Freeport 74 - Attican Traverse

"Next!" a speaker set on the ceiling called out. The visitor hoisted his backpack and, heeding the call, walked into the security checkpoint.

"Put the bag down, stand on the square, and hold still," one of the Drell guards instructed, watching him like a hawk, his rifle pointed downwards but otherwise ready on his hands. "Anything to declare?"

"In my backpack, two weapons," the visitor answered.

The other two Drell walked forward. One frisked him thoroughly, while the other unzipped the backpack and checked its contents: a Haliat Armory sidearm and a carbine of the same make were effectively there. Other than that, the inspection yielded nothing. "What's brought you so far from Alliance territory?"

"Business," he replied. "I'm on a recruitment drive."

The guard standing a few steps away saw that the sensor scans had not picked anything noteworthy either, and frowned. "First time here, I see. Guns are not illegal here but don't go causing any trouble, or you'll go for a walk outside," he said sternly. "Otherwise, it's just common sense. Don't steal, don't pick fights, don't harass others. Clear? Or you need an explicit readout of the law here?"

The man shook his head. "It's perfectly fine for me, officer."

The guard gestured him onward with his rifle. "Come on in then. Welcome to Freeport 74."

Hiroshi Shimada nodded slightly in thanks and, now admitted, walked into the station proper.

Nos Astra — Illium

Anika Ziegler looked around. It had been almost a year since she had first set foot on that world, and the memories were rushing into her mind. Illium was the bustling place she recalled all too well, tons of people of all races and species on the streets, the skyways crowded thick with air cars…

"There is nothing to gain by giving in to grief," she heard Mercy say soothingly on her left earbud.

Anika wanted to tell the avatar of her mother to shut up, but she could not. Those words irritatingly echoed one of Javik's favorite dictums — lost are those who abandon themselves, he would say, his voice dripping contempt and scorn, but she knew Mercy meant differently.

"I miss them," was all she said.

Now she was walking up the steps to the entrance of this building alone. Nobody had come with her to Illium, other than the AI that had kept her company ever since Shepard had first encountered her on the Moon.

I miss them.

The door to the apartment building slid sideways silently, and she walked in. An elevator, a turn to the left, then to count the doors… one, two, three…

She stood in front of the fourth door, and it slid open to reveal a small reception room, an Asari sitting behind a desk. "Oh, good morning, doctor Ziegler," she welcomed her with a smile. "I am Nyxeris. You are being expected. Please come in."

"Thank you. How is she?"

The smile faded away. "The usual. Keeping to herself."

The Redoubtable — 2136 Porphoroi, Titan Nebula

Nihlus Kryik leaned on the lectern overlooking the hologram projector that usually depicted the galaxy map. Now the map was gone, replaced instead by the scans of an asteroid.

"It's isolated alright," he mused.

Next to him, Javik grunted his agreement. "If we had decided to come here instead…"

"We'd all be dead. Or worse." Jacqueline stood next to a silent Symmetra, her merciless eyes watching the asteroid hologram as the sensors mapped its features. Except for the tattoo-covered sides of her head, she was not bald anymore, her hair collected in a high topknot. She was clothed in a tank top, a leather jacket and some flak pants, a far cry from Alliance Navy regs.

Nihlus regarded her with ever-present wariness. Jacqueline Nought had never been the picture of discipline, and never would be. No one had failed to mention her overwhelming biotic power and her ferocity in battle — traits that only added to his caution. Subtlety was not her forte. She was not a scalpel, but a hammer, and he would rather have scalpels than hammers on his toolbox.

"No sources of heat or EM waves, but significant dark energy emissions," Stella informed, highlighting the sources of such emissions on the asteroid.

Shilyna's eyes narrowed. "Too concentrated for natural eezo veins."

Symmetra was not focused on the hologram proper. She had the output of the Redoubtable's sensors directly fed to her mind, and she was dissecting the thicket with surgical precision. "The larger asteroid was carved out from the inside," she reported in a tone not too dissimilar from Stella's. "No detonation pattern I know of can cleave fragments with perfectly straight edges."

About a minute later, the Redoubtable's sensors were able to pick up part of the machinery and installations inside the asteroid proper.

"Send in a probe first," Javik ordered. "We should get a closer look before going in."

"Agreed," Nihlus concurred.

Freeport 74

It was Hiroshi's first experience with freeports. Upon hearing about them, his initial conclusion had been that it was inevitable that places for outlaws and outcasts to lair about would spring up on the fringes of civilization, but now that he was in one he found himself questioning those thoughts. There were rowdy looking types alright, but the local guards seemed ubiquitous, their green and black armor always visible, always in groups of at least three members, and the place was clean and tidy, if not exactly crisp.

He had first visited the local Shadow Broker contact on the marketplace, a Volus loan shark called Taron Von, to get directions that would orient his search. That had given him a sample of everyday life in that city on the void. The permanent residents were organized along collectivist lines, and guaranteed food, living quarters, power, sanitation, security, and education in return for their work; the marketplace was mostly the province of either temporary visitors or those who could afford to pay rent for their quarters instead of working. There were more of those than the logic of that tightly knit community would have made room for, if anything because there was no shortage of well-off people who wanted to disappear for whatever reasons. The locals looked down on them, but as long as they paid their dues and they did not disturb the peace they were tolerated.

The info he had gotten had directed him precisely to a district populated mostly by such tenants. There were some bars and cafés there, and glimpses through the windows brought to memory the descriptions he had heard from the late Gabriel Reyes about the place — not a small part of the local patrons were derelicts of some kind or another, not too different from the drunkards and vagrants that infested many a lowlife pub back on Earth. Those were the outcasts, people who just sat there empty-faced, and nursed the same drinks seemingly day after day, apparently because they had nowhere else to go.

And leaving one such bar, one canister in hand, he saw the blue-skinned face that he was looking for.

The owner of the face saw him in turn, and a spark of recognition flickered briefly on those yellow eyes.

Then she walked away. Hiroshi followed after her.

Some hundred-odd steps and a few turns later, she stopped in front of a door.

"Que fais-tu ici?" she asked him without looking.

"I was asked to look for you."

Lacroix took her time to answer.

"Mind your words," she warned. "She is not well."

The door slid open — and Shimada was treated to a scene of chaos. What he could see of the apartment was stuffed with crates, strewn clips of ammunition and thermal sinks, dirty clothing, small arms, parts belonging to no less than four different suits of armor, cuffs and restraints, some tinfoil bags of what only could be junk food, a speaker blaring an ancient rock and roll song, an exercising machine—

And Lena Oxton. She was lifting some weights on a bench, entirely nude except for a bracelet on her left upper arm containing a small chronal stabilization core, thick sweat covering her like a second skin. She did not turn around to welcome her visitor.

"Lena, nous avons des invités."

A snort punctuated another lift. "'Guests'?" A barking, unfriendly laugh. "More like someone coming to yank me back home."

Hiroshi kept Lacroix's warning in mind as he carefully framed his reply. "That would be your decision to make."

Lena recognized that voice but still did not stop. Her next words were without edges, though.

"How is your father?"

"Healthy as ever." The younger Shimada unslung his backpack and reached inside it for a cylindrical container. "He and Zenyatta asked me to bring you something."

Tracer continued with her routine for a minute. That her past was again reaching out grated her, but that was not Hiroshi's fault. With a groan, she put the weights back on their stands, stood up, and snatched the container off his hands. It was heavy, she noticed at once—

And as she opened it she saw why. There were three golden metal spheres inside.

The same three metal spheres Zenyatta had used years back to try and teach her about the dangers of isolation and emotional scarring.

Hiroshi was watching her intently, but he did not spot the hints of any reaction on her face.

She put the spheres back on their container — or tried to. These artifacts seemed to have a mind of their own, for they slipped off her hands and started circling her.

She snorted her annoyance and bent to open a small fridge next to the bench, pulling out two bottles, tossing one at her guest and emptying the other in a long pull. She then sat again on her bench and remained silent, her eyes absently following the golden spheres as they slowly gyrated around her head.

Hiroshi waited patiently, but Amélie's look warned him not to expect a word from Lena for the time being, so upon a tiny gesture, he followed her into a side room.

Nos Astra — Illium

Liara T'Soni sat idly by the window, clothed in a simple cotton robe and a pair of cheap slippers, looking at the bustling city outside with an absent expression to her face. It shocked Anika to see just how aged she looked, and yet at the same time, it was not that different from how she had appeared the last time she had seen her.

It had been on Shepard's and Reyes' funeral.

"Hello, Liara."

The Asari girl turned to look at her guest. Recognition flashed on her face and the tiniest hint of a welcoming smile appeared on her lips.

"Hello, doctor Ziegler. It's been some time."

The women approached and exchanged welcoming kisses, then they sat next to a table by the window. A moment later Nyxeris appeared with a tray bearing drinks and refreshments.

"You didn't need to bother yourself," Anika objected.

"Nonsense." Nyxeris smiled. "Liara hasn't had any guests in a while. Best to receive them properly."

The tea was quite good, Ziegler noticed with surprise, also realizing the girl had known she was not a coffee drinker. The pastry was excellent too. It surely cost a small fortune to get a serving of good apple pie here, and one done in proper German-style at that.

"I don't remember telling you how much I like this," she said to Liara. This elicited a smile that restored some color to the Asari's face.

"Noticing details is what I do, doctor." Then the smile faded away. "What I did."

Anika was saddened by that. "It hurts to see you like this."

Liara bowed her head slightly, but her face did not change. Her eyes were not on hers, but neither did she evade her gaze, instead looking vacantly at some point on the wall behind her.

And it really hurt Anika. Liara was about as lively as a withered flower. She felt that she had to do something, to say something to jolt her out of her depression, but what could she come up with that did not just twist the knife in the wound instead? That Shepard would hate to see her like this? That Reyes had been through the same — well, not quite, but close enough, and that he had overcome it…?

Nothing felt appropriate.

"I wish I knew how to help you."

"I know." Liara's face still did not change. "You wouldn't have come here in person otherwise. Unless you needed me for something." A smile appeared on her lips, but it was bitter, and painful to see. "For the good I would do."

That was too much to bear. "Now you're just whipping yourself."

No gesture punctuated Liara's retort. "I don't care."

"Then you should." Ziegler used the kind of tone a fellow physician would save for recalcitrant patients going to ridiculous lengths not to act on their best interest. "We could find someone else to consult with, and surely she would do an awesome job. But it wouldn't be you. You're a symbol of the Compact, and it's not the same without you. We need your presence there."

The Redoubtable — 2136 Porphoroi, Titan Nebula

All eyes were on the hologram projector in the CIC. It was projecting a direct feed of the cameras mounted on the probes, and the picture was messy. Wrecked machinery, destroyed Geth and shot-up Krogan and Rachni corpses were everywhere.

"A battle's been fought here," Nihlus observed.

Javik grunted his agreement. "Someone beat us to this place. Let us find out who."

"Vulture flight Alpha one-dash-one, you're cleared for launch," Moreau said on the flight deck. "Good luck out there."

Aboard the Montauk dropship, Shilyna T'Perro acknowledged the message. "Understood. Thanks."

Next to her sat Mei-Ling Zhou, Jacqueline Nought, Symmetra, Shilu'Vael, and the omnic engineers, Brulirea and Lumiscant, along with the newest addition to the Compact. Orbak was a Batarian, a former bounty hunter and External Forces agent, a personal recruit of Javik's and one of many that had lost everything during Sovereign's onslaught at the Citadel.

Mei thought herself lucky, after a fashion. She was never short on things to be amazed of. On top of working next to a living fossil, she got a chance to learn about a species she had seen almost exclusively in the media. She remembered how both the Spectres and the Starwatch crew had strongly opposed the Prothean's choice, but Javik had personally vouched for him, and rather brutally told everyone else off — if they objected to his recruiting then they were free to leave. He would find people he could work with.

The Batarian was aware his position there was rather precarious until he proved himself, but he did not seem to mind. He was the first one to set foot outside the Montauk. He looked intently one way, then another, looking for dangers, and found none. Then he gestured for the rest of the squad to disembark.

His was also the first observation as he stopped next to the corpse of a Rachni. His headlamp was focused on the stump of the neck: the head of the monster and two of its limbs had been cleanly lopped off. "A blade would do this… but blades do not cauterize wounds."

"Reaper technology," Symmetra said in a clinical tone. "Molten metal fired at relativistic speeds can produce those effects."

Jacqueline frowned. "But then it means Reapers turned their guns on their goons… that would be a first."

The Batarian snorted. "Let's hope whatever did this is gone."

"I hear that," Shilyna agreed reluctantly.

"This whole rock is colder than a glacier," they heard Moreau's voice on the radio channel.

Javik was grim. As usual. "Stay on your toes. Never take anything for granted where Reapers are involved."

As their explorations continued, it became clear that this place indeed had been a fully-fledged shipyard, outfitted for the purpose of assembling and repairing starships with all manner of machinery and tools — including some they had never seen before.

Half a century back, one of Mei's signature quirks had been her tiny hovering companion, an assistant droid she had dubbed Snowball. One of the things that had kept her busy in the preceding months was reconstructing it, and seeing it again floating around her was a comforting sight. She had taken advantage of the enormously advanced tech now at her disposal and given it a whole slew of upgrades that included new tools, superior shielding and improved mobility, but she had chosen not to give it a voice. It had never needed one.

Now Snowball was again assisting her, following her eyes and highlighting with a lamp the places she looked at. Right now, those places were the different parts of an exotic machine that filled up an entire chamber. "It seems to be some sort of foundry for exotic alloys," she hazarded a guess. "I can only begin to imagine how it works."

"Abandoning this is stupid," T'Perro thought out loud. "If this is what Reapers use to make the metal for their hulls… leaving this for others to find was stupid."

"One can only wonder what went wrong."

The omnic engineers were cataloguing the remains. "For the most part, those left here were killed by Reaper ferrofluid beam weapons. The rest were blown to pieces," Brulirea reported.

Orbak made a quick inventory of the guns he had seen lying around. "They gave as good as they got," he said, his lamp focusing on the impacts on the walls and the machinery around. "But nothing has holes like that."

Shilyna grumbled. "We don't know what they were shooting at."

"Actually…" There was a lot of blood and ichor there, belonging to the dead Krogan and Rachni. Most of it. Shilu'Vael had noticed there were body parts and blood not belonging to either.

"Is this human tissue?" the Quarian asked.

Mei approached her. She looked pale. And her discomfort grew as Snowball shone some light on the human remains Shilu'Vael had found.

The Chinese scientist fought to box away her fright and focused on one such piece of remains. "There's… there's something odd here. That's human muscle tissue alright, but it's… that's circuitry. Embedded on the flesh."

T'Perro at once recognized what they had found. "That's the kind of stuff we fought back when we first met you. Reaper tech reanimating corpses. But this is the first time I see a reanimated human."

Snowball produced a small box and an instrument case from Mei's backpack and gave them to her. She thanked her assistant with a small grin, knelt by the remains and, using some tweezers from the case, retrieved a small piece and put it on the box. "We should run some tests. If the DNA isn't too degraded we can find out who it was and where he or she came from."

"Good idea," Symmetra approved.

Freeport 74

The side room actually was Widowmaker's own, Hiroshi realized. The contrast was glaring and unnerving: her quarters were as tidy as the rest of the flat was messy. Rifles and sidearms rested on racks on the walls, a scrupulously clean workbench on the side, the large bed the sole concession to comfort there — and the blooming red rose on some sort of hydroponic pot next to a portrait of Gérard the sole note of emotion.

Without a care in the world, she stripped, tossed her catsuit on a laundry basket, slid open a closet, chose a shirt and some shorts and put them on before speaking. "You're our second guest this month."

The ninja raised an eyebrow. "Who was the first?"

"Avitus Rix." She sat on the bed, leaving the single stool available for him to sit on. "He came here looking to recruit her."

Hiroshi did not bat an eye at that. "Who is he working for?"

"If Lena wanted to leave everything behind and start afresh somewhere, she would not get a better chance. That's all he said."

He dwelt upon this bit of news. "We knew he had come here looking for you, but not why."

Lacroix gave him a cool yellow glare. "And that's what you're here for."

The younger Shimada shrugged. "Yes and no. The message from Zenyatta and my father is genuine. But there is something afoot and Rix is part of it."

And you don't know who is behind it. Amélie did not need to say that out loud.

"How long has it been since Rix quit?" she asked instead.

"Not long after you," he answered slowly. "He said that he was tired down to the soles of his feet of working for the Council. Instead of compelling them to act, Sovereign's onslaught stunned them. He had drawn up plans, protocols and proposals to prepare for the invasion Shepard predicted, which he sent for them to approve, but they all went unanswered." After a pause, he decided to add: "Many have left. The Compact is smaller than it was."

Amélie dwelt on his words in silence. Hiroshi availed himself of the opportunity to appraise her. He had only seen her a few times, but it was clear even to him that a human had grown where once there had only been a ruthless assassin. She still was laconic to a fault, but now he could spot the glimmer of concern on her features.

"She can't go back yet," she said at last. "Being out here has helped her heal. But she's still brittle. She'll return when she's ready."

Author's note: my long-time editors and proofreaders, BrokenLifeCycle and kyro2009, contributed her usual tips and advice. Kudos to you, guys!