Downfall
Chapter 3: Questions
Alchera, Amada System, Omega Nebula – four days later
Kaidan Alenko paced nervously around the confines of the armoured case that composed the cabin of the N7 Kodiak shuttle. He glanced at the five marines in the cabin with him, making a mental note of the looks of concern that they seemed to be giving him. They weren't marines he had worked with before, though they seemed to regard him with a mix of awe and worry. He supposed it came with having served on the Normandy during the Battle of the Citadel.
They were dropping deep into the Terminus Systems, in the same cluster as Omega. The SSV Verdun lacked the stealth technology of the Normandy, and would be completely exposed to the myriad of pirates, mercenary groups, and gangs that inhabited this part of the galaxy. The likelihood of detection was high, and it would certainly spell doom for the entire crew if they were discovered. At worst, it could even trigger full-scale war with the Terminus Systems. None of that mattered in the face of the all-important objective they had been given:
Recover Shepard.
A million questions were swirling through his head as they descended through the atmosphere of Alchera, none of them remotely to do with their mission at-hand. He had been briefed nearly a dozen times, given orders repeatedly, and reminded of the sheer importance of this mission. It was a recovery operation more important than any the Alliance had carried out in its three-decade history, a mission that they could not afford to fail. Yet above all the noise of the shuttle, the anticipation of what they would find, and single thought stood out amongst the million.
Why me?
A month ago, there had been ten other marines on the SSV Normandy. Today, he was the only one who was still alive: Ashley, Lee, Michael, Jane, and Sven had died on Virmire defending the Salarian reactor core that destroyed Saren's base. Four new marines had taken their place after the Battle of the Citadel, yet they had all died in the attack on the Normandy. Trapped on the lower decks, they had died in agony, with Kaidan forced to hear their last moments on his comms unit. They had been his soldiers – his to command, his to lead, but he had been the one to survive. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be – a commander was expected to be willing to die for their soldiers, not the other way around. Every time he closed his eyes, he could hear their screams of horror and pain echo through the recesses of his mind, pressing down on him with regret, sorrow, and loss.
Was this what Shepard had felt after Akuze? Had he seen the faces of his soldiers for years after as well? There had always been whisperings in the ranks of the Alliance marines of Shepard's instability in the aftermath of the Kessel Commission. They'd said that he was haunted by what he had seen, traumatized by the loss of his squad and platoon. Kaidan had always dismissed them as rumours: how could someone be lauded as one of the most dedicated soldiers in the Alliance while simultaneously standing accused of being unstable and traumatized? When Kaidan met Shepard for the first time aboard the Normandy, those rumours had been dispelled, yet the reality of Akuze had never been far from the back of his mind. Now he had joined Shepard's gruesome company – the last survivor of the marine detachment of the Normandy. He hadn't been the most skilled, or the most resolute, he had merely been lucky. Had he been on the lower decks, he would have died with the rest of them, yet his position in the Mess Hall had been a blessing. He felt no gratitude for his survival, merely guilt that it was down to sheer dumb lack.
I didn't deserve to live, so why did I? At long last, he thought to himself, I think I finally understand you, Shepard.
"Lieutenant Alenko, this is Admiral Hackett," the vid-screen at the front of the cabin flickered to life as the admiral's glass-cut features came into view, "Status report."
"Admiral, we've managed to locate the distress beacon that was launched by the SSV Normandy 147 Galactic Standard Hours ago, immediately preceding its destruction at the hands of an unknown enemy. Beacon is located on planet Alchera in the Amada System of the Omega Nebula. Verdun has moved to begin recovery operations, with Agincourt and Somme standing by in support."
"Good. This is a quick operation; we don't have much time before the Terminus Systems know that we're here. Identify as many remains as you can, but the priority is Shepard. If word comes from either support frigate that you've been compromised, pull out immediately."
"Roger that Admiral."
"Lieutenant, we're approaching the crash site, recommend you prepare for deployment." The marine to Kaidan's right tapped several keys on the monitor, which flickered to display an overview of the wreckage below them. Even a thousand feet up, the sight was enough to make Kaidan's heart sink. The scene of destruction below him was incredible, the once-proud Normandy torn asunder into dozens of pieces of wreckage. The twisted metal hulk had broken up while descending through the atmosphere of Alchera, and was now strewn across several hundred meters of the icy outcroppings that dotted the landscape. Many pieces of the Normandy were unrecognizable, while others could still be discerned through the ice– the shell of the CIC and command deck, the majestic side-plating that still bore the charred letters of Normandy.
"My God," Kaidan whispered to himself, "you'd hardly think the ship had ever existed in one piece."
"Forty seconds to deployment!" The siren-call of the pilot had Kaidan sharp at his senses, his assault rifle in his hands as he and the five marines prepared to go groundside.
"Remember our orders everyone," he called above the rattling noise of the shuttle descending to earth, "get in, recover bodies and signs of remains, get Shepard, and get out. I want us back on the shuttles heading for the Verdun in under an hour."
"Yes sir!"
The Kodiak shuttle came to rest between two large pieces of the hull, themselves dwarfed by the icy peaks that were nestled around the area. There was an eerie silence about the area – with a frigid atmosphere of methane and ammonia, life was sparse to nonexistent, only compounded by the high altitude.
"Lieutenant Alenko, this is XO Mikawa. What are you seeing down there?"
"It's bad. We knew that from the start. We're starting our recon run to determine the extent of recovery operations needed."
Kaidan led the marines around the wreckage, stopping in front of the burned-out frame of the Mako that had once rested in the Normandy's cargo hold. Amid the snow, he could make out the charred remains of two soldiers, along with the telltale silver glint of Alliance dog-tags that had survived the crash.
"Capello, get two body-bags from the shuttle, then you and Carlsen identify, tag, and prepare the bodies for extrication." The two marines nodded, and then departed for the waiting shuttle.
Kaidan and another of the marines continued to circle around, looking for any sign of their true target. It pained Kaidan to leave so many in the dark as to the fate of their loved ones; the list of survivors was tragically short compared to that of the dead and missing. But their recovery would have to wait – for now, Shepard was the only goal. The families of those they came across en-route were lucky.
"Lieutenant, I've got footprints here, and not Human either." The marine beckoned Kaidan closer, and quickly shone a UV light on the area. Sure enough, strange footprints were visible in the ice. They didn't match the profile of any Council race either – a narrow heel with three ridged toes moving forward, each making barely an imprint in the packed snow. "What are these? They don't look like anything I've ever seen."
"Yeah, well, you didn't spend nearly as much time in the Traverse as I did in the last three months." Kaidan crouched beside the illuminated footprint, studying it carefully. There was something odd about the way they were shaped – they didn't seem natural. The grooves in the snow weren't deep or large enough for it to be a mech, yet the depth of the footprints appeared almost...too light, as if the maker had been constructed or designed for stealth beyond what cybernetic enhancement could provide.
"We're not the first ones here," Kaidan said simply. "That footprint is Geth."
"Geth? But I thought we'd driven them out of the Traverse and back into the Perseus Veil."
"Well obviously not all of them. Follow me." The marine handed him the UV light, and Kaidan followed the pattern of Geth footprints for twenty metres, leading him up a small incline towards the battered remnants of one of the Normandy's engine pods. The tracks withered off after that, though Kaidan was now uneasy and on-edge. What had the Geth been doing here?
"Lieutenant!" Capello's voice was filled with urgency, which sent another shiver of dread through Kaidan. "We've got something! N7 Armour I believe!"
A jolt of adrenaline flooded through his system, and within moments he was in full sprint towards Capello and Carlsen, both of whom had ascended a similar ridge on the other side of the narrow depression in the icy surface. He quickly leapt the short incline to the ridge and was beside the marines in a matter of moments. As he approached the two marines, he could see the burned out fragments of N7 armour laying in the snow; from this distance, it was difficult to tell whether any of the body still remained encased in the armour.
"Hold on Lieutenant," Carlsen waved his rifle in front of Kaidan, "we've got something else here too. My visor is picking up all sorts of thermal indicators – lots, like, a freakish amount of residual infrared. Someone has been here before us – several someones, I'd say. Switch to your thermal scans."
He did, and what he saw startled him. The entire area next to the armour was coated in thermal signatures, all of them matching up with a mix of Turian, Batarian, and Human identifiers. They saturated the icy surface – barely a scratch of untouched ground remained, and they were relatively recent.
"Carlsen, your thermal visors are better than mine; how old are these thermals?"
"Difficult to say, given their concentration and depth. My guess is anywhere from sixteen to thirty-six hours, probably leaning towards the former."
"Alright, so we're definitely not the first ones here. Now let me see the body." Kaidan crouched down to examine the armour.
Nothing.
No body, no remains, no visible external indicator that this armour had ever been inhabited by Commander Shepard. The N7 logo was barely visible through the charred remnants of the armour. Holes – both natural and not – peppered the remnant of the chest-plate, and the impact marks of debris and burns from re-entry had scorched the once-proud armour into a shell of its former self.
"Admiral, I'm switching to visual optics now; are you seeing this?" He flicked the switch that gave Hackett a view of the scans running out of his helmet, "armour is all that remains, and even that's incomplete. Large chunks of the shoulder are missing, and from the waist-down is also largely gone."
"Dammit. Carlsen said something about thermal signatures?"
"Yes Admiral. We've detected a large number of thermal heat signatures that match previous readings from Batarians, Turians, and Humans around Shepard's armour. Estimates are that the signatures are approximately sixteen hours old. They're very dense, which makes it difficult to track and get accurate readings."
"Lieutenant, the priority is still the recovery of Shepard's body. Get it prepped for evac; we're hearing word from the Somme that there's increased chatter in the Terminus network feeds about the Alliance. Could be dangerous – get the job done. Hackett out."
Capello pointed a finger at the spaces of empty armour. "Lieutenant, take a look at this."
Kaidan's heart sank.
"Admiral, we have a serious problem."
Shalta Ward, Citadel
Every nerve ending in her body stood on edge as their minds continued to intertwine, Shepard pushing and probing further into the depths of her being. She was only peripherally conscious of him shifting his weight until she was on her back as their lovemaking continued. He buried his lips in the crook of her neck as she arced her back off of the narrow bed in his cabin, and she sighed in delight as his fingers moved to probe the small of her back.
"What do you see?" he asked her in the reaches of their thoughts, the question echoing through her mind as they paused for a moment.
"You know perfectly well what I see."
"But still," his voice called back almost playfully, "I want to hear you say it."
"I see," she paused as a burst of pleasure swirled through their shared minds, "I see you, all of you. I see the soul of the man I love, in all its flaws and glory." She looked at him, only vaguely aware of reality as her vision became drowned again in oceans of light, "what do you see?"
"You know perfectly well what I see."
"I get to do that, you don't," she said laughingly, "say it."
"I see…salvation – for me, for us, for the galaxy."
It sounded so ridiculous, so corny, but she said it anyways, "I love you for saying that."
Liara sat bolt upright in her bed, the thin sheets soaked with sweat and her breathing heavy. The lapses into old memories had begun the night after she'd been taken off sleep drugs by Alliance medics, and since then they had only grown more vivid and potent. Trapped by her grief, her mind had begun to withdraw inward, using her natural attuning abilities to relive her brief time with Shepard.
Unable to sleep, Liara shifted until her feet touched the steel floor of the hotel room she had rented in the Zakera Ward. The room was modest by Citadel standards: a single large chamber contained the bed, couch, and small table with a holo-computer on it, while a small alcove to the side contained a shower cubicle and bathroom. Cracked mirrors and scratched steel sheets lined the walls, with a large pane of windows that looked out onto the Shalta Ward dominating the wall farthest from the door. Liara rose and activated the transparency effect in the windows, allowing what little light was being produced to flood in. The Citadel's artificial night was still deep, and the only light came from the streets below or the soft glow of the Widow Nebula in the far distance. The run-down state of the room reflected her own harried state of mind – tormented, battered by memory and grief. What possessions Liara kept had been lost with the Normandy, and her few remaining affects now lay scattered in the corner across from the windowpane.
Liara stepped into the shower in a desperate attempt to shake off sleep, ironically coming less and less easily to her. The days had only become more difficult since the reading of Shepard's will. Garrus was deep in Spectre Training, while Kaidan was on a classified Alliance mission, rendering her devoid of friends or colleagues from her time on the Normandy. Adams and Chakwas were proving difficult to contact, while Joker was still in the hospital recovering from the dozen broken bones he had picked up in the evacuation of the frigate. Her whole life had been a never-ending project – from one dig to the next, one assignment or project to another. When she had met Shepard that had only escalated, from dig-sites to the fate of the galaxy. The weeks after Sovereign's destruction had marked the first time in decades that Liara hadn't had a project completely consuming her; even then, her newfound love with Shepard kept her occupied. Left without a task or direction after decades of both, Liara's mind and emotions had ventured deeper within themselves, examining her past in grief-stricken detail. The past few days had seen painful reminders of her mistakes – her lonely childhood, her difficult relationship with her mother. Even moments of tenderness and love with Shepard – memories that would have served to comfort – only tightened grief's grip on her soul; to her, they were a reminder only of what she had lost.
Liara let the scaldingly hot water wash over her, closing her eyes and arching her neck backwards to allow it to stream down her face and body. She let herself breathe deeply as her heavy-as-lead eyes burned with the sensation of the streaming rivulets of water. The grime that had clung to her during the night poured off, and she felt rejuvenated and reborn as she inhaled the clouds of steam that were rapidly forming in the cubicle.
She was faintly aware of the beeping of her holo-terminal as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in her robe. In the first weeks after the destruction of Sovereign, there had been a near-endless string of messages, thank-you's, and adulations streaming to the crew of the Normandy, such that Shepard had requested extra VIs simply to file and respond to them. They had dropped off dramatically since the Normandy's destruction, all official communication rewired to the Alliance offices in the Zakera Wards. Curious, Liara stepped across the room to look at the terminal, shuttering the windows as she did so.
Line: Captain (ret) David Anderson
Liara answered it. "This is Dr. T'soni speaking."
"T'soni, this is Captain Anderson of the Alliance. Something unexpected has come up in regards to Shepard and the salvage operations of the Normandy."
Her heart leapt at the sound of Shepard's name. "What do you mean?"
"Your channel is unsecured, and I'm afraid – given the nature of what we're dealing with – I can't say more over it. Can you meet at the Alliance headquarters in Zakera in an hour?"
"I'll do my best."
"Thank you doctor, Anderson out."
Zakera Ward – 1 hour later
"That's it – Alliance headquarters," Liara motioned to the Salarian cab driver. He merely nodded before tilting the skycar towards the half-full lot next to the HQ. Unlike the towering structure used by the Hierarchy, the Alliance headquarters were located near the middle of the Wards. The Alliance temporarily occupied three old buildings on the corner of two streets, though this was only intended to be temporary. A new HQ had been planned in the Tayseri Ward, but the destruction wrought by Sovereign was considerable. Conservative estimates suggested that the arm of the station would need four years for full reconstruction. In the meantime, the Alliance occupied these older buildings, while Arcturus fought with the Council over designs and locations for a better, more befitting location for the Alliance's offices.
Liara paid her driver through her omnitool and exited the car. The door to the headquarters stood directly in front of her, and she moved right for it without glancing at the heavy traffic overhead.
"Good morning, doctor," the receptionist inside said as she walked through the doors. "Take the door to your left, then follow the corridor right. Take the elevator to the ninth floor, and then go directly forward. Commander Anderson is expecting you."
Liara moved past quickly, moving through the hallway quickly. The headquarters around her was a hub of activity, with officers and soldiers cutting across her path on more than one occasion. A few recognized her by reputation, with the odd soldier even saluting her as she passed. Even with their catastrophic losses during the Battle of the Citadel, the Alliance was clearly hard at work to repair the damage. Extranet rumours abounded that they were due to assume a heavier responsibility for Citadel defense – Human applications to C-SEC had tripled in the past month, and the Alliance Fleets were taking a portion of the Salarian and Asari peacekeeping role alongside the Turian Hierarchy. Liara reached the elevator, moving out of the way for three office clerks to shuffle past her, before keying in the ninth floor. As she ascended, she felt her heart accelerate again; what could Anderson know about Shepard that would concern her?
Two marines stood outside the entrance to Anderson's office. "Doctor, they're expecting you inside." Liara nodded to them both and proceeded through.
Anderson's office was spacious, overlooking a large plaza in the midst of the Zakera Ward – a veritable hub of activity on the Citadel. Skycars fluttered about his window, while the office itself was dominated by a single desk and holo-terminal. The left wall was occupied by a large shelf of books – most of them devoted to military tactics and political history, while the right held Anderson's considerable set of decorations and medals from his service in the Alliance. A large containment pod also sat on the left side of the office. Anderson himself stood to the side of his desk, his gaze firmly concentrated on the datapad in his hand. To his left stood Kaidan Alenko, outfitted in his full set of armour and still carrying his weapons.
"Doctor T'Soni, welcome," Anderson said plainly, "sit down." Liara obliged as Anderson set the datapad to rest on his desk. "Can I get you anything – water, something stronger?"
"Just water please," Liara replied, glancing around the room. She managed to get her first good look at Kaidan since he had departed for his classified mission with the Alliance. His face was ghost-white, a sickening complexion that gave Liara pause for concern. He refused to make eye contact, preferring instead to fix his gaze on Anderson's desk, where his hands gripped tightly against the carbon-alloy frame. She nodded to Anderson as he handed her a narrow glass of water, which she drank eagerly. "What do you need from me?"
"Alenko, why don't you debrief her?" Anderson gestured to Kaidan, "you were there, you know the reports better than I do."
Kaidan breathed in heavily, pausing for a moment to collect his composure. "Liara, when I left the memorial four days ago, I was deployed on an Alliance mission – heavily classified." He looked directly at her, his stoic gaze boring into her, "we were tasked with locating the Normandy's crash site, and recovering Shepard's body for the Alliance."
Liara's heart leapt, but her surprise was tempered by the look of concern and dismay on Kaidan's face. "And?"
"We managed to locate the crash; the Normandy was totally destroyed – barely recognizable from a hundred feet up. We located a handful of bodies, a dozen dog tags, one crashed escape pod with no survivors on board, and the Normandy's black-box logs." Kaidan took a breath, closing his eyes for a moment, "but we did not find Shepard's body."
It took a moment for the words to register. "What?!"
"There was virtually no trace of his body. Everything we found is contained in this," he gestured to the containment pod on the left side of the room.
Liara hesitantly walked towards the containment pod, itself shorter in length than the height of an average Human marine. She placed her hand on the fingerprint scanner, afraid to even look down as the scan confirmed her identity and security level before opening. The box opened to reveal several scorched pieces of armour – the shattered torso, half a shoulder-piece, and a blackened chestplate that clearly bore the burned remnants of the N7 Special Forces Logo.
Liara locked her knees as they began to shake, and managed to maintain her composure save for a few rasping breaths. "Oh Goddess, is that it?"
"I'm afraid it is, Doctor T'soni," Anderson said simply. "For what it's worth, we'd like for you to be the one to keep them and do with them as you see fit."
"I-, thank you commander," Liara responded, slightly unsettled at the whole chain of events. Something seemed off. She wasn't certain what, but something. "Commander,"
"Doctor?"
"My apologies; what do you want with me? If this were simply the delivery of remains, I wouldn't be here and it certainly wouldn't have been necessary over a secure channel."
Kaidan glanced at Anderson, who nodded and began to dim the glass to shield the office from the outside world. Liara heard the sound of the door's locking mechanism clicking shut, and knew that it would take considerable force to unseal it.
"We weren't the first ones there."
"What do you mean?"
"When we got to the crash site, the area around the armour was practically painted in thermal signatures." The implications were astounding: "someone beat us there."
A single question formed in Liara's mind, the thought of which intrigued, confounded, and terrified her.
"Who?"
Typhon Station, LOCATION REDACTED
Jondum Bau stepped off the Kodiak shuttle onto the station, acknowledging the two heavily-armed guards on either side of the loading door. He was impressed at the level of ingenuity in the facility – built in a high orbit around a desolate planet in the Attican Traverse, his omnitool scanner reported the presence of a dozen heavy cloaking field generators, rendering the facility all but invisible to any external attempt to locate it. Impressive, he thought to himself, they aren't kidding when they say they operate in the shadows.
The corridor led him to a wide antechamber with a massive set of bay windows that looked out into space. The starscape was spectacular, but no other planet or sun could be seen from his vantage point. On the far wall, row upon row of weapons sat in tidy racks, many of them configurations or models that Jondum was unfamiliar with. He counted at least eight guards in the room, all of them armed with an assault rifle and shotgun.
"Arms out," one guard approached him at the security checkpoint and indicated for him to allow himself to be scanned. Jondum obliged, forming a cross with his forearms as the scanners did their work.
"One heavily customized Carnifex Assault Pistol, one fourth-line Kassa Fabrications M-12 Locust submachine gun, a dozen Aegohr Munitions proximity mines, and enough tech programs loaded into the omnitool to wipe out a small computer server." The guard surveyed him up and down, "hardly your average Salarian."
"If I was the average Salarian, I wouldn't be here," Jondum muttered under his breath. The guard heard him, and reached menacingly for his shotgun with his free hand as the other pointed accusingly at Jondum.
"Say that again."
"I don't think I need to; it's hardly normal for Cerberus to invite one of my kind to their remote operations station, but then I do believe your employer has need of my skills."
"That's enough!" Miranda Lawson appeared through the far door, her frame clad in the same white checkered jumpsuit that Jondum had seen her in on Illium. "Officer, stand down. Mr. Bau is our guest here, and he is to be treated as such." She grabbed the datapad from another of the guards, reading it over quickly, "and this report is inaccurate anyways. My scanners picked up an additional three proximity charges, another four mods on the Locust that you failed to see, and that isn't even a Carnifex." She shoved the datapad back into the bewildered guard, "now get back to your posts, and retune the scanners. Mr. Bau," she turned to Jondum, "you can follow me please."
"I certainly hope not all of your operatives are this jumpy around aliens. It's rather hard to work in the Terminus Systems otherwise."
"They believe very firmly in what Cerberus stands for," Lawson countered, leading Jondum away from the staging area and into one of the side corridors. "We select based on belief and skill, not some Citadel notion of etiquette or protocol. Our operatives are the best in the galaxy, even if their manners aren't up to your standards."
"Then why do you need me?"
"There are certain…tasks, shall we say, in Citadel Space that are difficult for our agents to perform. Your position is invaluable to us."
"There's more than that," Jondum observed, "you wouldn't come to me if you didn't have to – I'm a Spectre, I'm technically supposed to kill you right now. That means you're desperate." He filed through a dozen potential scenarios and theories in his head as Miranda continued to lead him through the corridor. "Ah," he said simply when realization came to him, "something went wrong – you had a perfectly feasible plan that didn't involve me, but it's been complicated, and you're not sure how."
"You can keep guessing, or we can get down to business," Miranda turned towards a sealed door, unlocked it with her omnitool, and directed Jondum through it. "Step onto the platform in the middle – he'll speak with you shortly."
The room was simple, box-shaped, about ten metres across either direction. There were no windows, no other doors, and barely any lights – the only trace of luminescence was the faint ring of light that glowed around the central platform. Jondum stepped into it, quickly taking stock of what little of note was in the room. The platform lit up as he stepped into its centre, the ring of light humming to life and forming a grid of light around his frame. He began to see the shimmering outline of another room in front of him. The floor was shining black glass that reflected his image perfectly, while the walls swept around as far as he could see through the hologram. He could make out a large panel of windows in the background that gave way to a magnificent red supergiant that glowed with traces of blue and orange, its life cycle nearing the phase of its death throes. Yet it was the panel and man in front of him that caught his interest. A large panel of holoscreens obscured much of the star, each of the dozen separate windows teeming with information that was indiscernible through the hologram.
Directly in front of him was a solitary man, a human standing formally at the side of an ornate leather chair. He was mature – probably in his fifties or sixties, but in excellent physical condition, his complexion giving the impression of someone who was forged of iron or silver rather than grey. He wore a fashionable business suit – very expensive – and was clean-shaven, his silver hair perfectly contrasting his chiseled jaw and gaunt cheekbones. Yet what drew Jondum's attention were the eyes: they glowed with a soft blue light, indicating heavy cybernetic augmentation beyond that of the normal soldier. He stood at ease, comfortable in his surroundings, smoking a cigarette as a glass of bronze-coloured alcohol sat on the arm of his chair. Though he did not look it, this man was fast becoming one of the most powerful individuals in the galaxy. He commanded the wealth of a dozen shell companies, only a handful of which were specifically known to Alliance or Council intelligence, dozens of operations cells, and the might of resources that rivalled those of many Terminus political units. Many called him a terrorist, some called him a visionary. To Jondum, he was known only as the reclusive leader of Cerberus: The Illusive Man.
"Mr. Bau, I'm glad that you could join us."
"Skip the pleasantries, Mr. Harper," Jondum addressed him as few did, by the name with which he had been known before he became the Illusive Man – that mysterious identity that had written the manifesto of Cerberus a generation before. "And answer what Ms. Lawson wouldn't: what do need from me?"
"I want exactly what you were seeking on Illium: information. What do you know?"
"Exactly the same things as you do: The SSV Normandy was destroyed over Alchera in the Omega Nebula – John Shepard was not among those to escape. I also know that the recovery team the Alliance sent failed to recover his body, and the evidence suggests someone else got there first."
"All things I already knew. What do you know that I don't?"
"The Collectors are involved," Jondum said simply. "Some of that is definite, the rest is confident guesswork. I'd be willing to stake my Spectre Status on it."
"I had my suspicions. Their traffic in the Terminus Systems has shown an odd trend as of late. They usually look for odd genetic specimens, but they've been oddly focused on Human biotics. Any other evidence?"
"I have access to the official Alliance reports. If their thermal imaging is accurate, then the extraction of Shepard's body was made by Turians, Batarians, and Humans – probably the Blue Suns. Ms. Lawson likely informed you of their involvement with Quintus Dias on Illium, which only adds to the evidence." Jondum eyed the Illusive Man knowingly, "given the reputation of your contact network, I presume you've seen those same reports?"
He nodded, "what worries me is their motives – the Collectors are unknowable. Only a handful of individuals have ever interacted with them. They've begun working more frequently through the Shadow Broker in recent months, using his networks to guarantee anonymity and keep a low profile in the Terminus Systems."
"The Broker is involved – Dias stole the Normandy's location transponder signal from the Council's archives on their request. It was likely turned over to the Collectors, which enabled them to bypass the Normandy's stealth systems and locate them directly. It would have been absolutely essential if they wanted to catch the ship off-guard and get the drop on it."
"How do you know it was taken for the Broker?"
"Intercepted communications between an unknown information broker on the Citadel and Dias when I extracted the information from his omnitool. The presence of the Collectors and their previous work with the Broker confirms it."
"Very good, Mr. Bau," The Illusive Man noted simply, extinguishing his cigarette on the ashtray that rested on the arm of his ornate leather chair, "you've delivered me confirmation of several things I already suspected. If the Collectors are involved, that makes for a frightening proposition. What could they possibly want with Shepard's body?"
"Nothing good."
"Then we need to recover his body."
"I can't say as I trust your motives either," Jondum snapped back, "if half of what STG has on you is true, you're almost as dangerous as they are."
"So they say," the Illusive Man responded, "but if that's the case, then answer this for me," he fixed his gaze on Jondum, and the Salarian felt himself shiver at the ice-blue eyes boring into him, "why are you here? You didn't have to answer my call – few do. Why did you come?"
"My own superiors are proving…difficult to convince as to the severity of this."
"So I've heard," the Illusive Man quipped with a knowing smirk.
"Ms. Lawson was willing to accept the role of the Collectors. You need my information, and I need your resources; this is an alliance of convenience – nothing more. The moment you either threaten the Citadel or cease to be necessary, I wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in your head –or Ms. Lawson's."
The Illusive Man nodded, "she's not sentimental about colleagues – she'd do the same back to you."
"I should hope so. Sentiment is a defect associated with the losing side."
"Just so we understand each other," the Illusive Man noted. Jondum nodded back, "excellent. Now, the body needs to be recovered. I have agents hard at work looking for leads on where the Blue Suns have taken the body."
"I suspect Omega is the likely destination."
"As do I, though there's still the matter of how we proceed once we know that. Lawson will monitor the situation, but she's too well-known in the Terminus Systems to able to interact with the Blue Suns directly. My agents can provide overwatch on Omega, but beyond that their reach is limited."
"Then send me."
"You'll forgive me if I don't entirely trust your motives either. Also, you suffer from the same problem as Miss Lawson, certainly after your theatrics on Invictus."
"You've heard?" Jondum was pleasantly shocked – it had been the hardest operation of his Spectre career thus far: three mercenary gangs based on the planet had joined forces and been plotting an attack on Union-controlled space. He had infiltrated their hierarchy, working their way up their ranks for two months, before kick-starting a fratricidal war between them that had broken their capacity to attack Citadel Space.
"It was an impressive operation."
"Strong praise, coming from where you sit on the galactic board."
"I may be dedicated to the advancement of Humanity, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate excellent work when I see it."
"As much as I enjoy the banter, cut to the chase. Your own agents won't work, I'm not an option, so what do you have in mind?"
"A great deal. On the Citadel, the remnants of Shepard's surviving crew from the Normandy are gradually being parcelled off and fragmented; it's only a matter of time before they're all serving on new vessels or new missions. However, two of them may prove adept at putting together the pieces on Omega. Seek out Garrus Vakarian – formerly of the Turian Blackwatch and C-SEC, currently undergoing Spectre training on the Citadel – and Doctor Liara T'soni."
"The daughter of-,"
"Yes. Our Intel isn't perfect, but reports suggest that she and Shepard were…close," The Illusive Man let Jondum fill in the blanks for himself. "She'll jump at the opportunity for closure, and Vakarian will if she can be convinced." He opened a holo-terminal in in front of his chair, quickly keying in a handful of data packets. "I'll forward you the relevant dossiers, and will update you when we have found a contact on Omega who is willing to work with us."
"And what of your other cells?"
"Those that matter will be informed. Those that don't will not. I will put you in contact with the relevant ones when the time comes."
"You like to compartmentalize, keep your hands clean when you can," Jondum mused. "As much as you don't want to hear it, you would have made an excellent Salarian."
"I'd be flattered if I believed that was a complement. Do what you need to do. I will contact you when the information you need is in our hands."
"I will leave the planning to you. I'll do my best not to destroy you in the name of the Citadel before then."
"Don't disappoint me, Mr. Bau," The Illusive Man said finally as he cut the connection on the holopad.
The room returned to its previous state, the lining of the metallic walls coming back into view as the hologram died. Jondum glanced around the room as he heard the system power down, and he took a moment to readjust to the absence of starlight in front of him.
"The Illusive Man is impressed with your work in the past," Miranda Lawson noted as she walked through the doorway behind him. "I hope you can live up to your reputation."
"Arbiters don't have reputations."
"But you do. You stand alongside the greatest operatives the Council has ever produced. I hope you know what you're getting into."
"I always do. Now if you'll excuse me," he moved quickly past her, "I must depart. If you want operatives on Omega inside of two galactic standard weeks, I have things that I must see to. I presume that I will leave the same way I came?"
Miranda nodded, "just tell the pilot where you want to go."
"And what's the guarantee that your pilot won't space me the moment we're clear of the station?"
She threw a knowing smirk in Jondum's direction, "the same reason you didn't – what was your phrase? – 'put a bullet in my head' the moment you arrived at this station. We need your skillset as much as you need ours."
"I'm sure the types who support Cerberus will be delighted at working with a Salarian Council Spectre."
"Those who are here are loyal to the cause. If that means losing the battle to win the war, so be it."
Playing both sides of the table. Smart. Miranda followed Jondum at a brisk pace as he made for the hangar. "And when will I hear from you?" he asked as he stepped into the shuttle.
Miranda waited until the doors of the shuttle had nearly closed, "when we are ready."
Flair for the dramatic, he thought to himself, how refreshing. At least someone else in this galaxy appreciates theatricality. "Officer," he quickly called over the communications system, "what's your status?"
"My orders are to take you where you need to go."
"And where is that?"
"My employer said you'd know the answer."
There was only one place he could go. The one place that would have what he needed, where things could finally be set in motion.
"The Citadel."
