.

Am I forced to have any regret
I've become the lie, Beautiful and free
In my righteous own mind
I adore and preach the insanity you gave to me

Sell me to infection, it is only for the weak
On bleeding knees, I accept my fate

In Flames - Only For The Weak

Chapter 7 ~ The way of Fate

"They did WHAT?" I almost dropped my cup of coffee out of scandalized incredulity.

It was five oh three a.m. standard Earth time and aside from the soft clatter of Sergeant Gardner preparing the breakfast for the first shift, the Mess was still empty. So here I sat at the table, my back to the wall separating the room, holding a conversation with the Normandy's AI. Every once in a while I stole a glance at the galley. There just had to be a reason why perfectly good food turned inedible as soon as it went through the Sergeant's hands…

"My apologies, Commander," EDI said, "but you've been officially declared KIA. Since you have no relatives and there was no reported last will, all your possessions had been assigned to the Alliance."

I exhaled with a huff. It wasn't as if I didn't feel a certain gratitude towards the Alliance and especially Anderson; after all they'd kept me from a fate of – how would Jack put it? – ah yes, reigning the streets like a ruthless, evil pirate queen. And yet…

"Wanna know how I call it? Looting. That's a war crime according to the Geneva Conventions by the way." I exclaimed and took another sip of my outrageously good coffee, light on the froth and heavy on the cinnamon. Whatever the Mess Sergeant was doing to the food, he operated the caffettiera like a master barista. Right. Just another of TIM's hundred little attempts to manipulate me into obedience.

"Technically, you have been dead, Shepard. Worldly goods were beyond your solicitudes at that time – that is aside from the two coins for the Ferryman," the AI replied suspiciously smooth.

"What the… EDI, are you joking about me being dead? What kind of nonsense is that ungodly helmsman teaching you up there?"

"I assure you, Flight Lieutenant Moreau's presence does not interfere with my routines."

"Aha. So, you made up the sass all by yourself?"

"Actually, I'm programmed to adapt to the commanding officer."

I held up my hands in surrender. Not even ten days among the living once more and already I had my hands full with saucy AIs, self-pleased suits, ancient machines with intentions about as wholesome as a Tijuana donkey show and being broke beyond any retrieval. Oh yeah, once again the universe excelled in its most favorite activity: throwing crap at me.

No, I really really didn't want to know what was waiting in Nos Astra next. My head dropped and started hitting the table with small precise motions.

"You know, Shepard, I really find it impressing how you manage to create this unique air of rock-solid confidence and excessive optimism."

I looked up to see a smirking Garrus walking down the aisle and felt my cheeks warming. Oh boy. I couldn't have made any bigger spectacle of myself last night, could I? My head met the hard surface with a final bang and stayed there.

Nice going, Shepard. Straight into the lake of drama without taking your clothes off first.

Worse, it had felt actually good to trust someone again, if only for a brief moment. Strangely freeing. Awesome. Here I sat in the middle of my self-imposed emotional wasteland only to realize that despite all my guards something had sneaked in and kicked awake this small treacherous part of me that still longed for proximity... I quenched the notion. That way laid dragons. Lots of them.

"The Alliance confiscated all my belongings; my bank accounts, my pretty little condo, my retirement fund, my… everything." I said to the tabletop. "I'm penniless! A penniless hobo! That's what I got resurrected into!" I turned my head slightly to squint at my friend.

The turian stood at the Mess' counter, receiving a mug of hot water in which he stirred in a spoonful of dried leafs. Within seconds a familiar scent, remotely resembling roasted cocoa shells mixed with ginger, filled the air.

"Admitted, I'm no expert on your culture, but isn't this standard procedure after being, you know… dead?" He leaned with his tea against the counter. Just as well. I would have also kept my distance. This was just too embarrassing.

"Yeah, yeah." I propped myself on my elbow and grimaced. "The thing is, they obviously didn't bother with recovering my shriveled corpse. Heck, I don't even know if the Alliance ever properly investigated the crash site or salvaged any remains. They didn't know if I was dead. No, they assumed."

It sparked my irrational ire anew and I smacked the table with my right palm. Behind the counter Gardner gave a jump and I took a deep, calming breath.

"Why shouldn't they?" Garrus raised his tea to his mouth then stopped giving me his version of a curious look, left plate above his eye arched slightly. "Wait. You are aware that after hitting a planet like a falling star, we – the normal people – die, and more important, stay that way?"

I waved his comment away. "Semantics. Besides, I'm as normal as everybody else on this ship." Har-har. I waited for the universe to underline my statement with something dramatic, like a meteor hitting me in the head, but mysteriously nothing happened.

"Uhh, right. So… You have a retirement fund?" He started smirking and tried to hide it behind his mug, but I saw it anyway.

I shook my head. Exactly when had I stopped feeling insulted upon people's obvious disbelief in my ability to make rational and precautionary decisions?

"I had. And before you ask, yes, it was Anderson's idea. But yeah," I said with a shrug and sipped some more of my coffee. "The way things are progressing, my pension plan should probably be a shotgun in the mouth."

"Now that you're back, the Alliance could refund it." The turian said, then fished a bottle from behind the counter to spoil his tea with so much syrup only severely damaged taste buds could justify.

I snorted. "Very funny. Have you ever heard of any governmental organization returning money, they've managed to sink in their teeth? I don't have the time to fill out a hundred-thousand forms and petitions to convince the authorities, I'm not dead." I gave my voice a high pitched note. "Oh no, Commander Shepard, your appearance in person on our premises is of course not a valid proof of you being alive." I sighed dramatically and tapped the table for further emphasis with my index finger. "I tell you, Citadel's red-tape has nothing on Earth's…"

Bureaucracy. I swear it could only be the invention of some truly sadistic asshole.

Behind his pots, Gardner snickered. "And that, Commander, is exactly why I joined Cerberus."

"The more I see, the less I can blame you, Sergeant." I said wryly.

"How about that," Garrus picked up. "We take the opportunity while we're docked at Nos Astra and visit some local casinos. You know; have a drink, get some of those tiny over-prized appetizers – don't worry, I'll buy – and check if your luck at quasar still holds."

Mhhm. It was tempting, but only for a second. "And get there banned, too? No thanks, I don't need another hysterical Doran chasing me with a shotgun."

"What a terrific sight, indeed," Garrus chuckled. "Little angry volus corners guileless human Spectre, accusing her of cheating. And in the meantime, this salarian gambler, Schell, relieved him of thousands and thousands of his beloved credits…"

He had me with that. I cracked up, bad mood gone. "Yeah, well, my street rep was never the same after that…"

.~'*'~.

Half an hour later, I juggled with my second helping of coffee, a cup of black tea – steeped exactly three and a half minutes, no ordinary sugar, thanks, but two pieces of rock candy plus a wa-aafer-thin slice of lemon – and a bowl heaped with things, Gardner thought perfect "for that healthy appetite" of mine, into Miranda's cabin.

And here I had believed that boarding a Cerberus ship released me from the claws of paperwork… So, the Illusive Man had granted us the funds I demanded. In a way. Far would it have been from Cerberus honcho Numero Uno to pass up the opportunity to make me hop through a few burning hoops. It probably amused him to no end that all kinds of requisitions needed clearance dealt out by some dude sitting in an office cubicle that floated around somewhere within intellectual dark space.

I presented the cup to Miranda with a small flourish. Quite a feat while balancing a bowl on my coffee mug in the other hand. Instead of applause, she eyed me suspiciously. I sighed. Everyone was a critic those days.

"What's this?" she asked and took the tea, wrinkling her delicate, too perfectly shaped nose at it, before arranging the cup until the saucer fitted the leathery coaster with an exact rim.

"The good Mess Sergeant sends your tea," I replied and pushed the office chair facing her to the left with my foot and sprawled down in it. The chair elicited a dangerous groan. Miranda's cheeks colored faintly. Huh?

I raised an eyebrow at her, but before I got the chance to investigate, she said hastily, "Before we start, there's something important you need to know about Project Lazarus."

"More dramatic revelations? Lemme guess: I'm still dead and this is hell. No, wait. All this resurrection business was a ruse and in truth I'm just the first of an army of evil clones."

She rolled her eyes at me and picked up her tea cup. "Don't be absurd. Our goal had been to bring back Commander Shepard, not some cheap genetic replica that lacks all the memories and experiences that shaped your rather… unique personality. And all of that aside, I highly doubt that an army of two year old toddlers would have been of any help to us."

Had she just made a joke? Certainly the Apocalypse couldn't be far behind.

"So?" I asked and I started to wolf down a spoonful of porridge.

"So when I reached Omega during my search, I learned that others were interested in you as well. It was them, not Cerberus, who disrupted the deal between the Shadow Broker and the Collectors by infiltrating the Broker's agents. In fact, we only retrieved you because this fourth fraction allowed us to. It took me some time to convince them of our honesty, but finally they understood that Lazarus had a fair chance of success. That Lazarus was the only chance you had left. In the end Dr. T'Soni agreed. She handed us your body…"

I coughed. Oh yeah, nefarious oatmeal porridge was sooo much tastier if tried to back up into your mouth once more.

"I'm sorry, Shepard. I should have been straight with you from the beginning but I was worried it would upset you too much."

"Uh-huh, just do me one favor: stop worrying."

She sighed and set down the cup. "I know, we hadn't the best start; and to be honest, I can't agree with most of your unorthodox methods but your well-being is still important to me. Now, shall we get over with the reports? I understand you have additional requisitions?"

I shook my head at her sudden switch of topic but let it pass. It wasn't as if actually needed to pursue the issue any further. "First, we need more standard operating supplies; provisions, ammo, some new handguns… I've sent you a list."

She nodded and typed into her console, with small precise motions. Everything about her was so much crispy preciseness, it made my skin crawl. If I was chthonic chaos, she was celestial order. If wasn't our fault, they just antagonized each other by nature.

"Why do we need to see the dry docks?" she then asked.

I shrugged, intent on washing away the funny aftertaste that clung to my breakfast porridge with lots of coffee. "Illium and Omega might not care, but sooner or later we might have to enter Council Space and visit the Citadel. I would rather not try to dock there with a huge Cerberus logo on the hull."

"We're not exactly outlawed, Shepard."

Aaa-and whatever that meant. "Maybe, but don't you think it might get us, say, unwanted attention if the Alliance spots a Cerberus ship that looks suspiciously similar to their prestige object and even has the same name?"

She was silent for a moment. "It probably won't harm to be more… circumspect about the ship's origins. What else?"

Here we go. "We should use the opportunity while on Illium to get our hands on a Thanix cannon. I already discussed the details with Garrus. Thanks to EDI's advanced warfare suite we can mount it in no time at all."

Dramatic silence.

"They're still in developmental stage. Installing it on this vessel will violate two dozen security protocols, as you are probably aware," she said and leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers together.

"I know, I know. Still, it would give us a helluva edge against the Collector's heavy weapons. And we're in desperate need of edges, as you are probably aware," I said and pointed with my spoon at her.

"Very well, Shepard. That's it?"

"No. We might operate for a long time outside civilized space with chances that we escape unscathed dropping by the minute. The crew needs diversion."

She arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me. "What are you thinking of?"

"More training equipment. Sparing facilities. Video entertainment. Pool billiard. Uno. Actually, I don't care what, as long as it keeps everyone nicely busy and content. The last thing we need is the crew to lose it before the real battle has even started."

"Alright. I recap: we need 'authorization for research funds to evaluate possible primary defense system improvements; additional equipment for surveying and controlling the crew's physical and psychical health status;' as well as 'replenishment and reassessing of general supply budget, since team additions proved to be more nourishment and armament intensive than initially anticipated.' Close your mouth, Commander; you look like a moron."

My jaws met with a click. Had the door accidentally led me into an alternate universe? I leaned back in my protesting chair and observed the door. Nope, nothing suspicious to be seen. It was just a door.

"Huh. So no objections? That's unexpected." I said slowly.

"I don't like repeating myself, but I'm not your enemy."

Sure. Let's just ignore that your loyalties lie somewhere else entirely. "No, you're not. How's the Illusive Man, by the way?"

"Despite what you might think, I am your XO. I care for this mission. I care for you, and I care for the Crew."

"You… care? You sure that's the word you were looking for?"

At that she sat even more regal in her chair and said with that cool voice bordering out-fleshed arrogance, "There's more to me than this perfect outer shell might let you believe, Shepard."

"You're right. I'm sorry, Miranda. It's just… I hadn't realized that the Blue Fairy already turned you into a real girl with real feelings and all."

She stared at me incredulously and I thought the little vein on her forehead was about to pop. "You think you're so funny…"

Yup. "No, but there's nothing wrong with some humanness either. It would actually suit you."

"It's not like that. My father –" Her mouth snapped shut and she locked her jaws. Wonder oh wonder, a look of genuine pain and insecurity flashed across her face, if only for a second. "I don't want to talk about it. Private issues are subordinate – we have work to do. I hope you don't mind, Commander?"

And just like that the Lawson Bot was back online and looking about to inflict permanent damage if I wouldn't agree with it. So I simply said, "Absolutely not. All fine. Please, go ahead."

If I ever found the idiot, who pinned the sign 'Clinical maniacs and psychopaths welcome' to my back, I'd shoot him right in the face.

~V~

I leaned against the balustrade framing the visitor's platform near the docks and waited for Shepard getting the Normandy's docking papers cleared.

Illium's capital stretched out in front of me, a conglomerate of skyscrapers, towers and thin spires; each a unique architectural mastery made of glass, stone and metal; all designed to blend into one aesthetically whole. The city's luring beauty made you almost forget about its corrupted core. Almost.

The sun had already climbed halfway towards its zenith and bathed the deceiving scenery in a soft glow. I turned my head towards the warm rays and closed my eyes. Damn. Thanks to Omega I had almost forgotten how good it felt. The simple pleasure of standing beneath a summer sun, breathing in real air and doing… nothing. For once there was no one to hunt. And no one to hide from.

"Ready to rumble, Officer Vakarian?"

Ah, so the hiding part wasn't entirely true. "I'm turian, Shepard. We're born ready."

"Aha. Well, I'm no expert, but shouldn't you – I don't know – open your eyes at least?"

I cracked one eye and squinted at the human Spectre standing next to me. Despite wearing a plain gray shirt and black pants tugged into her combat boots her posture was stiff. "Not going to be a social call, hmm?"

She shrugged. "Honestly? I don't know. Let's find out."

She pushed away from the rail. I followed with a suppressed sigh, my gaze traveling to the luxurious bureau complex overlooking one of Nos Astra's most important trading hubs.

I had a bad feeling about this.

.~'*'~.

"And that's it?" Shepard's tone swapped from incredulous to ice as she stood square in the middle of the pricey office. Nice how they blended state-of-the-art tech with those classy furnishings that probably never got out of style. "Are you kidding me?"

The office's owner pushed away from her massive wooden desk. If the office was ever under siege, it would make an excellent bullet-catcher. For a moment the asari behind the desk hesitated. Then she stood up, her posture underneath her green high-necked dress rigid, her gaze flat. It was hard to say what chilled the air more, the ridiculously cold air-conditioning or the tension coming off the two aliens.

Ah yes. This was clearly not how reunions were supposed to play out.

Liara's face twisted. "What do you expect me to do? Drop everything and leave? Things have changed, while you've been away. I have responsibilities to take, obligations to meet. And the Shadow Broker…" the asari inhaled audibly, her nostrils flaring. Menace radiated from her, cold and calculated.

The warrior in me triggered.

Wow, hold on. Had anyone told me two years ago that the reserved and somewhat innocent researcher would exchange her Prothean relics for the bad-ass business of half-truths and almost-lies, I would have laughed the notion in the face. But now… The shy scientist was gone. In her stead, there was a version of Liara, which seemed to have aged by centuries. More than ever she resembled her mother. Not Benezia, the indoctrinated tool, but Benezia the imperious Matriarch.

"Dammit, Liara!" Shepard cursed but shifted slightly towards a fighting stance too, her body instinctively reacting on the new air of menace. "What's wrong with you? You know exactly what we're facing!"

The asari wavered and for the fraction of a moment, I could see some bits of the old Liara peeking through before the thick layer of matriarchal domination smothered them over again. "Yes. Yes, I do and I'm really sorry, believe me. But I just can't come with you. Not yet. For two years I'm tracking this bastard and I'm this," she gestured with her thumb and index finger, "close now, Shepard. If I fail… No. I can't fail. Not on this. Try to understand. Please."

The last was almost a whisper. Liara's expression softened. Her eyes darted to me. Pleading.

"Shepard?"

The Specter spun to frown at me.

I held her gaze. Strange how it used to intimidate me. "Let it go. Please."

Another moment passed, then Shepard exhaled. "Alright…" She rubbed her forehead, the tension finally ebbing.

Liara shot me grateful smile.

Until…

"Two years, huh? Don't you say..." Shepard coughed up a bitter laugh. "Why Liara?"

This was not going somewhere pleasant, and from the look on the asari's face, Liara knew it way too well.

I cleared my throat. "Ah, I'll leave you to it."

Before any of them could object I slipped out of the room, ignoring the guilt that nagged on me for escaping the drama. Damn, I had no right to witness any more of it!

Outside the ever blue skies of Illium greeted me and helped to shed off the unease. After spending almost an hour inside it was like walking into wall of heat. I positively enjoyed every bit of warmth seeping into my skin. Typical asari. 550 days of summer and all they did was complaining about the weather and setting the AC to permafrost.

I checked the time. It was still more than two hours until I was expected to report back to the Normandy. Time enough for another unexpected visit. I sent Shepard a quick heads-up and navigated my way through the throng of bustling shoppers willing to spend vast sums of credits on things they didn't need, until I reached the cabs.

The sky cab reached my destination in less than twenty minutes. A dozen blocks away from the galaxy's premier stock exchange of intel, it was the very opposite to the nice and clean glass palaces housing Nos Astra's army of information brokers. Here, about everything had a run-down look, be it shops, buildings or people. And still this district wasn't even remotely as dangerous as the one I came from.

Despite its illustrious name, the 'Grand Shrine of Athame; Mother Goddess, first among the Seven Archon' was in truth just a two-storied apartment nestled in between a really unhealthy-looking tattoo studio and a 24-7 drug store – literally, according to the big neon sign promising the best Red Sand this side of the Attican Traverse.

I approached the heavy brass door. Nothing happened. I chuckled and pushed down the handle. The old-fashioned door swung inside and I stepped over the threshold into another world. Nos Astra wasn't older than perhaps five or six centuries and yet this place felt… ancient. Wall lanterns illumined the hall, their light flickering softly, almost like flames. Blue-turquoise flames. Floor-long, elaborate tapestries decorated the walls, telling in bright colors about Athame's journeys and the three stages of her life; maiden, matron and matriarch. The sweet scent of burning herbs thickened the air. Feeling slightly light-headed I walked on.

As expected it was a lot cooler than outside, but somehow this coolness felt more… natural. Like the caverns my sister and I had explored as kids when we went to the Cipritinean Sea. For a short moment I almost thought to hear the faint sound of waves crushing against the shore line… I shook my head. Then my eyes fell on a piece of mural a little off to the right. It showed a stylized version of Athame riding to war on the back of some strangely winged, lizard-like creature. It was covered in black scales. I've never heard that such an animal existed on Thessia or anywhere in our galaxy, but it wasn't the flying beast that had caught my attention. It was the figures in the back. Two armed warriors, their helmets bearing a slight resemblance to the Collector drones I'd seen on Horizon.

At what exactly am I looking here?

I tore my gaze away and went towards the altar at the far end of the room. A mystery for another day. I was here for a reason, after all. A life-sized statue of an asari stood beyond the altar, her arms spread out in a welcoming gesture. Her robes were chiseled with great detail, setting off her indistinct features all the more. The face of the Goddess. All and none, yet always what her followers picture in their own minds. Several vases with fresh cut flowers stood at her feet.

For a religion declared dead a long time ago, this was a pretty well-tended place.

"I can't help but wonder… what brings a turian to our halls in these strange days?"

I turned to where an asari emerged from a hidden door left of the altar, her features concealed by the cowl of her long white robe. She walked over and pushed the cowl back to reveal a delicate, almost dollish pale blue face. It was framed by an unadorned metallic circlet that fanned out from her forehead and down her cheeks like wings.

She smiled and added, "Ah, but where are my manners? My name is Teela Na and I welcome you in the name of Athame in our shrine." The asari inclined her head and I saw a ragged but faded scar running from her left temple to her jaw. "Please excuse my boldness. The Goddess doesn't receive as many visitors as she had once." Her eyes flickered to my weapons but she said nothing.

I nodded to her, unsure of the correct decorum. Right. What kind of brute marches into a sanctuary armed to the teeth? "Your welcome… uhm… humbles me. I'm Garrus Vakarian."

"And? Do you believe in fate, Garrus Vakarian?"

"I… Well, actually a friend asked me to bring this here..."

I pulled out the small piece of carved bone. She stepped closer to take the krogan totem shaped like a fang and covered with tiny runes from my hand. All color drained from her face. Her lips formed a small soundless 'oh'.

"It's has happened then…" Her fingers performed an odd circling gesture and she touched first her lips then her forehead with the pendant. "May you finally find peace in the last embrace of the Goddess, old friend." Her gaze became distant and her voice dropped to a whisper, "the deadliest weapon is the one wielded by the hand of a friend…"

I gave a start. "How…"

The asari wrestled visibly for another moment with her composure. Then she took a deep breath and gave me a sad smile.

"…can I know? I would be indeed a poor servant to the goddess of prophecy if I couldn't catch a glimpse of events to come once in a while. The good as well as the bad." She sighed. "Though the latter seems to become more and more common lately – The Goddess knows, it is difficult enough to see anything of use at all. There are so many new variables disturbing the flux of fate, influencing each other and thus creating a myriad of new possible outcomes. Let alone the recent discovery of the humans! Now, they must have caused –" Suddenly she stopped, visibly flustered. "Forgive me, please. You are certainly not here to listen to me philosophizing about fate and its intricate patterns. I thank you for coming. Although the news are sad, they do bring certainty in these uncertain times."

"If I may ask… How did you meet Krul? To be honest he never mentioned…" I trailed off, suddenly aware that this might offend the asari.

However she chuckled and rolled her eyes in a very mundane way. "Ever the secretive krogan. I wouldn't be surprised if never wasted one word about us. Very well then. He trusted you enough to send you here, so he surely wouldn't mind if I tell you. About two centuries ago a young krogan arrived on Omega seeking his luck as a mercenary. He had never left Tuchanka before and his head was filled with stories of combats, warlords, honor and glory. However, he had chosen a bad time. The conflict between Aria T'Loak and Grundan Cheron – who was later just known as the Patriarch – escalated. She defeated him and turned him into a trophy, to be presented as the proof of her power. Krul was horrified how a warlord of his own clan could have fallen that far. Bitterly disappointed, he boarded the next vessel that would take him off Omega again. It was a freighter bound for Illium. As fate would have it, among the few passengers was also a novice of Athame, sent to Nos Astra for her further training. On their way the freighter was assailed by pirates. They entered the ship. A fight broke out. The pirates hadn't expected to find passengers, let alone a krogan eager to prove that he was no coward. Just moments before, he had told the novice to hide, but she wouldn't listen. Having no idea of the strength a determined krogan could summon, she feared he would be hurt. Or killed. So she jumped out of her hiding place and toppled a vorcha that was about to stab Krul. Instead the blade cut her. Krul and the crew finally fought the attackers off, and they headed towards Illium once more. Unfortunately, the novice hadn't known that vorcha raiders always poison their blades. The wound infected terribly and her condition grew worse by the hour. And yet… the Goddess was holding her sheltering palm above the young fool. A hospital was reached in time. And the whole flight to Nos Astra, Krul had sat in the confining cabin and held my hand, begging me not to die because he feared my Goddess would take it amiss that he hadn't protected me better…"

Her fingers that had played with the totem during her story stilled and she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again they glistered with wet but were calm.

"Sometimes… Sometimes I wish the path the Goddess sets for us would be a little less rocky and a little more comprehensible. But that is probably the lesson –"

Suddenly the asari priestess turned away from me and a second robed figure emerged from the vestry.

Teela inclined her head towards the newcomer and said, "Of course, Aludra."

Then she faced me again and the second asari joined us. A wide belt that seemed to be woven from spun silver was slung around her waist with numerous tiny ornaments dangling on chains down her side.

Teela said, "The High Priestess thanks you for honoring the wish of Grundan Krul. He was an exceptional krogan and always a loyal friend. She also apologizes that she can't tell you herself, but she wants you to know that whenever you seek help, the doors of the Temple are open."

The high priestess smiled up at me with a warm, motherly smile and I had to pull myself together to refrain from staring. I looked into her cowl and probably at the oldest asari I've ever seen. Her skin was of a grayish blue, parched and almost leathery. Deep wrinkles fanned out from the corners of her deep-set, pale eyes, and had even taken hold on her forehead.

Asari aged differently. Their enduring, regenerative cellular structure in combination with their slow metabolism provided them with an almost ageless quality to their features. How old could she possibly be?

I realized that her irises weren't pale but glazed over, and yet there was a depth within… Something brushed over my awareness and I felt sad. Their order had survived for millennia and if the Sovereign was right... Our numbers will darken the sky of every world.

Suddenly the high priestess' benign expression became alarmed. Her hand darted forward. Long bony fingers grabbed my wrist much firmer than I would have believed possible and she yanked me closer. My gaze shot back to her sightless eyes and –

A pressure in my head. A reddish haze blurring my vision. And then I heard an unfamiliar voice say,

An ancient presence, stirring. In my dreams I have seen its armies darkening the sky of a thousand worlds. They are coming to leave nothing but extinction in their wake. But you… You already know!

More images rushed in. Flesh. Tortured. Deformed. Then torn apart. Fires. Flickering twisted fragments of nightmarish things I couldn't even begin to describe. And behind the red veil of horror I saw the old asari, a single tear running down her face.

It is the end of all we know, Garrus Vakarian, she said. We can't see the future anymore because there is no future… But perhaps –

The visions flickered faster and faster, an infinite torrent hammering down on me; burning its way straight into my core. Overloading my mind with the anguish of millennia.

With all my strength I fought against the sheer force that threatened to sweep me away. I wanted to claw into my skull; into my brain and rip out the images that just kept flooding in without mercy. Another moment passed. Or maybe hours. Bright flashes overlaying red-tinted horrors. My mind screamed at me to hold on, but the shout distorted into a crescendo of noise roaring in my ears.

It wasn't enough. I couldn't…

The images were gone.

Instead Teela's face was hovering above me.

"Are you alright?" she asked with concern and I realized I had dropped to the floor. What? Slowly I pushed myself up and looked around. The high priestess was nowhere to be seen.

"What… happened?" I asked slowly.

"You passed out for a moment," the asari said remorseful. "I'm so sorry. Aludra… the high priestess is usually very cautious regarding her abilities, and therefore keeps mental and physical contact with non-asari to a strict minimum. I don't know what caused her to slip but she was highly upset. Please…"

I took Teela's outstretched hand and let her help me up.

"Thank you. I'm fine. I think." I shook off the last traces of dizziness. Something had happened but I couldn't recall anything between the high priestess grabbing for my hand and waking on the floor. "I better go now. Guess I brought you enough trouble for one day."

She smiled. "Friends are never trouble. May the Goddess always be with you, Garrus Vakarian."

~V~

By the time I left Liara a dull depression had settled on me.

At least her sources had pointed us to the exact locations of our two targets and we wouldn't waste any more time tracking them down, small comfort that provided. As I dragged my sorry, pathetic ass across the plaza that spread out below her office, I felt a faint prickle between my shoulder blades. I didn't look back. Things hadn't turned out nearly as well as I thought. Somehow the admittance stung in more ways than wounded pride could be held to account for. I had hoped that she of all people would understand. After all, I was back because of her. And yet she had watched me like a stranger…

What did you expect? Sardonic me offered. It's been two years, and she simply moved on. They all moved on. Deal with it!

My scowl caused a salarian to jump out of the way and I smoothed my features. I needed to stop making the same mistakes over and over again. Fuck me, wasn't if I hadn't seen it coming. I got attached and they let me down. I should have known the pattern by now.

My omni-tool pinged for the fifth time in the last hour and allowed me to shove the bleak thoughts back to the place where they had crawled out. It was getting cramped in there.

It was Miranda again. This time with crew's wish list that consisted basically of requests for skittles, orange juice and chocolate. Apparently my actions this morning had qualified me to exchange lists with her on a regular basis. Yay. From here things could only get all seven kinds of crazy.

I tugged up the not-so-well-fitting pants, I had borrowed from Kelly in another pathetic attempt to avoid Cerberus gear at least for one afternoon, and marched back to the docks. Not heading for the Normandy but a warehouse huddling against the bureau complex that housed some of Nos Astra's numerous slavers. Or, indentured servitude brokers.

A feel of melancholy overcame me as I approached the plain metal doors.

When I started my training at the Vancouver Air Base it had seemed highly unlikely that the Alliance and I suffered each other for too long. The military was a well-oiled machine that simply had no patience for idiotic mavericks with the urge to jam every wheel they saw with a stick; and the years I spent surviving in the streets of New York made damn sure to turn me from a scared kid into a hard-bitten dissident who distrusted all kinds of authority just by principle.

But somehow Anderson had still believed in me.

Through all the additional drill sessions and extra laps I ran in pouring rain and even when he had to call in more than just a few favors to keep me from getting sacked for my insubordinate conduct by the end of the first month. Yet instead of berating me, he had simply sat down and calmly explained that I wasn't a kid anymore and needed to grow up. Fast. We both had known that there was no going back for me. So I gritted my teeth and hung on, stubbornly setting my mind on proving that Anderson hadn't been wrong.

The more unusual when one day the promotion to Rio and the N-program came. Sure, my combat abilities were scoring high enough, but there was no denying the years I missed out on school. I've always had the suspicion that I was merely promoted in the first place, because quite a few people up the command chain just couldn't wait to see Anderson's thug fail. The more disgracing, the better. They had been out of luck.

I still never managed to overcome the need to have a fallback strategy for the Alliance. Even after it was clear that I would probably never use it, the simple knowledge that it did exist had turned into a comforting thought that had pushed me through many lows over the years.

So much for getting the street out of the girl.

Nos Astra had been the perfect candidate for my plans back then. Corrupted enough that ID checks weren't performed too seriously if need be, and yet civilized enough that the chances some ragtag rabble burned down the place were close to nil. Too bad they still scanned the stored goods for explosives and firearms. I definitely missed my old Stiletto.

I strode inside where a volus was manning the counter of the self-storage.

"Welcome Earth-clan. How may Festor's Storage and Services help you today?" The clerk said with a heavy breather almost every second word. Then again he seemed to be even rounder than the average volus.

"I need access to my deposit box. You'll find it under Gunn. Allison Gunn," I said with a smile.

As if to steel himself for an especially heroic effort, the volus took a deep breath and typed the name into his data pad. Finally he said, "Ah yes… The prepayment was ten years. You have three point seven years left. Oh…"

"Is there problem?" I asked wincing. Perhaps I had indeed underestimated Nos Astra's penchant for petty crimes.

"No. I just saw that you have taken non-biometrical identification. It is not the recommended choice for long term deposits."

I shrugged. "You never know when you'll lose a finger in my line of business." Or an eye for that matter.

"Yah. I hope you still remember your 20-digit password. Festor's Storage and Services cannot be hold reliable in that case," he finished and pointed at the terminal to my right.

Ten minutes and two failed password attempts later, I hauled a pair of olive drab canvas bags into my cabin. I stored the smaller one in a corner of the closet and threw the bigger one on the bed. There I zipped it open, surprised by the jolt of sentimentality that stabbed through me. Funny, how it happened that my back-up for an Alliance career was now all that was left of my former life. I dug through shirts, pants, underwear, two medi-kits, a wallet with nice asari cash, a sheath bristling with knives and a heavy black leather duster I only bought because it made me look bad-ass, until I finally fished out the ID.

Allison Gunn. Bounty hunter.

I brushed the name with a chuckle.

Oh yeah, the world had seemed to be a lot easier when surviving the N program was my only issue. I dropped the forged ID on the bed. Too bad the thing was useless inside Citadel space. An ID that would get you through Citadel customs needed above all someone who hacked into their immigration databases and updated the biometric files. Which reduced the number of capable forgers to barely a handful – and, I assure you, none of them operating in ranges the likes of me could afford.

Next came my set of throwing knives, five perfect blades; slim, slightly curved and made from the best asari steel; then blackened and matted as not to reflect light. They were also beautiful to look at. Laugh all you want, but a smith who had not decades but centuries to refine her craft was unbeatable. The set had cost me an arm and a leg and the thought that their twin had went down with the old Normandy still made me sick. I pulled one out of its Kevlar sheath and twirled the perfectly balanced blade in my hand a few times before storing them in my armor locker. I could swear I had seen a dartboard in Massani's cabin.

I stuffed the rest of the clothes into the closet and headed to the Comm Room. I still had an assassin and an asari justicar to recruit and woe this wouldn't be the piece of cake the universe owed me.