Sins of the Father, Sins of the Flesh

Shepard looked, just for a moment, like she’d been hit upside the head with a two-by-four. She heard Mordin’s exclamation of surprise and saw even Thane looking agitated (well, blinking very rapidly, both sets of eyelids going, which she supposed was his equivalent of looking like he’d been hit upside the head with a two-by-four).

“I’m…sorry,” Shepard said.

Aria’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “I don’t need your pity—“

Shepard cut her off. “You know, I got that same speech from Samara when I tried to be nice to her about having to kill her daughter, so can we skip it?”

“Ah. So Morinth was the Justicar’s daughter. Which means my informant was most likely right about the rest of it…meaning that you somehow resisted an Ardat-Yakshi’s charms long enough for the Justicar to come in and kill her.” Aria tilted her head to the side. “I’ll have to think about that for a while.”

“Think about it later,” Shepard snapped. “What do we do now?”

“Now, we bargain,” Aria said. “Your skills for my information.”

“What information?” she said, eyes narrowing.

Aria ignored Shepard’s question. “Have you ever heard of Illium Entertainment Plus?”

“Certainly,” Mordin said. “Make excellent instructional videos.”

Aria snorted. “I suppose you could call them that. The usual term for their product is pornography. Vids, holos, whatever you want. And I have a contract with them.”

“For what?” Shepard said.

“For girls,” Aria said, just to watch the expression of disgust cross Shepard’s face.

“You’re a slaver?” Shepard spat.

“Oh, God, no,” Aria said, waving a hand dismissively. “Why would I need to do that for? Really, I just like to see you get all righteous and outraged.”

She turned and locked eyes with Shepard. “A trait you share with our late, lamented Archangel, I’m afraid.”

Both the doctor and the assassin watched Shepard’s eyes go from clear and wary to dead, taking on the flat sheen both of them recognized (having had some small experience with the art of ending lives themselves) as the precursor to a kill.

Aria saw it too.

“So I was right! Archangel and Vakarian are one and the same,” she said, almost clapping her hands with delight. “Another bargaining chip for me.”

Shepard said, voice thick with rage, “Is that all this is to you, Aria? A game? Some kind of chessboard where the pieces are people? When this is over, you twisted bitch, I’ll see you dead on the floor. Right here.”

Mordin laid a hand on her arm, and Shepard took a deep breath; with a visible effort, her face cleared once again.

Aria laughed. “A great many beings have made that threat to me, over my extended tenure here. You’re the only one in centuries that I’m even the least bit concerned might succeed.”

“Living as long as we do hardens you,” she said, lighting yet another cigarette. “Well, some of us, anyhow. You can go to Thessia and find as many wise advisors as you’d want, students gathered at their feet in the marble temples. But that’s far from the whole truth. Some matriarchs throw up their hands in disgust and leave it all behind, scattering to the far corners of the galaxy.”

“And some,” she said, “go mad.”

“Benezia,” Shepard said.

“No.” Aria shook her head. “Benezia was arrogant, not mad. Her arrogance led her into a trap, and that trap happened to be a particularly unlucky one for her and for the rest of the galaxy, but somebody took care of that. Nicely done, by the way: a matriarch and a whole squad of commandos. That’s impressive.”

“When I say mad,” Aria continued, “I mean just that. Their brains are full of snakes.”

“That’s a rather poetic image,” Shepard said. “Strange, from a woman like you.”

“It gets the point across. When a matriarch goes crazy, it happens in a way you short-timers can’t even imagine.”

“Is there a point to all this?”

“Like I said, I have a contract with Illium Entertainment Plus,” Aria said, ignoring Shepard’s question again. “They come to Omega every three months or so, look the girls over, and see if there are any they’d like to use in their vids. If they’re amenable, the girls sign the contract, which gives them a flat fee for appearing in the movies, plus a seventy / thirty split with me of whatever profits the movie makes—after IEP gets their cut, of course.”

“And let me guess,” Shepard said. “They’re always amenable.”

“Doesn’t working with a galactic paragon annoy the shit out of you, Mordin?” Aria said, turning her eyes to the doctor.

“On occasion,” he said. “However, agree in this case. Perhaps not slavery, but forcing women into sex trade still reprehensible.”

Aria rolled her eyes. “Do none of you understand? Nobody’s forcing anybody. The studio wins because my girls are under contract: no salary negotiations, no diva tantrums. I win, because I get a kickback from the studio and a cut of the profits. And the girls win, because they get paid and when they come back to dance, they start raking in the creds from all the losers who come to see their favorite vid star shake her ass in person.”

“And nobody fucks with my girls,” Aria said. “Nobody here, nobody there. I’ve had girls turn down the offer, and you know what I did to them? Nothing. They go if they want, they stay if they want. So do me a favor and cut the righteous bullshit, okay?”

Shepard nodded slowly.

“While they’re on Illium, I keep tabs. I watch. I check in with them, and like I said…nobody fucks with them. But about a week ago, Petra went missing.”

“Wait,” Shepard said. “You sent your own daughter over there?”

Aria sighed and covered her eyes with her hand. “Go take a look out the window, princess. They’re all somebody’s daughters. They’re all free women. Hell, I did what they’re doing myself. So when my daughter, who happens to be one hundred and fifty-six years old, raised on Thessia in the loving arms of her mother—who, come to think of it, reminds me just a little of you, with all that virtuous judgment—comes here to me and wants to dance, I let her dance. And when she wants to work, I let her work. Just like any of the other girls out there. Good way to see what the real world looks like.”

“This shithole isn’t anything close to the real world.”

“Did Cerberus add the self-delusion, or was it always there? You know as well as I do that this is what a great deal of the real world looks like. You might want something better; you might even find it. But places like this…they’re always underneath.”

“Anyway,” Aria finished, “the point is that Petra went missing.”

“Would she have run away?” Shepard said.

“Not likely,” Aria said. “You see, she’s a little like her mother, but she’s very much like me. She always finishes what she starts—no matter what.”

“Can they leave the studio?”

Aria snorted. “Of course they can, if they’re not working on set.”

“Then could something have happened to her while she was out…sightseeing or something?”

“It’s a possibility,” Aria said, her face stony. “But a slim one. It’s no secret that Petra is my daughter.”

“Seems like she’d be an extremely tempting target to someone.”

“You might think so. You’d be wrong. Someone tried that once—thought it’d be a good idea to make me look weak by kidnapping one of my girls. He sent several very, very good mercs to do the job,” Aria said.

A slow smile came across her face. “They weren’t good enough. I found them. I killed them. And then I found the man who’d hired them. I killed him, his family, his friends; I blew up his house and three buildings he owned. And when I was done, I’d obliterated everyone he’d ever touched, everything he ever owned, and even his name. But the story’s stayed around.”

“It’s a very well-known story, by the way,” she concluded.

“When was the last time anyone saw her?” Shepard said.

“She was in makeup at thirteen hundred hours. The makeup artist left to get something and re-entered the room at thirteen-oh-three. By then, Petra was gone.”

“Have you questioned the makeup artist?”

“Extensively,” Aria said. “But the security cameras tracked her movements the whole way. No second of her absence is unaccounted for.”

“What did the security cameras in the makeup room show?”

“They show my daughter sitting in the makeup chair for three minutes, at which point the door opens, the makeup artist walks in, and the chair is empty.”

“Hm. Hacked security,” Mordin said. “Recorded loop of Petra in the chair. Overrode camera feed while taking her. When door opened, returned to live feed.”

Aria nodded. “Probably.”

“So what do you want, Aria?” Shepard said.

“Simple. I want you to go to Illium and find her. When she’s back—or when you find me her body—I’ll give you a name.”

“What name?”

“The name of the man who might lead you to your lost turian.”

“And if the name’s no good?”

“It’s good, Shepard. Now, I’m pretty sure he’s at the bottom of the food chain, so you might have to kill your way to the top, but that won’t be a problem, will it?”

The look on Shepard’s face was answer enough.

“All right. We’re done. Go.”

The stasis field flickered out of existence, but Shepard still sat. “I want that name. Now. I think that time is running out for both of them, and I think you know it too. Give it to me, and I’ll have my whole team on the job, all of them, all the time.”

“And if I don’t?”

Shepard’s voice went flat, and those killer’s eyes came back. “Then fuck you, and fuck your daughter too. I walk away and let her die and find that name on my own. And if you decide to kill me for it? Or if Garrus dies? While you’ve lived centuries, I’ve done something I know you haven’t.”

“What would that be?” Aria said, her own eyes dark with a murderous shine.

“I’ve died and come back. You think you could do the same?”

“Point. All right. The name is Justin Fell.”

Shepard, Mordin, and Thane rose to go. They walked toward the top of the stairs, then Shepard turned around and looked at Aria.

“One last thing, T’Loak. How did you know Garrus was gone?”

Aria leaned back, crossed her legs, and stretched her arms out along the top of the couch. “Sometimes, it’s good to be the queen.”

Her mocking laughter followed them down the stairs.