All right, here you go. Remember this is set in 2176 and Shepard is only 22! This is also an unedited draft.
“You’re sending me to infiltrate a high society party? You can’t be serious…uh…sir.”
Lieutenant Cyrus Shepard was dismayed. Out of the corner of his eye he dared a glimpse at the holoscreen detailing the offending assignment, as if by barely acknowledging it he could make it go away.
“Why not, if I may ask?”
The tone carried considerable amusement. Though why Commander Naman Rangarajan of the Alliance Navy department of military intelligence would be amused eluded Shepard. He stared at his superior incredulously. “Sir, I’m sure you’re aware of my background. I’m a street kid from the slums of Calcutta.”
“Wrong, Shepard”, said Rangarajan. “You were that street kid. Now you’re an N7-qualified operative. You might not know it, but your yearly assessments always mention your adaptability. That’s a rare quality and we intend to use it. Why do you think we’ve poured a master’s degree’s worth of etiquette, culture and history of several species into your brain during your training?”
Shepard felt his face growing hot. He had avoided these classes any chance he got, and hadn’t been particularly attentive. The result was he barely passed that part of his final exams.
“Uh…sir. I’m…well, let’s say I’m not feeling very adaptable right now.”
Rangarajan laughed. “You want to tell me you skimped on those classes? Well, here’s the surprise: so did almost everyone else. Nobody likes them. They’re not meant to be remembered in detail. They exist for the sole purpose of providing a framework for your future briefings.”
Shepard didn’t know if should feel relieved or even more dismayed. Relieved, because it meant he would get a refresher course, or more dismayed because it meant he couldn’t wriggle out of this assignment.
“Relax, Lieutenant. You’ll do fine. Now, please, if you’d pay attention to the briefing I’m trying to give you. I haven't got all day.”
“Yes, sir.”
Several images appeared in the holoscreen. Pointing at the picture of a nondescript interstellar courier ship, Rangarajan began to explain.
“This is the Alliance courier C345-Stargazer. Twenty days ago, it vanished in a pirate attack in the Ismar Frontier cluster. Or so we thought. It seems the attackers were aware the Stargazer carried classified information about certain Alliance operations I’m not allowed to disclose at this moment, and the acquisition of this information appeared to be their primary objective.”
He switched to the picture of an about 40-year-old Caucasian male human with tanned skin, short black hair and a black moustache, clad in an expensive business suit, at the side of a stunning pale-skinned brunette in a conservatively-cut but very stylish emerald-green sundress.
“Antonin Kolyakov,” said Rangarajan, “One of Earth’s most notorious black-market information brokers. Does legal business as an investment broker, which explains his wealth if you don't look too deeply. One of our assets believes he’s been contracted to decrypt the VI core the Stargazer was carrying. There’s no direct evidence, but his security has been stepped up and he’s hacked into several Alliance satellites targeted on his known sites. No idea how he knew about them, but fortunately his intrusion was detected. There’s a meeting scheduled with a Shadow Broker contact at Palazzo Danieli in Venice on the 11th, where we believe the decrypted information will be handed over. The location seems to indicate the contact is highly placed.”
“Who’s the woman,” asked Shepard, closely examining the picture to catch more details of her face.
“Ha,“ said Rangarajan, “thought she’d get your attention.” A dossier with a close-up appeared in another window. The face was uncommonly harmonious, almost as if sculpted, with a hint of dimpled cheeks keeping it from the boring kind of perfection. Her skin was unfashionably pale, but it contrasted nicely with her dark-brown, almost black hair and eyes. “Her name is Ione Bianchi. Despite the name, she’s not a local. She’s more or less in the same business as Kolyakov. Originally from Omega, Doctorates in computer science and xenobiology. Used to work on Aite as a professional escort – of the showpiece kind if you can believe the sources – and made a fortune from stealing her clients’ secrets and selling them to rival factions. When that got out, she had to flee. Kolyakov’s picked her up two days ago. We aren’t aware of any previous connection between them, but she certainly acts as if she was his girlfriend, not just a business partner.“
“Could she have any interest in this matter?”
“Unlikely. So far she's avoided anything that would've brought our close attention. From what we know about her past operations, she seems very aware of how far she can go. So keep away from her, its rumored she's a master at seeing through covers.”
“Hmm,” said Shepard. “From what you've told me, I probably won't recognize her anyway. Which brings me to my next question: how the hell will I recognize Kolyakov?”
“We have a surveillance camera in place. Its operator will make a photograph as Kolyakov leaves his suite to join the festivities. She'll send it to you via commlink. She'll also be able to tell you about who's where most of the time, but since she's located off-site she won't be able to backup you if things get difficult.”
Rangarajan picked up a datapad and handed it to Shepard.
“Everything I've told you is in in here, as well as the complete dossiers of Kolyakov and Bianchi, just in case, plus a floor plan and names and dossiers of everyone we know to be present. Your objectives: first, prevent the VI core and any information obtained from it from getting the hands of the Shadow Broker’s contact. Second, identify the Shadow Broker’s contact. Third, recover the VI core. We’ve got you an invitation to the masque under your usual cover. Unfortunately, our bean-counters have refused to underwrite the costs for a room, so you’ll have no home base.”
“Can’t really say I blame them,” said Shepard. “Aren’t the rooms at 2500 creds per night?”
“Yeah. But you’d think they’d consider the damage if this operation goes pear-shaped,” Rangarajan grumbled. “Of course, that won’t come out of their budget, so what do they care. Any questions?”
“Yes, Sir.” Shepard took the datapad. “I'll need some kind of...er...costume, don't I? I don't have the faintest idea of what to do about that...”
“Everything will be provided by your local contact. You'll find the address in your files.”
“Aye, aye, sir. That was all, sir.”
“Good. Dismissed.”
Shepard saluted and turned away. As he reached the door, the Commander spoke up again.
“One more thing, Shepard.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Palazzo Danieli is one of Europe's most valuable cultural assets, rebuilt with original material after the tsunami of 2090. Things could get very awkward with the local government, not to mention expensive, if it's damaged significantly. So, please, no explosions.”
Shepard managed to look chagrined. His reputation as military intelligence's 'demolition man' wasn't entirely undeserved, but he still thought people made too much of it.
“Yes, sir.”
Retour en haut
Can BioWare make new DLC asap to make me feel a bit happier for her pleez? 
? I just asked an question...
.....
