knowledge of alien cultures had always set him apart from his fellow humans in C-Sec and Tully's irritated response did not surprise him.
'Edessa? What the hell are you talking about?'
Lang tried to keep calm but between the speed he was walking and the sudden realisation he could be in for some action, his voice betrayed his nerves. 'Edessa! White markings, dark burgundy skin. Like uh...Councillor Sparatus?'
The famous name brought back an instant reply. 'Not that I know of but I'll have to double-check. Why? What have you found?'
'I'm not sure. There's a turian here, male, markings as described. He's armed.'
Tully's reply sounded worried. 'Armed? Shit. Okay, just hold tight and don't do anything stupid. Keep your eye on him for now and I'll alert Sergeant Farro.'
Lang entered the tunnel and saw the shadow of the turian disappear around the next corner. He picked up speed, dreading most of all the thought of losing his suspect.
'Do what you need to,' he replied quietly. 'If this nutjob wants to take a shot at Shuul he'll have to go through me first.'
He cut the line, not wanting to risk the turian overhearing and he bowed his head, determined to catch up. The scuffing of his footsteps seemed louder than normal, overpowering even the guttural vocals of Shuul at his back. It all served to make Lang nervous, until every one of his muscles ached with tension.
Lang came to the corner and slowed down. He caught the scent of his own sweat, overpowering the close stench of thousands of people. He pushed it all out of his mind and poured every scrap of his awareness into peeking down the next stretch of tunnel.
The turian was there, and not far away. After a quick glance about him, he disappeared into a nearby restroom and Lang clenched a fist in triumph. There was nowhere left for him to go.
Breaking into a jog, Lang drew his own weapon, a standard-issue Striker pistol. Holding it up, he approached the restroom door and it opened for him with a smooth hiss.
He frowned as he entered. The air was sharp with the tang of urine but he expected as much. What puzzled him was the sound of splashing water and a gentle, melodious hum coming from within.
The restroom was small and dark, with two aisles of toilet stalls separated by a thin wall lined with urinals and a row of sinks to Lang's left. Everything was porcelain, unusual for a space station but the concert hall was asari and they seemed unable to be practical even when it came to public bathrooms.
The turian occupied one of the urinals, mumbling a tune to himself. Lang felt self-conscious all of a sudden, as if he'd trailed a man all this way just to watch him do his business. Then he remembered the weapon the turian carried and his expression firmed.
He raised his pistol and said in a clear, loud voice, 'Hold there, citizen! You're carrying an illegal weapon and I'm going to have to ask you to put your hands up and against the wall where I can see them!'
He approached cautiously, until he was just a pace away from the man.
The turian glanced back over his shoulder for just a moment before he returned to what he was doing. He replied calmly, his voice much younger than Lang had expected.
'Can I finish first?'
The question brought an awkward flush to Lang's cheeks and he lowered his weapon slightly.
'A-all right,' he stammered. 'Just don't make any sudden moves, okay?'
A few seconds passed in uncomfortable silence with only the harsh pulsing of Krannt's music to accompany them until the turian cleared his throat pointedly.
'You're making a mistake, you know.'
Lang frowned. 'What?'
'I said you're making a mistake. I'm not who you think I am. I'm a C-Sec agent.'
The statement confused Lang even further and he shook his head. 'Bullshit. I ran a check and we've got no officers of your description on the ground.'
The turian sighed and reached down to button up his pants. In the same instant he stepped to one side, faster than anything Lang had ever seen and bumped into him with a loud thump.
Lang tried to bring up his Striker but found to his horror it wouldn't move. His eyes peered down to find the turian's hand clamped securely around the barrel, his thumb firmly on the now active safety button. A choking sound left Lang's lips, a sound of utter surprise and fear rose as something cold and hard pressed under his chin.
He gaped wide-eyed at the enormous Carnifex pistol in the turian's hand, its thick casing scarred and splotched with flaking red paint.
'H-hey now!' Lang spluttered, his voice straining as his chin was forced up. 'Come on, don't do anything you'll regret! I'm a C-Sec officer and my guys, they know I was tailing you. You fire that weapon and you won't make it out of this room!'
The turian looked aside briefly, a gesture of disgust and impatience.
'Weren't you listening to me?' he snapped. 'I am C-Sec! I'm not going to kill you!'
Another noise blew from Lang's mouth, something that sounded like the beginning of a question and the turian answered before it could form.
'My name is Arlen Kryik. I'm a Citadel Security Interceptor, here to track down the man sent to assassinate Weyrloc Shuul.'
The sound of clunking footsteps drew the eyes of both men to the restroom door as through it strode another turian, his skin the colour of sand and mandibles edged with the blue markings of Palaven. He was dressed in a suit of sturdy C-Sec armour and carried a heavy assault shotgun, the sight of which made Arlen tense visibly.
'Thank God you're here!' Lang croaked. 'You've 'gotta help me - call for backup, call for-'
The relief in Lang's eyes turned to horror as the newcomer levelled his shotgun at them, the weapon loaded and ready.
