Chapter Fourteen

Missing Pieces

At only one hundred and six, Liara T'soni was considered something of a child prodigy. To the asari, a maiden earning her doctorate and legal certification at the age of sixty-two was practically unheard of; in their eyes she was barely out of diapers. That a mere forty-odd years later she was a highly regarded lawyer on the cosmopolitan Citadel was something of a miracle— forty years was hardly enough time to come to grips with the case law of a single species, and Liara's clients represented most of the recognized Council species. And her rise as an information broker had been even more meteroic— in just six years she'd amassed a network to rival all but the Shadow Broker himself.

She was good.

"I have possible candidates for your assassin," she told Shepard, graceful blue hands folded on her desk. "As you know, hanar are not suited to covert operations and rely heavily on the drell for such things. There are a number of agents who could be involved, but, based on your description, I've narrowed the list down to three."

Shepard was impressed, and said so. "I wasn't sure you'd be able to get any information out of the jellies."

"There is always a way, Shepard," Liara said with a hint of reproach. "Sending you the dossiers now."

The receipt code flashed up immediately in the corner of Shepard's terminal. "Got it. Thanks." She tilted her head. "Wrex would never forgive me if I didn't ask if you'd gotten anywhere on the LAXP bomb."

Liara raised a hand and described a tentative gesture with it. "I'm not certain," she said. "But an asari named Syleen Majet was found dead in one of the non-public areas of the spaceport."

"Dead?"

"Killed, actually. Single gunshot to the head."

Shepard frowned. "Sounds like an execution. I'm surprised it didn't make the news vids. They haven't shut up about it for days."

Liara tipped her head. "It's being suppressed. She also had a significant concentration of an interrogation drug in her system; a drug specifically used by Special Tactics and Reconnaissance."

"Hm," said Shepard. "But which Spectre?"

"I'm betting on Nihlus," Liara answered. "He was all over the spaceport, asking questions."

"That doesn't really narrow the list of suspects, Liara," Shepard complained.

"On the contrary," Liara disagreed. Her lips tightened slightly. "Majet was one of the Shadow Broker's agents."

"You think she was the bomber?"

The asari nodded. "Yes. I do."

"Wrex isn't going to be happy when I tell him." Shepard shook her head. "I hope he doesn't break anything." Then she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling merrily. "I think you just earned yourself a krogan battering ram whenever you need the Shadow Broker's door kicked in."

"I'll keep that in mind," Liara replied dryly.

Shepard sobered. "Anything on my other request?" she asked.

Liara got up from her desk and walked to the window. "Yes, actually. That one was much easier than the other two."

"Oh?" Shepard straightened her back.

"I had my suspicions when you first sent me the request," Liara went on. "But I'd hoped that I'd seen the last of that particular agent when I crossed paths with him two years ago." She looked back over her shoulder at the viewscreen. "Unfortunately, I was able to confirm that he is, in fact, both alive and active."

"Why do I feel like you're about to give me some information I'm really not going to like?" Shepard asked wryly.

Liara gazed out the window for a moment. "I'm sorry, Shepard," she apologized, turning back to her desk. When she'd re-seated herself, she took a deep breath and continued. "His name is Kai Leng, and he works for Cerberus."

Shepard digested this information silently, expecting some kind of internal flag but finding none.

Finally, she lifted an eyebrow and asked, "Is either name supposed to mean something to me?"

Liara's forehead wrinkled in consternation. "Goddess," she swore. "I forget, sometimes, that you don't have access to my feeds." She shifted in her chair. "Cerberus is a pro-human organization. They've been branded terrorists, and for good reason."

Shepard's expression was one of surprise. "You'd think I'd have heard of them on the news vids. Terra Firma gets plenty of airtime."

"Perhaps it's not so surprising," Liara explained delicately. "They were originally an Alliance black ops cell."

"Huh," acknowledged Shepard. "I see." She shook her head. "Figures."

"There's more," Liara added. "Cerberus appears to be neck-deep in this thing. I've uncovered information that points to them being involved on Eden Prime."

"Saren's link to Earth," Shepard nodded.

"Exactly."

"Well, shit," was Shepard's summation.

Liara's eyes turned apologetic. "I really have blundered, Shepard," she admitted. "I sent the quarian to you to keep safe, only to land you both right between Cerberus and Saren."

But Shepard's eyes were slightly unfocused and she was drumming her fingers against her desk. The lawyer was familiar with the expression. It meant that Shepard was making internal calculations; looking for connections, plotting, planning a strategy. Her voice was far away when she asked, "And Tali's information?"

Liara took a deep breath. "The artifact was a prothean beacon, Shepard. An intact, working prothean beacon."

Shepard's lips pursed in a soundless whistle. "If that's anything like the prothean archives on Mars… there's motive for the attack, all right." Her brow furrowed. "What happened to it? Was it destroyed in the explosion?"

Liara shook her head. "No," she said heavily. "By all accounts, Cerberus has it."

The redhead grimaced. "That can't be good."

"No," Liara agreed.

The abstracted look was back on Shepard's face, and the fingers resumed their tapping. "How, exactly, does this turian fit into the picture? Not Nihlus, but the other one, Saren." The tempo of Shepard's drumming increased. "Presumably he was trying to secure the beacon for the Council… so what went wrong? What caused him to go rogue?"

Liara held up one hand to stop her friend's line of deduction. "No, Shepard. Nihlus was the Spectre tasked with overseeing the transfer of the beacon from human custody to the Council. Saren was not acting under the Council's authority at all."

Shepard looked thoughtful. "Was he trying to snatch the beacon for himself, then? I expect something like that would net him a huge profit."

Liara shrugged. "From the audio recordings the quarian captured, it doesn't sound like Saren was intending on selling. Even if the beacon weren't so rare a prize, the Council comes down hard on the trafficking of prothean artifacts."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "That's why the black market exists, Liara."

"And you don't think the black market sale of an intact prothean beacon would reach the Council's ears?"

"If you knew what you were doing, by the time Special Tactics showed up, the beacon would be somebody else's problem," declared Shepard, with an all-too familiar twinkle in her eyes.

"Shepard!" chided Liara sternly.

Shepard held up both hands. "Professional anaylsis, T'soni."

"You're incorrigible."

"Practical," Shepard corrected. "But the point is moot. Saren doesn't have the beacon. You said this Cerberus group has it. What's their angle? Can this thing be used as a weapon?"

"No," said Liara. "But there's literally no telling what kind of information is stored on the beacon. It could be anything."

"Somehow I doubt it would be worth all the trouble if it held a thousand years' worth of prothean dance tunes, housekeeping tips, and recipes."

Liara looked affronted. "Shepard! That knowledge would be priceless to archeologists."

"But not to a terrorist group," Shepard pointed out shrewdly. "So I'm guessing Cerberus believes it has something of value to them. Technology, weapons schematics, things like that."

"That's very likely," Liara conceded. "Even small data caches have the potential to jump technology ahead by hundreds of years. That's why the laws on prothean artifacts exist."

"And why a pro-human organization might have wanted to keep it in human hands," mused Shepard. "Well, there's the angle."

"There's… something else, Shepard," said Liara, hesitantly. Her fingers clasped each other tightly. "Saren's voice wasn't the only one on the audio file."

Shepard's eyebrows lifted and her eyes narrowed. "Ahhhh," she said, drawing out the sound purposefully. "The plot thickens. Let me guess… another turian? The turian Councilor— what's his name again… Sparatacus?"

"Sparatus," the asari corrected.

"Whatever." Shepard made a face. "I rode an elevator with him and a half-dozen C-Sec officers once. He seemed like a total dick."

"No, Shepard," said Liara. "It wasn't Sparatus, or any other turian for that matter."

Shepard looked almost disappointed. "Well, there goes that theory. I figured the turians were looking for some payback for the First Contact War."

"Shepard…"

"A salarian?" Shepard suggested. "They're devious bastards. I should know. I've got one on payroll."

"Not a salarian either. Shepard…" Liara's eyes were deeply troubled. "The voice belongs to my mother."

"Wake up. We've got a problem."

Without even being fully conscious, Hutch rolled to his feet, grabbing for the pistol beside the bed.

"Not that kind of problem," said Zaeed dryly, letting his folded arms drop to his side. "Good instincts, though."

Hutch let the pistol's muzzle drop, and dragged a hand down his face, shaking off the last of sleep. "What's up?" he asked groggily.

The old merc frowned. "Jack's gone missing."

"What?" Hutch paused in the act of picking up his rifle. "Where?"

Zaeed shrugged. "I don't know. I think that's why I said she's missing."

Hutch clipped his rifle in place on his armor and holstered his pistol. "When?"

Another shrug. "Couldn't tell you. She was on perimeter and never checked in."

"The quarian?"

The corner of Zaeed's mouth quirked upward. "Sleeping like a baby."

Hutch felt his shoulders sag with relief that didn't last. "You think it was the Shadow Broker?" he asked.

Zaeed snorted. "Nah. I think she's done a runner."

Hutch stopped short. "Jack? Run?"

"Yeah," said the old merc, just shy of belligerently. "She's been on edge the whole mission."

"But…" Hutch floundered. "It's Jack."

"That doesn't mean anything," growled Zaeed. "Everyone has a breaking point."

"Shit," said Hutch with feeling. "We'd better not take any chances. Comm Shepard, let her know we're moving."

Zaeed huffed a laugh without mirth. "Why do you think I woke you up, princess? You comm Shepard. I value my balls too highly."

Hutch gave the old man a wry grin. "You think I don't?"

"Value my balls? I expect you do," answered Zaeed. "I'm going to go wake our bright-eyed little friend."

And, so saying, the old mercenary strode down the short hallway and disappeared into an open doorway, leaving Hutch to curse mildly and punch up a secure channel to Shepard.

Joker's voice broke into the heavy pause that followed Liara's words.

"Ah, Shepard? Incoming message from Hutch. It's on the priority channel."

"Put it through," ordered Shepard, activating her receiver. "Hutch!"

"Shepard. There's a situation."

"Talk to me, Hutch."

"The package is safe, but we are on the move."

"Destination?"

"Seven alpha nine."

"I'll meet you there." Shepard disconnected the receiver and turned back to the asari in the viewscreen. "Sorry, Liara," she apologized, hastily reaching for the underlayer of her armor. "I've got to go."

"I heard," said Liara. "We can… discuss things later. Be careful."

Shepard nodded absently, already stripping down to her underclothing. "I'll update you as soon as we're secure again," she assured the asari. "And Liara…" Shepard paused for a moment to look at her friend, "I'm sure there's an explanation. About your mother, I mean."

Liara managed a weak smile. "I'm sure you're right Shepard." But there was no conviction in her voice or in her eyes as she disconnected the vidcomm and stared at the top of her desk, whispering softly into the silence.

"I hope you're right."

"We're being followed."

Vakarian kept his voice low and his eyes forward, nothing in his bearing or stride indicating he'd even been paying much attention to their surroundings. Nihlus was impressed.

"Since we left the Alliance base," he acknowledged.

"Hm," was Vakarian's response.

Nihlus had to admit it; the kid definitely had the makings of a Spectre. Oh, there was a certain impulsiveness there that would get him killed if it wasn't properly honed, but the young turian had some decent instincts, and his pale blue eyes didn't miss much. His judgment wasn't bad, either. Vakarian refrained from bothering Nihlus with every little observation, but when he did contribute something, he did so with confidence. Not certainty— he knew his experience paled in comparison to Nihlus's own— but without either bravado or the kind of cringing apologia that marked so many young turians afraid of overstepping themselves with a superior.

Now to see how good the kid was.

"How many have you spotted so far?" he inquired curiously.

"I count three," Vakarian replied.

Not bad. He'd only picked up four, himself, though he deduced the presence of others.

"And what's your analysis?" he asked, neither confirming or correcting the boy's observations.

Vakarian thought for a moment. "I'm not sure," he said finally. "I'd say two are definitely military, but the third…"

"Conclusions, Vakarian, not commentary," Nihlus said dryly.

The kid straightened his shoulders. "Two Alliance agents, one Shadow Broker agent," he answered, and again Nihlus found himself pleased by the confidence in the younger turian's subvocals. "The Alliance agents are hanging back in elevated positions - sniper and spotter would be my guess - but the Broker agent is shadowing closely, on street level."

Nihlus continued to press his candidate. "Recommendations?"

Vakarian shrugged. It was a very un-turianlike gesture in the circumstances; Nihlus wouldn't have expected the boy to relax sufficiently under the pressure of his scrutiny. "At this point? It would probably be best to do nothing," Vakarian answered. "I don't think we've done anything to provoke the Alliance; it's probably just protocol, or maybe caution. And we aren't doing anything sensitive, so it's best not to let the Broker agent know that we're aware of him until it's necessary to do something about it."

Now Nihlus began to sense some tension in the boy's subharmonics. So far, Nihlus had refrained from giving him any feedback— negative or positive— and there was just a hint of worry, of doubt, beginning to creep in. Vakarian wasn't rattled— the kid wouldn't have posted the marks he had in training if he rattled easily— and was confident enough in his decision. Vakarian wasn't second-guessing himself, he was simply uncertain of Nihlus' response.

"Okay," he told the kid. "Your reasoning seems sound. We'll do it your way."

He glanced once at Vakarian. The younger turian's mandibles were flared in surprise, but he looked otherwise composed. Nihlus gave himself an internal chiding for underestimating the ki… no. That wasn't right. Vakarian wasn't a kid, no matter how old he made Nihlus feel inside. He'd served six years in the turian military, and another three years of advanced training for Spectre prospects. Thinking of him as a kid— even if it felt true— was doing a disservice to them both.

There was a brief burr of vibration from his omni-tool, signaling an important incoming message. Nihlus tamped down on his expression, lest the flicker of a mandible give away any information to the watching eyes around him as he noted the sender's name.

Spectre, the message began. I'm afraid word has reached Cerberus that I am in possession of sensitive information about their operations. Their agents are hunting me, and I may have little time. I will try to meet with you at our previously arranged secondary rendezvous point. If I fail to appear, you will know Cerberus has caught up with me and will find the information on an OSD I will entrust to a close associate. Yours in haste,

Kahoku.

Joker eased the shuttle out of the docking bay and swung her around, while Shepard stood just behind the pilot's chair, one hand gripping the seat back and the other holding fast to an overhead grab strap. If it were anyone but Shepard, he'd have complained until they retreated into a jump seat - Joker hated having people hover over him while he was flying. Shepard, though… Joker found there was something comfortable about Shepard's presence. Maybe it was the fact they'd worked together so long— it had been Shepard who pulled him out of the morass of depression and anger when the Alliance had cut him loose, for all that she was four years younger than he was and looked more like she should be spending her credits on prom dresses at the local mall. That had been ten years ago, before Shepard had taken control of the Reds, and he'd been her pilot ever since.

Though he'd never admit it, she was also his best friend. Actually, though it made him feel stupidly corny to even think it, Shepard was the best friend he'd ever had.

She'd never judged him. She'd dealt with the chip on his shoulder — and my, wasn't it closer to a megalith — by simply ignoring it.

"Are you Jeff Moreau?"

Joker had raised his bleary eyes to the speaker. "No, I'm the Alliance Prime Minister," he'd cracked, trying to bring her into focus.

"Hey, kid," yelled the bartender. "You can't be in here!"

So it wasn't his eyes. There really was a teenaged girl standing next to him.

"In a minute," she told the bartender. "I'm here for my pilot." Her eyes hadn't left him. "The Jeff Moreau who stole an Alliance prototype frigate?" she pressed.

Joker snorted angrily. Great. Apparently, he'd become some kind of rebel hero to the high school crowd. "What? You want my autograph?"

"No."

"Shouldn't you be at the mall?"

"I need a pilot."

At that, he'd laughed. It was bitter and hate filled. "Flying a pack of rich sixteen year old girls around on shopping trips? I'd rather eat my own liver, thanks." He'd signaled the bartender for another drink. "Which, by happy coincidence, is what I'm already doing."

She hadn't left. "I need someone who can fly anything, anywhere, under any conditions," she said. "I need the best."

"C'mere." He'd gestured her closer, and when she'd complied, he yelled in her ear. "Go. Away."

To his amazement, she still hadn't left. "I know I can't pay you anywhere near what you're worth," she continued calmly. "But then, right now nobody's paying you anything, right? And if you give me a year, maybe two at the most, I'll be paying you more than you'd get from the Alliance, at least."

"What part of 'go away' didn't you get?" he snapped. Then he'd made the mistake of meeting her eyes.

There was an expression in them he recognized. He'd seen it in the mirror, once. Just before he'd gotten into the Academy. It was pure, unadulterated determination.

Despite himself, he'd continued. "A year or two, huh? And then you'll be what? A rock star? Vid star? Po…"

The words 'porn star' died on his lips. For some reason, Joker couldn't bring himself to say them.

The girl smiled, and he'd recognized the smile, too. It was bitterness with the thinnest veneer of sugar coating. Probably not even real sugar at that.

"No," she'd said flatly. "A ganglord."

A chirp snapped Joker out of wayback-land. It was Shepard's omni-tool, and he could feel her shift behind him just before she dropped into the co-pilot's seat to answer the comm summons.

"Channel six-two. Shepard," she said. Her voice had an edge to it that indicated that her time was valuable and this had better be important.

"Hey Shep," said a bright female voice.

"What is it, Kasumi?" said Shepard, easing the severity of her tone but not the impatience.

Kasumi Goto was not, technically, one of the Reds. She was freelance — a highly talented thief that had worked both for and in competition with the Reds on numerous jobs.

"You know that target you wanted me to watch out for?" Kasumi sounded amused. She always sounded amused.

"Which one?" Joker could have used Shepard's voice to shave with, it sharpened so much.

"You know Shep, you sound like you could use a vacation. You're awfully uptight."

There weren't many people who could get away with talking to Shepard like that, and Kasumi was one of them. Joker knew he was another, but he'd earned it. Kasumi managed it through charm, or one of those other things Joker had never grasped, like people skills.

"Kasumi…" Shepard growled.

"Not the assassin," said Kasumi. "The other one. The assassinee." There was a slight pause. "Is that even a word?"

"No. Get to the point, Kasumi."

"Geez, Shep," chirped the thief. "I'm feeling a little hurt."

"Kasumi," said Shepard, "Have you ever heard the term crisis management?"

"Can't say I have. Sounds like a cubicle farm-middle management kind of thing to me."

Ouch. Joker winced, and glanced at Shepard out of the corner of his eye. To his surprise, she was smiling faintly.

"How about shit and fans? Does that ring a bell? Because that's what I'm in the middle of right now, and what you will soon be facing if you don't get to the damn point, Kasumi."

"Sometimes you're no fun, Shep." Kasumi complained. "Anyway, I've been following your target all morning now. A lot of people have, actually. Kind of like a lot of little ducklings following a papa duck. Or a mama duck. I don't judge."

"Kasumi…" This time Shepard just sounded weary.

"He got a message a few minutes ago. I thought you might be interested."

"Do you know what the message was?" Shepard asked.

"Shep!" chided the thief.

"What was the message?"

"I figured you'd want to see it, so I captured a copy. You know, you'd think a Spectre would have better encryption on his personal omni-tool."

"You would think," Shepard agreed. "Thanks, Kasumi."

"No problem, Shepard. You are paying me for this, after all."

"And here I thought we were friends," mocked Shepard.

"Friends pay friends, Shep. Just… maybe at a slightly discounted rate."

"You're all heart, Kasumi."

"Hey! I said slightly discounted, didn't I?"

"She's what?!"

Seven-alpha-nine was a secure warehouse on the southwestern edge of what was once Chula Vista, before San Diego swallowed it whole. Shepard's voice filled the large space, echoing from the high ceiling and bare concrete walls.

Joker ducked his head. "Oh god…" he muttered.

"I said she's done a runner," repeated Massani, shifting his weight a little, his arms folded across his chest. "Something spooked her pretty good."

Shepard went silent, which, to Joker's mind, was a lot worse than Shepard shouting. She didn't press the old merc for any further information, which seemed to Joker to be a sign that Shepard knew something more than the rest of them.

"Kai Leng," she said flatly.

Massani frowned, making the scars on the right side of his face deepen. "Where have I heard that name before?" he said, half to himself. "Leng…"

"Our sword-wielding friend from the package pickup," Shepard supplied.

"Package?!" retorted the quarian angrily. "I'm right here!"

"Sorry, Tali," apologized Shepard, her eyes on Massani's face. "Just a technical term for the job." Her eyes narrowed. "What have you got, Old Man? He'd be a thirty-ish human male, Chinese descent, about 1.8 meters, hair black, eyes brown…" She moved closer to the mercenary, tapping at her omni-tool. "There's a photo here somewhere."

"Package…" Tali muttered, not quite low enough that her suit's vocal pickups didn't catch it.

Massani gave a snort of surprise when he saw the image. "Oh, yeah," he said, recollection dawning. "That little shit."

Shepard raised an eyebrow and dropped her arm back to her side. Massani took a step backward and leaned against the wall.

"Yeah, I've seen him before. Must have been twelve, thirteen years ago now." He shook his head. "It was supposed to be a salvage job out on Shanxi— at least, that's what they told me. Had a bad feeling about the job from the start. Should've listened to my gut."

"Job go rotten on you?" Hutch asked.

"Rotten?" Massani snorted again. "You could say that. Damn near got my ass shot off by both the Alliance and the Suns. And to top it off, I didn't even get paid." To Joker's ears, it sounded as if the old mercenary was more concerned with the lack of payment than by nearly getting killed.

"It was a mixed bunch— me and two other mercs, and a three-man team with this Leng as the point man," Massani continued. "He was a shifty little bastard," the old merc added, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. "The kind that makes your shoulderblades itch whenever he's behind you, and your trigger finger itch whenever he's in front. Fresh out of Alliance prison, too, or so he claimed. Knifed someone in a bar fight, or something like that."

Shepard made a low hum. "Tell me more about the job. What kind of salvage?"

Massani shrugged. "Some kind of cache left behind by a turian general during the occupation."

"Weapons?" One of Shepard's eyebrows quirked curiously.

"Technology, I think," Massani corrected. "We never reached the cache. The Suns stirred up the whole guddamn Alliance garrison. Might as well have been the First Contact War all over again, except there were humans on both sides."

"And Leng?"

"Disappeared in the middle of the firefight, leaving the rest of us to play cowboys and Indians with no chance of evac." Massani's jaw ground in remembered fury. "Fucking black ops," he grated. "Do yourself a favor, Shepard, and never work with fucking black ops."

"Black ops?" said Hutch, surprised.

"Yeah, Alliance," replied Massani. "I did some digging afterward. I don't like not getting paid. Should've guessed it from the start."

"Cerberus?" suggested Shepard wryly.

Massani's eyes narrowed, and he pushed himself off the wall. "If you guddamn knew, why'd you ask me?"

Shepard gave a shrug. "He could have been working for someone else," she said. "And you have no idea what the salvage was, apart from the fact that it was tech?"

Massani shook his head minutely. "I don't really even know that. I'm only guessing. Only Leng knew exactly what we were after."

A silence fell, into which the quarian burst out, "I'm not a cargo container! It's not like I'm helpless, or don't have any skills or anything… I can take care of myself!"

The outburst caused a general blinking and readjustment of thinking in the rest of them. Hutch's expression of good-natured simplicity turned slightly sheepish; Massani looked a bit like he'd just seen a dog perform a headstand. Joker felt his own jaw gape, and closed it hurriedly. Shepard both showed the least amount of discomfiture and recovered the most quickly.

"Nobody questions your skills, Tali," she assured the irate quarian. "You followed a geth patrol, disabled one of them and hacked its memory core." Shepard held out a placating hand. "I apologize if my…er…terminology was offensive."

"Then let me help you," the quarian shot back. "I'm not sure I understand everything that's happening, but there has to be something I can do; something more than just sitting around waiting for Saren or the Shadow Broker to find me."

"That won't happen," Shepard said firmly. "I meant what I said; I will keep you safe."

"I want to help. Please. I'm good with engines, electronics, hacking… I know a lot about the geth— which could be useful if Saren finds out where I am and sends geth after me."

Joker snorted. "Geth? Really? You think geth are going to show up here, on Earth? Don't they live, like, on the other side of the galaxy?"

Shepard gave him a look. "They know how to use the mass relays just like we do. And Saren - the rogue Spectre in our little menage a trois - used them on Eden Prime, which is only two relay jumps away from our system."

"Ugh. Now I feel dirty," grimaced Joker. "I want you to know if Earth is enslaved by evil robotic overlords, I'm totally blaming Liara," he warned.

"Noted," replied Shepard, her eyes now weighing the quarian thoughtfully. "All right," she said after a long minute of scrutiny. "The pooch has been officially screwed on this job." She paced a few steps, cracking her knuckles absently. "Jack's AWOL, and that means assuming the risk we're compromised. So as of right now, we're throwing out the standard playbook."

"Guddamn, Shepard… you know I hate it when you make it up as we go along," Massani grumbled.

"Who was it that told me that no plan survives first contact with the enemy?" Shepard demanded.

"There's a difference between that and not having any plan at all," the old merc growled.

"Oh, there'll be a plan, Old Man. Just not one you're used to seeing," said Shepard, smiling the grim smile that Joker knew meant someone was about to have a very, very bad day. "Load up, people."

"Where're we headed?" Joker asked, limping back toward the shuttle.

"Base," Shepard instructed.

"Ah… not to be a dick about it, but… are you sure that's a good idea?" Joker kept his voice low, intending the question for Shepard's ears only, but damn, the old merc had sharp hearing.

"Of course it isn't," Massani snapped. "But if our pants are already around our ankles, better to be where the guns are."

Shepard waved a hand in Massani's direction, as if displaying his logic as her own.

"Shit," muttered Joker.

"Cheer up, funnyman," Shepard told him. "Life's about to get very interesting."