ACT TWO:
Chapter 17: Shake Hands with the Devil: Part I
1.
Didn't matter how you killed someone; in the end, they were dead and that was all that mattered. Moment you started thinking about the difference between a humane kill or an over-the-top kill, between a war crime and a just taking the shot—you hit that point then you shouldn't be in the business of killing at all. The business of killing, that's all about accepting the fact that you're strategically taking life outta the universe—it's the only way you can frame it. Was glassing a settlement from orbit immoral? Wrong question: the only thing you could care about there was whether it'd help or hurt the cause. Most of the time a war crime came back to bite the offender in the ass, so it wasn't worth doing it. But that had nothing to do with morality, and trying to pretend otherwise was like pretending you could dance the rain away.
Anybody with a uniform thinks differently and it isn't just their ass, it's everyone around them's ass too. You don't go up to a lion expecting to not get eaten, and you don't go into war expecting to come out morally pure.
Fuck anyone who says otherwise.
On the SSV Midway, currently being slung from one mass relay to another, Staff Lieutenant Kai Leng brooded in the captain's cabin and eyed the list of assigned personnel. JSOC had pulled him and five other N7 marines from their units, requisitioned a Normandy class stealth frigate from the 5th that already had ten other N7 marines attached to it, and added whoever else they wanted to the crew, for reasons only the Admirals could know. Two of those names were familiar to anyone who'd been self-aware two years ago: 1st Lieutenant Greg Adams and Medical Officer Something Chakwas. Shepard's people. The kinds of people that'd think there's a good way and a bad way to kill someone.
People who'd probably already made up their minds about the "Butcher of Torfan."
He needed them to know where they stood. Where they stood. Everyone else he was pretty sure had gotten with the program. He remembered some of the marines from N-school; apparently the rest of the crew got a first-hand look at the carnage on Horizon too. If they were gonna compromise the mission it wouldn't be because of misplaced hope. Those two though? Whoever forced them onto the mission had to've known they were compromised. Best thing they could do was stay on the sidelines, where they'd do the least amount of harm—apparently it was Leng's job to make sure they stayed there.
Worst thing they could do is act like their target was worth saving.
It didn't take Leng long to find them. Med-bay, supply closet. They'd been avoiding the rest of the crew—Adams practically abandoning his post—since they'd been picked up at Arcturus.
The doors slid open and both Adams and Chakwas spun around. Adams was standing next to a desk full of medical supplies; Chakwas was sitting in a chair, a medical data pad in her hand. Leng crossed his arms but waited for one of them to speak.
Chakwas did first.
"Lieutenant. Are you in need of medical attention?"
"I'm heading back to the lower decks in a sec," Adams said. "Just going over some things with Dr. Chakwas here."
"We're a jump away from Agebinium," Leng said. "When we land, the Midway is staying put. Less risk of detection than you hanging out in atmosphere. So I need to know you're here as a medical officer and an engineer and nothing else, am I clear?"
Chakwas looked at Adams; Adams looked at Chakwas.
"If we weren't," Adams said, "it's not gonna matter whether we're planet-side or not."
"To add to that," Chakwas said, "regardless of the circumstances, the last thing either of us would want to do is endanger anyone aboard this ship. Questioning our dedication is entirely unnecessary."
"These sorts of things need to be asked," Leng said. "Shepard's got the same kind of status that cult leaders do, and if you don't think that's gonna affect mission readiness, then we picked you up without your brain."
"So what's she gonna do then?" Adams said. "Hide the medi-gel? Put shrapnel in the wounded? What'm I gonna do? Yeah I could take out the engine, but how would killing us all help Shepard? Why don't you run that one by me?"
Adams shook his head and gave an apologetic glance to Chakwas. Chakwas stood up and patted his elbow. "If anything, you being here, accusing us, is making us far less ready to deal with the reality of the situation. We're aware of what the Midway is flying towards. We know what you and the marines are about to do."
"I don't buy it," Leng said. "You two being here? It's a mistake. You're appeasing Hackett and not much else. I need a guarantee I trust that you're not gonna interfere. I need to know that when I've got Shepard's head in my scope—when I pull that trigger—what should happen is what's gonna happen."
"Motivation is immaterial," Chakwas said, her glare hardening. "Gregory has already said everything that needs to be said: we're not in a position to interfere, so this…bravado, is doing nothing except make the situation demonstrably worse."
"Bravado?" Adams said. "No offense doc, but this is just Leng grinding a Shepard-shaped axe, nothing more."
"You're making it sound like I'm sinning against your God," Leng said.
"Are you—Jesus Christ are you serious right now?" Adams threw up his hands and started towards the supply room's door. "I'm going, doc. Now I know this lunatic is gonna get everyone killed."
Leng watched him leave and nearly followed him. Conversation done: he'd been right about their loyalty to Shepard and needed to think of a way to keep them under observation while the ship was planet-side. Might need to leave a marine behind: not like he needed a full sixteen of them to take down Shepard, no matter what the reports had claimed.
But just as Leng was about to leave, Chakwas cleared her throat.
"You're not realizing something important," she said, "even though you already alluded to it."
Leng turned back around and eyed Chakwas. "If you've got evidence to back up your theory, let's hear it."
Chakwas returned to her seat and, as she sat down, her glare somehow became even harder than before. "Admiral Hackett did request us directly. We are here because of him."
"And?"
"And if Hackett—to say nothing of Anderson—believes that we need to be here, then there's little more the universe could do to impress upon us just how few options are left, even if we'd give anything to deal with Commander Shepard another way." She paused for a moment, then swiveled around in her chair. "It's certainly a clearer signal than pretending the grudges of the past matter one iota today."
Her back now turned to him, Leng decided to leave. Nothing more to be said.
He'd been right about their loyalty to Shepard, no matter what they claimed. And he'd clearly been right about something else, too.
Adams and Chakwas had already made up their minds about him.
2.
They started calling him the "Butcher of Torfan" not long after the casualty reports went public. Everyone'd made a big stink about how things were gonna get settled peacefully, how the war hero was gonna march in and get the batarians the slavers the damn refugees—how Shepard was gonna get all their houses in order without a single bullet being fired. When everything went tits up, they needed someone to blame. Leng's name wasn't written in big, gold lights like Shepard's. They took one look at the rest of his unit and whatever crap Shepard had written about him, and that was it. They had their goat.
He'd been 103rd back then, same as a lot of people just on the cusp of N-school. Shipped over to Torfan on the Agincourt, about a week after scouts had found the colony and the pirates/Hegemony troops staring each other down. Alliance had set up an FOB in the middle of town and were stock-piling guns on either side, pointing them at the forest—and the hills where the Hegemony set up shop—letting them know they weren't here as peacekeepers. Agincourt made a big fucking show of touching down in the "Town Square" and offloading her troops. There were about ten fireteams of marines by that point. None of them were ordered to do a fucking thing except look like you meant business.
Waste of time, waste of resources. But you played along because that's what you did if you wanted into N-school. Toe the line so the brass knew when you got your red stripe and had the authority to be creative, you weren't gonna be creative enough to cause problems.
Shepard probably had a lot to do with that rule existing too, pretending she was a damn diplomat all the time. She got medals for pretending she was something other than a soldier, and anyone else who could see through the bullshit was...was...
Damn, he remembered the first time he saw Torfan. It was a dump; a monument to just how much a person could put up with if they thought their life was at stake. Stepping off the frigate the first thing that hit you was the sky was red, just all the time, the clouds the shadows the fucking glare of the system's star—the whole thing was fucking red. All the shacks that people used for homes and businesses—what few businesses existed—you could see every bit of dirt they'd accumulated. Stepping into the centre of town with the rest of the marines, it looked like the place had already been razed. Glassing the place from orbit wouldn't've made a damn bit of aesthetic difference; with the number of deaths that were just around the corner, it wouldn't've made a moral difference either.
Leng's CO—a Staff Lieutenant Mitchell—started speaking to Major Kyle, and that's where Leng's memories got crystal clear, like he was reliving the whole fucking thing all over again.
"Lieutenant Mitchell, Romeo Company, one-oh-third," he said. "Reinforcements, sir."
Kyle looked the unit up and down. Back then he was clean-shaven and built like a Mako—far cry from where he ended up. "Good. Appreciated."
"Read to deploy where you need us," Mitchell said. "We're SOC. Me and half the platoon leaders are at least N3."
"Understood Lieutenant, but right now I need three things from you: scouts, logistics, and anyone who can switch between the two at a moment's notice."
"Aye aye, sir," Mitchell said. He turned around and addressed his company. "We'll split evenly. One platoon'll pull double-duty."
Leng stepped forward. "I can handle both, sir."
Mitchell nodded, motioned for Leng to move towards Kyle, then started discussing with the rest of his Lieutenants. Leng moved and his platoon followed.
"Lieutenant Leng," Kyle said, "thanks for the offer. I'm gonna get you started while Mitchell's doing his sorting. Logistics first, if that's all right. Picking between the two, logistics is my top priority."
Leng nodded, followed the Major. "Where're your logistics officers?"
"Back in Alliance space," Kyle said. "N7's found this place and we went in expecting to be a raiding party. Turns out, the situation's a lot more complicated than that, so we're all working outside our comfort zone right now. I've got Bridge Burner's guarding the only grocery store in the colony and I'm pretty sure they hate me for it."
They reached Kyle's make-shift command centre—just a tent with some desks, chair, and a hell of a lot of computers—and Kyle grabbed a data-pad from one of his analysts. Leng looked around; everyone was bumping into each other, apologizing, swearing under their breaths, then bumping into someone else.
"Are the N7's still here?" Leng said.
"Town hall," Kyle said, looking at the data-pad. "What the refugees call 'town hall' anyways. N7s're sitting down with some of them and a couple of Hegemony officers, trying to iron out a deal that doesn't involve the batarians storming the buildings and taking whoever they want. The pirates apparently don't wanna talk."
"Special Forces are doing that?"
"At least one of them is, yeah." Kyle looked up from his data-pad. "Intragalactic Affairs will hate us for it, but it's not like there's anything the diplomats can do. The Hegemony don't have any diplomatic channels we can use. We want this to end peacefully, we'll have to do the work ourselves."
"So the N7's are there under your orders? Sir, I thought we were hunting pirates."
"We are, Lieutenant. And no, the talks had already started by the time we got here." Kyle put the data-pad down and walked closer to Leng. By this point, Leng could already tell that Kyle was exhausted. "If you go down to the hall, ask the negotiator what she needs, then report back to me—we'll have a clearer picture of how this is all going. We've got comms but it's a better show if the batarians know a whole operation is backing the negotiations. If you want to leave some personnel there to supplement the Alliance force, I think that'd be best. The batarians keep sending squads over for 'security', and I don't want out guys feeling outnumbered."
Leng nodded. "Right. Aye sir. Who's the lead negotiator?"
"1st Lieutenant Jane Shepard," Kyle said. "You might've heard of her. Frankly, when they told me who'd set up the meetings, I stopped being shocked real quick."
Leng and his platoon took off after that. He thought about what Kyle said the entire trip, or at least it was churning in the back of his mind while the rest of his body scanned for targets, pirates, batarians, a scared kid running at him with a pistol-shaped something. He'd heard of Shepard by this point but didn't fully know her reputation—most people didn't, since the media'd only start hyping up her involvement while the Agincourt was still in the relay network. Seemed odd, an N7 negotiating. Didn't seem right either. Back then something "not seeming right" just meant Leng didn't expect that from someone; he was trying to wrap his head around why someone with a red stripe would bother. Soon enough…soon enough he'd redefine what he meant by "right."
They reached town hall and the N7's/Hegemony soldiers guarding it. The N7's barely moved; the batarians were pacing, walking around. Probably not SIU's. There were a lot of them, though. Not sure what Kyle meant by the Alliance feeling outnumbered: the N7's coulda taken them.
Leng turned to his unit. "Half in half out. Check your comms: anything could happen."
Brisk nods and a few "aye aye's."
Inside Leng went, past the guards, past the barricades. This town hall wasn't much more than a barn with some side rooms, but it was defendable enough—and it looked like the refugees had planned on defending it. The deeper you got the more refugees you saw; most of the colony was probably in here or the store with the Bridge Burners. Evac would be tricky, especially if Hegemony ships kept the Alliance stuck in orbit.
Voices were growing louder. Back room, crawling with guards (mostly batarian, a few of the N7's), the hallway leading up to it lined with refugees. Then Leng got his first look at Shepard. Red hair, green eyes, scar on her bottom lip. She didn't have any weapons on her.
The batarians sure as shit did.
It was her, a handful of Hegemony soldiers, and a small contingent of refugees. Shepard was standing next to one of the soldiers, both of them hunched over, and across the table, a disheveled looking batarian was sitting down his forehead resting on his hands. They all looked at Leng and his platoon as they entered the room.
"…send in more troops," the Hegemony solider said into his comm, completely and utterly without discretion. Shepard gave him a look, motioned to the disheveled looking batarian, and then made her way to Leng.
"Lieutenant Shepard," she said.
"Lieutenant Leng, Romeo Company." They shook hands. "Major Kyle's sent us on a logistics run."
Shepard nodded. She turned to one of the other N7's. "Vasquez, mind holding down the fort? I'll be back after I've gotten a debrief."
"You got it," Vasquez said.
Shepard turned to the disheveled batarian. "Odrark, you're welcome to join us."
Odrark looked at Shepard, paused, then stood up. He walked over—quickly—to join Shepard. The Hegemony soldier straightened up and crossed his arms in front of him. "Secret deals? I thought you were treating this negotiation seriously, human."
"You can come too," Shepard said. "We'll just be talking food."
"Any transportation of food needs Hegemony approval."
"For the ninth time, Captain, you can't stop the Alliance from giving out food to its own people. You can't stop us from spreading it around, either."
"Every moment you spend defending criminals gives the pirates a chance to attack."
"And for the tenth time, Dratin, you're welcome to break off and go after them yourselves."
The three of them left the room, shuffled down the hall a bit, and Leng's troops formed a circle around them, muffled their voices a bit as they spoke. Leng stared at this Odrark but thanks to the visor on his helmet, the batarian couldn't tell.
"We're mission ready," Leng said. "I left half my platoon out front as guards, too."
"All right…all right fine," Shepard said. She wiped at her brow. "That's Captain Dratin Drom'pavan in there. He's hell-bent on smoking out the refugees—hence the problem with the food."
"Food's what you need more of?"
"Yeah, as much as possible." Shepard looked at Odrark. "If we can stockpile it then the Hegemony can't just out-wait us. Plan B is that they start thinking this is enough of a waste of time that they can't afford to stick around."
"Plan B?"
"Plan A is: convince them to agree to leave the civilians alone and get a joint anti-piracy operation going," Shepard said. "Having their financiers turn on them would weaken the pirates a hell of a lot more than a firefight."
"It's…" Odrark started, looked around like there was a Hegemony listening device embedded in everyone's helmets, then said, "I'd like to see that…but it's not going to happen."
"Start big," Shepard said. "That way we've got more ground to retreat on."
Leng had already signaled to one of his soldiers to let the FOB know that Shepard wanted more food. He kept his eyes on Odrark. "What needs to happen for us to move from negotiating to something else?"
"Something like open fighting?" Shepard said.
Leng nodded.
"The line I'm pushing is we're focused on logistics and scouting for piracy—and just logistics and scouting. But the first time a Hegemony soldier gets rough with a civilian, we consider this a policing operation." Shepard looked over her shoulder. "Dratin doesn't think we're willing to go the distance with him, and he's entitled to believe whatever he wants." Again, Shepard looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice as much as she could. "We'll keep pushing for terms that seem innocent but'll handcuff him down the line. Diplomacy by a thousand cuts."
"This was the original mission?" Leng said.
"It is now. Anti-piracy doesn't mean much if the victims don't think there's a chance of being rescued." She looked at Odrark. "That goes for political refugees, too."
Leng made it more obvious that he was looking at Odrark now. "Unless the refugees are spies."
Leng expected an outburst. He expected this batarian to lunge at him, make it seem like he'd hit a secretive nerve. He expected Shepard to get vexed because, why not, someone was questioning her plan?
But Odrark just looked even more tired and Shepard, Shepard only sighed.
"Preconceptions aside, Leng, understand that people like Odrark have been staring down that accusation for months. The Hegemony's here for him, but they're not here because of him."
"What I and my family would be going back to…" Odrark eyed Leng. "I'd nearly choose the pirates, Lieutenant Leng. I very nearly would."
They split up after that. Shepard and Odrark went back into the room, Leng and his platoon left the hall. He told the half that was standing guard to give constant updates and radioed into Command that the other half was on their way back to the FOB.
Diplomacy by a thousand cuts? That was one way of dealing with this situation. Not a military one, though, and last Leng had checked, it wasn't something you wasted on fucking pirates.
He should've looked for an alternative sooner. All these years later, that's what he'd tell himself.
He shoulda jumped the gun a hell of a lot sooner.
3.
Less than half an hour from Agebinium. The crew looked ready. Only issue still was the two Shepard-cultists still on board.
He needed someone who knew the score to watch them, stupid and wasteful as that'd be. Stupid and wasteful because they didn't need to be here in the first place and the Admiral's were just appeasing someone who didn't need to be appeased.
Brooks—he'd ask Brooks.
Operations Chief Maya Brooks was one of the few marines Leng didn't recognize from N-school, looked pretty damn green for her rank too. All the more reason to get her to stay behind, guard the ship. Shit she was recon anyways, and there wasn't anything to recon on Agebinium. Place was dead and red (different red than Torfan; not the same red, not the same at all) and the only place Shepard could survive was her shuttle. What he needed was hard-hitters and people with experience taking down heavy targets. Trackers, sure, but everyone was a tracker. Recon was just a waste.
Waste to guard waste.
He found Brooks in the hanger; most of the marines had started congregating there. He pulled her aside and, hell, might as well talk by the entrance to the drive core doors. If Adams wanted to stick his nose into other people's business, he might as well know that Leng was talking about him, hiring a babysitter for him and the doctor.
Brooks eyed Leng up and down once they stopped moving.
"Lieutenant Leng, sir," she said. "Um…I hear we're not that far from Agebinium."
"You're staying on the ship," Leng said.
"I…beg pardon?" Brooks paused, then crossed her arms.
"I need eyes on Chakwas and Adams. Especially Adams. We've got sixteen marines including me: we can spare one."
"All right but…why? And I really don't want to pass the buck or anything but…why me, precisely?"
"We've got recon covered," Leng said. His brow raised as a thought came to him. "Why're you here, Brooks?"
"Oh, god, I don't know—my uncle's the Prime Minister?"
Leng's brow stayed raised.
"I'm obviously joking."
"Stop that," Leng said.
"I'm here, Lieutenant Leng, because I bring the appropriate skills—"
"Which Admiral hand-picked you for this mission?"
Brooks paused, scowled, shook her head. Eventually she said, "Admiral Lindholm, if you really have to know."
Leng relaxed his posture. "You're sure it was Lindholm?"
Brooks paused again, scanned Leng's body language. "It wasn't Hackett…if that's what you're asking."
Leng's turn to pause. Then he straightened his back again and said, "All the more reason to keep you here."
Brooks peered around Leng's shoulder, looking at the doors to the drive core. "Do you really think they'll try something? What could they even try?"
"I'm not bothering to get in their heads," Leng said. "I'm just planning for the worst-case scenario."
"Which is?"
"Outside interference."
Brooks chuckled, shook her head. "God, I've never heard someone speak in circles so confidently."
"My reasons are my reason," Leng said. "I only need you to follow orders."
Brook's expression hardened. "Seeing as there's a chain of command, I don't suppose I have much choice."
"In the Alliance?" Leng said. "You've got all the choice in the world. Just don't choose wrong—apparently that's the catch."
Leng started walking away and, just before he got out of earshot, he heard Brooks mutter: "God you can actually see the bitterness from here." Leng clenched his fist and let that comment slide over him. No sense dwelling on shit said by the ignorant.
If Lindholm sent her then she could be trusted—trusted to keep Shepard's people grounded. That meant fifteen N7 marines would have the planet to themselves. Their only concern: Shepard.
The last two marines passed Leng on the stairs. He didn't acknowledge them. He walked to the captain's cabin, sat on the bed, turned off the lights, and closed his eyes.
He ran the battle over in his head. He pictured Shepard. He listed off the number of angles he could take to catch her off guard, to hit her before she even knew there was someone watching.
Quick, easy, merciful. Not because she deserved mercy—not because anyone ever got mercy—but because if you wanted a target down quickly, that's what you did.
And Leng visualized there still being N7 marines around to see him take the shot.
4.
"We're getting Shepard her food," Major Kyle had said, back on Torfan, all those years ago. "I can see her plan working, so long as we're as lucky as we are organized."
"What's the word on the pirates, sir?" Leng said back. They were back at the FOB, his rest of his platoon watching crates of food from a freshly landed frigate get passed around. A patrol was heading to the grocery store, another was going door-to-door. Shepard suggested they make the whole operation very public, and that's what the Major thought was best too.
Kyle was looking in the direction of the forest, though.
"Nothing. If they wanted to take down one of our frigates, they might just have the firepower to do so. Every other pirate outfit we've come across came prepared to knock us out before we even landed." He turned back to Leng. "What's really got my goat is that the Hegemony could be feeding them orders. We lose a ship or a patrol, anything, the Hegemony might use it as an excuse to break off talks—just come in and raze the entire place. If I was Dratin, I'd be thinking long and hard about that."
"The pirates probably have Hegemony troops in them," Leng said.
"I know—I've been thinking the same thing." Kyle sat down and wiped at his brow. He looked towards where the town hall was, then refocused back on Leng. "So long as Shepard keeps making Dratin think he's fleecing us, we'll be fine. But…"
"It still leaves us vulnerable."
"Yeah. Christ, Lieutenant: this would've been so simple if the refugees had just picked a different moon."
Leng scanned the area and thought about the fact that they had two enemy armies on either side of them. There were some criminals/refugees/whatever milling about, though "milling" wasn't really the best way of putting it. They were practically sprinting from one piece of vaguely cover-like debris or a wall to another, almost like how a solider with no discipline would do it. They kept looking out to the forest, to the sky where they probably figured Hegemony ships were parked, guns aimed squarely at their houses. Someone—a batarian teen—dropped a cannister of soup and his mother grabbed him before he could reach down and retrieve it. Wasn't worth it, was the look she was giving him; don't stop for anything or anyone, even me if it comes to that.
The Alliance troops were looking tense, too. They were officially weapons free but, unofficially, it was like everything was covered in gasoline. Hell on the way back, Leng saw one of the Bridge Burners take out the engine of a parked car not that far from the store. Didn't want any noise that might be mistaken for a bullet, that was probably it.
Elite soldiers, tip-toeing around like there was something waiting for them in the shadows. Those red, red fucking shadows…
This wasn't how a military was supposed to operate, like scared fucking kids...
"Sir, permission to speculate?" Leng said.
Kyle blinked. "Beg pardon, son?"
"I have an idea, sir."
"I thought so, just…" He stood up, walked over to Leng. "Let's hear it."
"Sir, if we make the Hegemony think the pirates attacked them, maybe we can get the two sides fighting each other without putting the town in danger."
Major Kyle looked like he was going to say something, but the words were getting caught up in his throat. Leng pressed on.
"If the Hegemony and the pirates are working together, then the best thing we can do is make the Hegemony think they've been double-crossed. We trick them into thinking that, and they'll go straight after the pirates. Any army in the galaxy would be mad as hell if their hired guns went turncoat."
Kyle shook his head. "That's beyond risky, Lieutenant. If we overshoot this even a little—"
"Sir, we're too vulnerable to be passive. You and I both know that."
"Well recognized, son, but there's a chance this backfires and the Hegemony just goes after the town."
"Our guys can handle the incursion."
"At the cost of how many civilians, Lieutenant?"
Leng didn't say anything. He just let the Major pace. After about thirty seconds, maybe a minute, Kyle stopped and walked right back up to Leng.
"We need to do something—you and I agree on that," Kyle said. "But we need to know our people can protect anyone caught in the crossfire. Better yet, we need to know we can pull this off in a way that sends the Hegemony straight into the forest. Have you thought that far ahead yet?"
"No sir," Leng said. "I will, sir."
Kyle paused, nodded. His eyes were searching for…something. Eventually they came to rest on Leng again. "Head back to town hall, bring some food. Run this idea by Shepard and see what she thinks."
"Sir you're…the CO."
"The fog of war is about five feet in front of my face, Lieutenant Leng." Kyle took a breath and a step back. "The talks are still our priority—we're still supporting the talks. Run this by her and if she thinks she can work with it, then you have my permission to execute. But if it's too risky, you come back here and we'll start again."
Leng paused. He wanted to say something, something to the effect of "fuck that." But that wasn't how things were done, was it? So he just straightened his posture and shot off the first salute he'd given since landing.
"On it, sir."
Kyle stared at the salute, then—eventually—nodded. "Dismissed," he said.
So back into town, with a couple of crates of food, Leng went. Uneventful trip, except for one street.
"LT, you see any of the civies?"
Leng didn't look back at the marine that asked—he just scanned the area. "I hear them. Don't see them."
"What're the chances the pirates've already infiltrated the town?"
"Better than the chances the Hegemony beat them to it," Leng answered.
"Yeah…roger that, sir," the marine said.
Silence for the rest of the way.
The batarian guard had practically doubled. Again, the N7's looked like they hadn't moved. The other half of his platoon was trying their best to emulate the commandos, but they were standing a hell of a lot closer to the people with the red stripe than the batarians. The Hegemony troops were still pacing, like junkyard dogs trying to scare someone out of their territory.
When Leng got back to the negotiation's rooms, Shepard had taken the top part of her armour off. Her Alliance Fatigues didn't give off "diplomat" vibes, but she was clearly trying to make this seem like less of a negotiation between two militaries.
Shepard saw Leng, waited for Dratin to finish, then raised a hand.
"Sorry Captain, let me just speak to my colleague for a second."
"If you must. I want one of my men present, though."
"Fine—in exchange for what?"
All four of Dratin's eyes widened. "It was a demand, human."
"Call me entrepreneurial. How about you give us the codes to your Comms channels so we can hear what each side is saying? Seems like an even trade, since you're so gung-ho about the both of us going after the pirates."
Dratin scoffed, roughly grabbed a cigarette from the package on the table. "Have your conference, then. And why don't you take the criminal with you t—"
"Wasn't planning on it, but not a bad idea, Captain."
Dratin took a royally-pissed-off kind of aggressive drag on his cigarette and snarled at Odrark. Odrark gave the Hegemony Captain a wide berth and joined Shepard, next to Leng.
"Vasquez?" Shepard said.
"Got you covered boss," Vasquez said.
Out into the hallway the trio went.
"Should we really be talking with Odrark around?" Leng said.
"Leng, please, having two negotiations going on is two too many," Shepard said.
"You don't…have to trust me," Odrark said. "But trust that I understand the situation, and don't want my family to be put at risk."
Leng paused, then, finally, said: "Fine."
Then Leng went over the plan, though he made sure to lean closer to Shepard than Odrark. Shepard took it all in, barely moving except to nod her head on occasion.
"What's Major Kyle think of this?" she said after Leng was done.
"He said to run it by you," Leng said.
"Really? Well…much obliged, I guess." Shepard scanned the area. "I can think of a number of areas where this plan might turn around and bite us."
"We're vulnerable Shepard," Leng said, moving his face closer to hers. "We're doing double-takes on shadows for Christ's sake."
"Hey, easy Lieutenant," Shepard said. "Believe it or not, we're in agreement here. But we need to iron out the kinks in any plan before we put our contingent of civilians at risk."
"Best defense is a good offense."
"Leng, did you hear anything I said past 'agreement'?"
"I'm just further stating our case."
Shepard sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose. She turned to Odrark. "All right, I have a proposition for you. It's not a great one, but it's about the best I can do right now."
Odrark slowly nodded.
"If you inform Dratin here that you're calling it a night—we're getting close to sunset, I think, so it's not that far-fetched—then you can maybe spread the word to the rest of the town to duck-and-cover. Spin it so that the three of us mutually agreed this is between the Alliance and the Hegemony and we want to keep the risk to civilians as miniscule as possible." Shepard gave Odrark a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry that this'll take you out of the decision-making process but…well, like I said, it's about as good as I can do right now."
Odrark sighed. "I'm exhausted anyways. I haven't seen my family in days…this is fine. I'll try to make it clear that Dratin agreed to this too."
"Just say neither side wants to use you as a bargaining chip. Emphasize it's got everything to do with strategy and nothing to do with a pending military operation."
"If I say the latter, most people won't be surprised. We're all expecting it."
Shepard put a hand on his shoulder. "And we're working to avoid it, trust me."
Odrark nodded. "I do. More than anything in my life."
"Lieutenant, can you spare some men to escort him back home?"
Leng grunted, but eventually nodded. Platoon was shrinking and as much as Shepard was bitching about being in two negotiations at once, she didn't seem to be half-assing it. But whatever, Leng had enough.
Preparations were made and eventually Odrark was gone. It was just Shepard and Leng, with Dratin insisting on a time-limit of five minutes for their "final secretive meeting."
"The negotiations've gotta still be priority one," Shepard said. "I'm not saying that because I wanna be the hero—I'm saying that because, vulnerable as we are, every minute spent at the table is a minute spent without someone dying. But if you want to expand our options, I'm all for it."
"Good."
"On one condition."
"Fine—what condition?"
Shepard lowered her voice. "You take every—and I mean every—precaution and make sure the Hegemony thinks it's a pirate attack. I'm serious: we cannot risk pushing the Hegemony into storming the town."
"How?"
"I dunno, Leng—I honestly don't. I'm in here, you're out there. If I had to guess? There are turians in the pirate gangs. If you can make it look like some of the turians went rogue and got into it with the Hegemony, maybe that'll sell it."
Leng nodded and started walking away, but Shepard grabbed his arm. "I'm serious, Lieutenant. Do everything you can. Even if you've just got sort of a funny feeling, pull back and make sure. Do I have your word?"
Leng stared back at Shepard. "If I've got yours that you signed off on this op, then you've got mine."
"Fine," Shepard said. She took a deep breath. "Be safe, be careful, try to stay in contact. I'll keep hammering away in here."
And Shepard went back into the negotiation room while Leng and the now smaller contingent of marines in his platoon left the town hall.
"So that's it?" one of the marines said. "We're doing this?"
"You heard Major Kyle," Leng said. "If Shepard signed off on it, then we're good to go."
"How the hell are we gonna make it look like a turian did this?"
Leng looked out in the direction of the forest, reminded himself that, yes, Shepard did sign off on his idea.
"We'll figure it out when we get there," Leng eventually said.
5.
Agebinium was dead and cold and redder than any planet Leng had ever seen, thanks to the system's star (wasn't like Torfan; wasn't like Torfan at all). Fifteen N7 marines walked the surface, guns out and heads rarely staying on a single patch of ground for more than ten seconds. The lack of any serious atmosphere meant sound barely traveled—you wanted to know where the person next to you was, you had to look over and see for yourself. Right now, there were only four next to Leng—four that he could see, anyways.
Fifteen marines, three groups of five. Shepard's shuttle was wedged in between two mountain peaks—or at least they looked rocky enough to be mountain peaks. Height wise, they weren't much more than hills. Still meant the Midway couldn't just land right on top of her, and if a Mako or a fireteam could climb the hill's ridges, that meant Shepard could flee for cover whenever she felt the Alliance close in on her.
Team One, Leng's team, was going straight up the middle, the most direct route to the shuttle. Teams Two and Three were fanning to the sides to make sure Shepard couldn't flank around. Some crewmembers with M-92 Mantis's had stationed themselves on either side of the Midway's LZ, so if the marines somehow managed to miss Shepard entirely, she'd get picked up by the rear-guard. They'd parked in the middle of a massive salt flat for a reason: you could see for kilometers in any direction, unless that red fucking sun got in your eyes.
No, wasn't like Torfan at all and Leng's brain had better stop trying to make these two fucking missions equivalent.
"Location updates," Leng said into his comms. Team One was only a few minutes walk from the mountain range…hill's, mini-mountains, whatever. He brought up the scope of his M-15 Vindicator and checked the range. If Shepard was camped on top of one of the ridges, they'd be in effective weapon's range already. Hell, they'd've been in effective weapon's range for the last five minutes. Nobody'd lost their head yet, so good enough reason to think Shepard wasn't just waiting for them.
"Team Two's on pace. About to reach the hills."
"Team Three's a bit ahead—we're just starting out first climb."
"Team three pull back," Leng said. "We leave the flats at the same time, otherwise we're creating a gap."
"Aye aye, sir—pulling back."
Leng checked through his scope again. Shit, the shadows in between the peaks were red too, just like—
Everyone was listening though, that was important. Back on the Midway it'd been different, right up until the point where the ship landed. He'd asked Chakwas to head to the engine room and grabbed Brooks on the way down too, just to get all three of them into the same room. Just to make sure they all understood what was expected of them.
"You've gottabe freakin' joking, pal," Adams said.
"Lieutenant," Chakwas said, "pulling resources from the mission solely because you can't get passed who our commanding officer used to be, is utterly and incomprehensibly ridiculous."
"If it, um, matters to anyone else," Brooks said, "I don't particularly want to be here either."
"Terrific," Adams said. "You know what? Screw this 'you're a threat to the mission' bullshit. How about you spend even two seconds justifying why you're so paranoid about us and maybe—maybe—we'll stop thinking you're just being a fucking child." Adams looked over at Chakwas. "I'm just speaking for myself, here."
Chakwas nodded. "And I'll reiterate: this is utterly ridiculous. Did nothing I told you not half an hour ago sink in? Am I to repeat myself?"
"What'd you say?" Adams said.
"I told Lieutenant Leng that the very fact of Hackett wanting us on this mission is a sign of how seriously we intend to take it."
"I'm honestly impressed," Brooks said. "Oh, um, psychology was my specialization before I joined ROTC. But you two are handling a difficult situation…well you seem to be handling it, which is more than I'd expect from most."
"So even Chief Brooks is curious about you two," Leng said.
"Hey, no, I said I'm impressed on how they're handling things—I've not passed a single judgement on them, thank you very much." Brooks scowled. "And let me state for the record that I'm not just saying that to try and get deployed for the thing I was supposed to be deployed for. I've never done garrison duty in my life and I'm not starting with this mission."
"It isn't garrison duty," Leng said.
"Yeah, it's a paranoia-fueled attempt at a dominance display by an incredibly pathetic animal," Adams said. He blinked at the force of his own words but stayed firm. Chakwas gave him a quick look, but didn't seem to want to contradict him in the slightest.
Brooks just stared.
"Maybe some justification is in order," Brooks said. "Again, not just saying that because I want to be out there with the rest. I do but that's a separate issue."
"I gave my justification," Leng said. "These two shouldn't be here, and if I'm not going to be given full control of my line-up, then I'll improvise."
"What's Chakwas's first name?" Adams said.
Nobody said anything. Nobody even moved.
"Well?"
"Explain how the hell that question's relevant," Leng said.
"If it was really us—if was really us two that you were so concerned about—you'd at least know our full names. Karin—it's Karin, by the way—she's already used mine, so that'd be cheating. But you didn't know her's, did you?"
"Only thing I need to look at—"
"This is about Shepard and that's it, nothing more. We're two completely blank slates that you're just projecting onto." Adams crossed his arms. "I work with engines, Leng. I know more formulas than words. But you're so transparent, you make it easy."
Another pause from everyone.
"Allow me to apply my own expertise," Chakwas said. "You've been constantly swallowing, as if you have something lodged in your throat. That's a common external sign of stress, and yet you only started just as Gregory was speaking. What about that statement makes you stressed, Lieutenant Leng? Is it just the accusation? Or has Gregory hit upon something you'd rather stay hidden from view?"
Again, silence.
"Justification, Lieutenant Leng," Chakwas said. "That's all we're asking for."
"Fine," Leng said. He hadn't realized he was swallowing so heavily; hadn't realized, either, that his heartrate had increased so much. He took that adrenaline, used it, rode it. He avoided clenching his fist only 'cause he knew he'd be tempted to use it. "The justification is? Everyone's who's ever been in Shepard's circle is compromised. You've all been fed bullshit expectations and, so far as I'm concerned, you can't handle the bloody horror of the real world. There's no fucking knight in shining armour and there's sure as shit nobody as fucking pure as you all make Shepard out to be. Now that the curtain's been pulled back, I don't trust anyone who bought the magic act. Anybody blame me for that, and they're free to go fuck themselves—unless we're on a mission, in which case I'll do what I need to keep everything on track."
Silence, except this time from Chakwas and Adams. Until…
"You can't seriously think that Commander Shepard, of all people, is somehow a fraud," Chakwas said.
"That Star of Terra means nothing then?" Adams said.
"Never said Shepard didn't know how to fight," Leng said. "Hell, pit her against a frigate full of Battlemasters, and I wouldn't know who to bet on. But it doesn't matter how much skill you've got if your view of the world's dead wrong. All you'll be doing is making bigger messes for the people who know what the score really is to try and clean up. Unless that was your plan the entire time."
"I didn't ask about how many people Shepard could kill," Adams said, "I asked whether that medal she won for saving half a colony in her civies meant nothing."
"You're not hearing what I'm saying," Leng said. "Maybe she really believed she's a good person, deep down. Maybe it was just a mask that she finally decided to take off. My money's on the latter." Leng glared at Adams. "That answer your question?"
"If you truly think that Shepard's most defining feature was an affect," Chakwas said, "then you're obsessed with a character of your own creation."
"Spoken like someone in the Inner Circle."
"I've been wedded to the hip with the most cynical man in Alliance space for nearly a decade, Lieutenant. A man who requires as clear an eye as possible lest every bone in his body break all at once. I've absolutely no reason to wear rose coloured glasses—and every reason to ensure that I'm not."
"You wanted a justification," Leng said. "You got one."
"We got something half-assed and insulting," Adams said. "That's the best you can do, then consider us even more skeptical of your fitness for this mission than before."
But Leng was already walking away—just quick enough to hear Brooks say, "Ah, I suppose he'll be in his trailer, then."
They didn't believe him, but so what. For all that certainty, they'd completely missed the crux of what he'd said: he knew just how deadly Shepard was. Unfit for the mission? How many of the people on that ship saw Shepard in the dark, after things started getting complicated? How many put two and two together and guessed that something like this would happen sooner or later?
Not her Inner Circle. Everything they said just showed him how compromised they really had become.
So on the red, dead, scorched, sand-whipped surface of Agebinium, Leng checked his scope again as the ground sloped upwards and burgundy shadows ate everything around him. He could hear some gear rustle as the other N7 marines pushed forward—a rock, somewhere, got jarred lose and took a few more of its cousins for a ride towards the ground—but that was it. It was silent.
There were rumours you could hear rachni wailing out this way but, if there were any on this planet, they were staying hidden and quiet. Almost like they didn't want to see the bloody horror of this operation either.
Killing a god—nobody wanted to be around when that happened except the cursed few who knew it had to be done.
"Teams Two and Three—check in," Leng said.
"Team Three, entering mountain—err, hills—we've uh cleared the salt flats."
"Team Two: starting to fan out a bit. Lots of routes for Shepard to take if she wanted to start moving."
"Don't tell me you're splitting up."
"Negative, Three-Lead. We're all in visual range. We've got overwatch on the ridge a ways back, but that's as much as I've split the team."
Two clicks on the channel confirmed overwatch.
"Clear any moves like that with me," Leng said, crouching behind a rock. He scanned the area and then signaled the rest of his team to move up. "Overwatch better be invisible."
"Aye aye, sir. Will clear with you next time, sir."
"Two-Lead is going rogue, sir."
"Shut up the both of you," Leng said.
Two and Three-Lead cursed and wished they'd found a Commander or something to take the reigns instead of Leng, but they moved their teams up all the same. Two glanced back but couldn't see the ridge quite from where he was crouching, but that was the intention—so long as Gunnery Chief Phillipe could give them advanced warning, things would be fine.
Gunnery Chief Phillipe, however, had just had her oxygen cord severed and her pistol knocked out of her hand. The rapidly declining oxygen levels and the hand on her throat cut off any cry of help, so all Phillipe could do was watch as a figure in old Onyx armour held a jagged rock in its fist and reared its arm backwards.
Then the figure slammed the rock through Phillipe's visor and Phillipe could no longer see anything at all.
6.
We'll figure it out, he'd said. Back then. Back on Torfan.
The amount of time it'd take to find a turian, let alone set things up so it looked like they'd gone rogue and attacked the Hegemony…it'd be days. Probably what Shepard was hoping for; bog down the rest of the Alliance on a fool's errand so she could keep the talks going. You'd think seeing the lead negotiator be a master manipulator would make you more confident in the talks, but that's a narrow view of things. The Alliance was going along with it, which meant she'd manipulated her own side into believing her too.
Idiots.
That realization had popped into Leng's brain around the time his team had made it to the forest, and it'd been pulsing there ever since. Eventually, a good ten hours after he'd split from Shepard and the negotiating team, the pattern had become too crystalized for him to ignore. So much for following the brass's lead. The brass had just been duped by a rogue element—a rogue element wearing an Alliance uniform.
The rest of his team had been giving him looks, too. Like they expected him to hold off, take it slow. No, they needed to push forward, find these pirates, end this clown show. Did he need to pistol whip someone? Keep them in line, moving forward? If he did, then the Alliance was well and truly fucked. It shouldn't've gotten to that point.
Buzzing in his ear. He pressed his fingers to the receiver in his helmet.
"Fortress-Actual to Alpha-Niner, how copy?"
"Alpha-Niner reads you Actual, go ahead."
"Alpha-Niner," Major Kyle said, "it's been almost eleven hours since last contact. Status report."
"In the forest now sir," Leng said. "Doing recon and analysis at the moment."
"Towards what objective, Alpha-Niner?"
"We got permission from Shepard to cause trouble. We're just looking for the best place to start it."
There was a pause. Leng could tell that the rest of his unit was staring at him.
"I can't get through to Shepard, so there's no way for me to verify," Kyle said. "Give me something more specific, Lieutenant. I need to know what kind of trouble you're looking for."
"With respect, sir, this is something we'll only know when we see it."
More stares—one of his team looked like she was going to say something.
"Lieutenant Leng, while we may be in a unique situation here, I shouldn't have to remind you that there's a chain of command at work. State your precise objective, or return to FOB for debrief."
"Sir, we're operating with Shepard's direct permission—like you wanted. Send someone to town hall if you don't trust us. If you can't contact Shepard, you should probably be doing that anyways…sir."
A pause. A heavy pause. By this point, Leng's team had fully stopped moving. All eyes were on him.
Eventually…
"It'll take a runner about an hour to reach town hall and return to the FOB," Kyle said. "In that time, I expect you and your team to stay where you are. Am I clear, Lieutenant?"
"Crystal, sir. I'll keep the comm's channel open."
"You do that. Actual out."
As soon as the call ended, Leng turned to his squad.
"There we go. We've got an hour to work—double the pace and don't fall behind."
"Are you being serious right now?" one of his fireteam said. The same one that'd been staring daggers at him earlier. "Since when is it all right to just lie to a superior officer like that?"
"Shepard signed off on this," Leng said.
"Uh, no, she said to—we're supposed to find a turian patrol and then get to work. She didn't say anything about 'causing trouble.'"
"Screw what Shepard told us," another member of the fireteam said, "Major Kyle just ordered us to hold position. Hell we…we should be heading back to the FOB. We obviously don't have permission for an operation and we'd be stupid to—"
Leng grabbed that marine by the shoulder and slammed him into the nearest tree. Guns were pulled and orders were shouted for him to stand down, but fuck all of that. Fuck all that and fuck them, too.
"We don't have time for this," Leng said, pressing his forearm into the marine's throat. "Fuck, we didn't have time for this before we landed, no matter what the Alliance got conned into thinking. The reality of it is: we're letting pirates and fucking batarians cow us into standing still."
"We've…got…civilians…" the marine that was pinned against a tree said.
"We're taking action. If anything, they should be thanking us."
"They'll get massacred if we don't slow it down," the other marine said.
"Compared to what?" Leng said. He dropped the marine and got right up in the other marine's visor. "Pretending we can save everyone will kill a hell of a lot more people in the long run, much as some people might wanna think otherwise."
"For Christ's sake Lieutenant!" the marine said, pushing him back. "There's a fucking huge difference between 'pretending we can save everyone' and not actively making the situation worse because you're afraid the batarians think we're wea—"
That marine's head exploded, and the trees and bushes around the fireteam were shredded. Someone screamed "CONTAC—" before a bullet cut them off. Leng and the survivor's hit the ground and tried to trace the vapor trails. Whoever fired the round that killed the marine he was arguing with tried again, and Leng managed to get a lock on their position.
"Three o'clock, behind the ridge!"
The rest of the team returned fire and pretty soon that entire ridge was smoldering, just crackling logs and a couple stray rounds from fleeing assailants. Leng and about half of the survivor's moved forward, bent down to examine the bodies.
Pirate armour—clear as fucking day, these were pirates.
And there was shouting coming from the direction that the rest of the pirates—the one's that hadn't been perforated by Avenger fire—that sounded way too numerous to be the few stragglers his fireteam had let live.
So they'd been engaged. Fate had waltzed in and dropped Leng right near a pirate nest, no matter how much Kyle and Shepard and most importantly Shepard wanted that not to happen. Just further proof, right? Further proof that this was all nonsense. Further proof that Leng could've followed their every order and still ended up with two dead marines and a changed plan.
Idiots.
Leng stood up, pointed his rifle at the nine marines that were still with him.
"We are pushing FORWARD! Are we CLEAR?"
Someone was radioing in for back up, and they were welcome to. More the merrier, so long as everyone was on the same page.
Leng took out his shotgun and readied it with inferno rounds.
If he had to burn the whole fucking forest down to show everyone—the pirates, the Hegemony, the Alliance its-fucking-self—that the human race meant business, then that's what he'd do.
His first kill with the shotgun sent a couple of trees and some bushes ablaze, and that was the beginning of the end of the Battle of Torfan.
7.
There was a ship. It looked familiar. A shape her mind couldn't quite name, a feeling she couldn't quite understand.
She could use that.
There were people in the way though.
They were looking for her.
Their armour looked familiar.
She could use that ship.
She had to use that ship.
Those people looked familiar.
They'd interfere.
They'd stop her.
They'd interfere.
They looked familiar.
They'd interfere.
They must
be
eliminated.
Oh wow: two months after I said I hoped I'd have a new update, I actually get around to making a new update!
I suck!
Part II will hopefully be out soon: it's mostly written, but I could tell the thing was getting north of 20,000 words and that's just too much reading. Or at least it's too much reading if you don't have bookmarks.
I'll probably have a longer blurb at the end of Part II where I fully explain myself and apologize for running roughshod over canon. Otherwise, hope you all enjoyed the read so far and are ready for fun times in Chapter 18!
...christ it's really been 17 chapters, hasn't it? God, this wasn't supposed to be this way, y'know?
(chapter title is from Roméo Dallaire's depressing, engrossing, and absolutely necessary read "Shake Hands with the Devil: the Failure of Humanity in Rwanda." Seriously, I can't recommend it highly enough, especially because the only way to prevent further genocides is to recognize the perverse incentives and structural failures at play that lead to people suffering unimaginably, while other people with the power to help just stand and watch.)