“Director,” Fadeer said in greeting. No fake smile this time. Just that mysterious air asari all seemed so fucking good at. Sloane stopped just inside the door. It closed behind her with a solid thump.
The asari didn’t flinch.
That alone made Sloane want to start hitting things.
“Start. Talking.”
“Without a lawyer? I think there’s one in stasis,” she added pointedly.
“This is an unofficial chat.”
Fadeer’s nose wrinkled. “Then maybe we can both get some answers. You seem sure I was the perpetrator. How do you know?”
“You tell me, smartass.” Sloane tucked her hands behind her, military at ease—even if nothing in her body felt at ease. Not her muscles, not her gut, not her stewing anger.
The asari’s nose unwrinkled into a faint smile. “I’m positive the salarian security guard didn’t see me. None of the network technicians noticed me. So that leaves security footage.” Her head tipped, the light glinting over her purple frill. “Except I avoided the cameras.”
Sloane didn’t like this tack, not at all. She took a step forward. “What were you looking for in the data core? What’d you take?”
Fadeer chewed on her lip for a moment, thoughtfully studying the security director. The urge to punch her—again—practically drilled a hole through Sloane’s fraying temper, doubled when understanding dawned in the asari’s gaze.
“You’ve tightened security, haven’t you? What is it?” She smiled. “Hidden cameras? Automatic image capture when a network is accessed?”
Shit. Sloane said nothing, not aloud, but her scowl spoke volumes. It seemed to be all the answer Irida needed. A dark brow lifted.
“Director,” the asari said coolly, “I don’t believe the general populace agreed to secret surveillance, nor were we informed.”
“Yeah, well, the general populace is what you assaulted with your stunt,” Sloane snapped. She flung a hand out, her gesture taking in the entire Nexus beyond the small cell. “That extra security caught you in the act. The general populace can knock on my door and scream all day, as long as I’m putting criminals like you away.”
“Tsk.” The asari just spread her hands, wrist shackles clanking at the jointed center, and said musingly, “Well, that will be interesting to watch unfold.” She turned her face forward, settling her hands back into her lap. “Good luck.”
Sloane glared at the asari. An assault in the heat of the moment was one thing—it wasn’t her first, and wouldn’t be her last. She couldn’t kick in Irida Fadeer’s teeth, though, and get away without repercussions.
“The data, Fadeer. What did you access?”
Nothing.
“Is Calix Corvannis in on this? Does he know?”
There. A twitch. A bit of a frown.
“No.”
“Then why? And who helped you?”
“I acted alone.”
“Bullshit.”
As if she had all the time in the world, the prisoner looked steadily ahead and said nothing else. That was that. She was done talking, which meant Sloane had two problems. She still didn’t understand the motives of a saboteur, and the asari knew about the extra security.
She hadn’t even told Tann or Addison.
Damn it.
Sloane turned and rapped on the door. The guard opened it and shut it hastily behind her. He even managed not to jump when Sloane turned and punched the door as it locked in place. Only the briefest flash of satisfaction crossed her features when the so-cool asari flinched on the other side.
“Orders, ma’am?” the guard asked. Sloane shot him a look that had him bracing for impact.
“Tell Talini I’m going to see a turian about a traitor.”
“Er…”
“She’ll figure it out,” Sloane said curtly, and she strode away from the scene of her own bloody frustration. Maybe Fadeer’s boss would have insight. Maybe he’d have the answers.
Maybe she’d have to arrest him, and the whole damn life-support crew.
Fucking great.
Calix preferred the comfort of his engineering surroundings first—obvious by how often she found him there—and the comfort of the Consort’s chambers second. That one came by his own admission, and Sloane couldn’t blame him. The asari Consort’s chambers used to be a favorite of many Citadel visitors. Since there was no such thing here on the Nexus, and he wasn’t to be found in engineering, she made her way to the commons.
It was late. Late enough that the only people in the area were quietly unwinding for sleep, using whatever was available. Books, some quieter music, dim lights, or in Calix’s case, a glass of what was probably turian whiskey. He didn’t seem the type to risk anything else. Dextro-amino acids had been carefully stocked and prepared for the turians on board, which provided an extra pinch to rations, yet they couldn’t eat what the humans did.
He saw her enter, raised his glass in one hand. The dim light threw a sheen over his metallic carapace.
“Director Sloane. Come have a drink.”
“I think I will, but not that stuff,” she said as she approached. “I’ve got enough shit to deal with without adding literal—”
“I understand,” he cut in dryly. His eyes gleamed. “You look like you’ve had a hell of a day.” Calix watched her as she snagged a bottle of beer from behind the commons counter. His head tipped. It was faintly avian, she thought, which also made him seem harmless.
Sloane wondered just how true that was. She threw a leg over the closest chair and settled into a not quite easy comfort.
“Got a moment to talk shop?”
The turian blinked. “You want to… talk commerce? I don’t mind, but it seems somewhat premature.” It took Sloane a second to remember that turians, like salarians who didn’t care to read up on human culture, tended to miss the metaphors.
“I mean,” she stressed, a smile tugging at her lips despite her simmering frustration, “do you have time to talk about Nexus business?”
His expression cleared, mandibles moving as he chuckled. “Oh, that. Sure, Sloane. Or should I stick with director?”
She grimaced. “Sloane.”
“Got it.” He tipped his drink into his mouth in that unique way turians did, and Sloane took the opportunity to study him as she took a pull of her beer. There was a one-drink limit at the commons. Sloane had to make the best of it.
Calix didn’t look like a turian managing a criminal enterprise. He was as relaxed as she’d ever seen him, though still as weary as ever. They all were. She watched him carefully as she, well, metaphorically ripped out the tooth.
“Irida Fadeer is in custody.”
“Irida?” Another blink. “For what?”
“Sabotage, illegal access to secure networks, classified data theft.” She ticked them off with raised fingers. “Causing a lot of collateral damage and casualties.”
“Any deaths?”
“Not for the lack of trying,” Sloane replied bitterly. “Half a shift is out of commission for a few days, and we’ve got a salarian in medical who’s critical. Might be that by morning we’ll be adding murder to the charges, instead of just attempted.”
“Hell, I’m sorry.” He rubbed at his crest with his free hand, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Were you involved?”
He went rigid at the accusation. She watched him, studied every line of his features. Some said turian faces were hard to read, but it wasn’t so. Sloane spent enough time with them to get the gist. He was upset—though at the question, the casualties, or disappointment in Irida? She couldn’t be sure. But he met her gaze with a forthrightness that somehow managed to reassure her.